Navigating core wounds, addiction, and the turning points toward self-reclamation
I grew up in a home dominated by a challenging presence—though for years, I had no name for the weight it carried. It felt like a slow distortion of reality. The negativity wasn’t just an attitude; it became the atmosphere, a cloud settling into the corners of my mind. Somehow, I shielded my inner self until I was eighteen. But eventually, the pressure became too much. Resistance crumbled, and I felt myself give in.
Conventional paths often offer superficial fixes—prescriptions or advice that don’t reach the root. Finding genuine tools to navigate out of the darkness felt like searching for something that didn’t exist.
As a kid, without the words to protect myself, I leaned on curiosity. I learned to see patterns, triggers, cycles. Survival turned me into a student of the mind. While other kids played, I was immersed in Freud, Jung, Lacan—not for intellectual points, but because I desperately needed to understand the forces shaping my world. By ten, human psychology felt like my map out of a hidden war zone.
Yet, nothing prepared me for what followed. At eighteen, seeking escape from an unbearable internal pressure, I turned to drugs. They offered a dangerous comfort, a temporary silence in the noise. It wasn’t about recreation; it was about survival. And even in that haze, some part of me kept reading, kept searching. Until the sixth overdose brought everything to a halt.
That day felt like dying. And then returning. I remember visiting my father’s grave shortly before, his tomb overlooking the ocean he captained. Seeking connection, maybe protection. I saw a butterfly—delicate, strangely potent. Tears came. Then, a letting go. I woke in a hospital: blood on one wall, a man screaming from a broken back on the other. My aunt, my best friend, police officers. A vision of hell, or perhaps its waiting room. This was the absolute turning point. A final chance, given to myself.
The voices I’d obeyed—fear, expectation, others’ judgments—were silent and useless when I faced oblivion. I decided to cut them out. From that moment, only one inner voice. Mine.
Around then, a friend shared some sound frequencies—strange, otherworldly. I couldn’t explain why, but they helped. Something shifted internally. Believing life could be beautiful felt impossible, so I started by pretending. That pretense became a doorway. With time, choosing to see beauty allowed it to appear.
My path wasn’t linear. There were attempts to build externally, periods of chasing dreams, finding connection, and experiencing success. But deep healing often requires returning to the core wound, sometimes through further loss.
Years later, after another profound loss—a betrayal that left me alone, broke, and heartbroken in Indonesia—that quiet call returned. Frequencies. I remembered their subtle power. This time, I made a conscious decision: dive fully in.
I immersed myself in sound. Every waking hour became research, every emotion a variable. It felt less like creating frequencies and more like decoding a hidden layer of reality. Years passed in focused solitude—testing, listening, building pathways through the subconscious, into spaces I hadn’t known existed.
This intense inner work led me, ironically, to a psychiatric hospital during a period I call my real “rehab.” Labeled with diagnoses—psychotic, bipolar—I found myself in a dark place among broken souls. But clarity emerged from the darkness: I saw how most deep suffering seemed to trace back to a few core emotional wounds. This insight became fundamental to how I later structured frequency-based healing work.
Through every layer of loss, collapse, and what felt like madness, the commitment held: keep going. Keep creating experiences, keep building systems designed to help bring people back to their true selves. And somewhere within that relentless process, I found silence. Not the silence of emptiness, but the deep quiet of clarity. Now, life moves with less noise. I eat, create, breathe. The goal isn’t external anymore. It’s about embodying the state I sought.