Learning to Live, Not Just Survive

August 31st 2025

I left the United States with little to no money, no plan, no Spanish—and no one waiting for me. I landed in the Dominican Republic alone. My family thought I was crazy. Maybe they were right. But something in me knew I had to go. I wasn’t running from responsibility. I was running toward something I couldn’t quite name at the time: a chance to finally live, not just survive.

I live with schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type 2. That diagnosis changed my life—but not as much as the silence that came after. The moments when my thoughts weren’t just loud, they were dangerous. The moments when I didn’t know who I was anymore. The moments when it felt like my mind had turned against me.

On November 10, 2024, I lost my father to cancer. It shattered something in me. He was the one person I thought would always be there. Grief hit me like a tidal wave. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t function. I spiraled. My mental illness took over. My emotions, my decisions, my finances—they all fell apart. I still owe people money, including one of my own brothers. I’m in financial debt. Emotional debt. Spiritual debt. I owe myself a lot, too.

And still, I’m not broken. Just buried.

The Breakdown Before the Breakthrough

It took me leaving everything behind to find something real. No safety net. No language. No familiar faces. Just me and a country I didn’t understand. I walked the streets with Google Translate, prayed for clarity, and sat in the heat of uncertainty. And slowly, things began to shift.

It wasn’t some magical transformation. I didn’t wake up one day “better.” But I started to hear my own voice again. The one beneath the noise of mental illness, beneath the grief and debt and regret. The one that remembered who I really was.

I realized something simple, but life-changing:

I’ve always had the power to make money. I just lost my mind before I could use it.

Climbing Out

Over the last few months, I’ve rebuilt myself piece by piece. I still owe people—but I’m about to pay back every single one. All of them. In six months, I’ll be square with the world. And that means more to me than just money—it means restoration. Closure. Redemption.

More importantly, it means reclaiming myself.

I stopped surviving and started living when I accepted that I’m not broken—I just needed time, space, and a different kind of strength. I’m not where I want to be yet. But I’m on the path. For the first time in a long time, I see a future. And not just one I’m afraid of—but one I’m building.

For Anyone Who Feels Like They’re Drowning

If you’re reading this and you’re in that place—buried under illness, debt, grief, or self-doubt—I want you to know: you’re not alone.

You may have made mistakes. You may have burned bridges. You may have lost people you loved. You may even be afraid of your own mind. I’ve been there. Hell I even almost committed suicide.

But you are not finished.

There is always time to come back to yourself. To learn to live—not just survive.
One day, one decision, one breath at a time.

JD – From someone who lost everything and still chose to rise.