15 years ago this August, I was addicted, homeless, had not a dollar to my name, and had hit rock bottom as my mental health and outlook on life had reached an all-time low. At that moment, I felt like I didn’t want to be on this planet anymore.
I had been spiralling into a deep depression, pushed away most of the people in my life, and had become dependent on chemical drugs and smoking cannabis to numb the pain of the place I had been in for years leading up to hitting rock bottom, and my life had completely fallen apart. I had no job, no money, and no place to live, and with tears streaming down my face, I called my parents. My mother picked up the phone, sobbing. I told her everything, and that I couldn’t do this, live that is, anymore, and I just wanted the nightmare I was living in to be over. Without a thought, she asked where I was, and told me she was going to come pick me up and figure this out.
Later that day, my dad pulled up and said in a soft voice, “Get in, I’m taking you back home with us.” As I sat down next to him, he said, “What’s happened?” mainly unaware of what had been going on over the last decade, as I’d tried my best to hide it all from my dad, and anything I had told my mom, I had begged her not to tell him. It seems she had kept most of it to herself. I broke down again and said, “I hate my life, I hate everything, and most of all, I hate the person that I am.” My dad looked at me and said, “Why?” I told him that since I was a teenager, I’d been doing drugs, that I hadn’t been happy for years, that I was out of work, and that for a while, I hadn’t had anywhere to live. It all seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” and I turned to him and said, “I didn’t want you to know that not only am I a complete failure, I’ve wrecked my whole life.”
As we pulled into my parents’ driveway, I could see my mother standing at the front window, and as we pulled up, she opened the front door. As I walked through it, thin, at 148 pounds on my 5’11 frame, with bloodshot eyes, she burst into tears and said out loud, “Oh God, Mark.” She hugged me and told me that she loved me and we were going to get through this.
Over the coming days, we talked about everything that had happened: the drugs, the depression, my life falling apart, the mistakes, the self-hatred. She urged me to talk to someone and said she would stand by my side as I started my life over, and asked me a question that will stay with me as long as I live. I told her that I didn’t know if I could go on, and in her eyes, I saw my mother’s heart break in real time. I could tell that if anything happened to her little boy, she would never get over it. You see, we had always been close, and always had a special bond, and over the years she knew I had moved further and further away from the happy, joyful boy I once was, but I don’t think she ever knew how dark my life had become, because had she known, she would have stepped in long before. So she asked me, well, pleaded, “Please, let me help you to help yourself get better.” In that moment, I knew I couldn’t let this be the end of my story.
Over the next 8 months, I would seek help, talk with her, a nurse daily, chat with my father, a minister, and a counsellor, and go for long walks, read, learn about addiction and depression, learn about why people numb themselves, and other than that, would shut myself away from the world other than a few random outings to break from my silent reflection in the country.
After that period, being drug-free, living with a little more hope, and full of knowledge of why I was where I was, I thought it was time to reenter the world. I was lucky enough that my best friend Nadia offered her place up to me to stay with her while I financially got back on my feet. It was slow, but bit by bit, after almost 10 months with her, I did. I got my own place, had new work lined up, and had launched my own business, ironically a magazine called ADDICTED, which stemmed from what started as my journal about what made life great, what brought a smile to my face, what made life worth living. That journal became a blog, and that blog became a magazine that I would start with my best friend, not knowing that magazine, and that friendship, would forever change my life.
I worked day in and out focusing on writing things that brought me joy, learning from others, and creating stories that would inspire, and a few years on, ADDICTED would blow up and go global, and some of the biggest brands would be reaching out to partner, flying me all over North America, and my story, our friendship, and that magazine would change my life.
I would still struggle with my mental health for years to come, do more therapy, write in my journal, and as the years passed, and I started doing charity work, publicly sharing my story here and there, it really resonated with people. So, in 2020, I started sharing my story of what I had been through, the struggles I had, and my social media turned into a place where I could share to inspire people to never give up.
Along the way, sharing my life, my struggles, and my story through the magazine and social media would open up so many doors to work with brands, charities, and other organizations that would further amplify my story, and before I knew it, millions of people had read my writing, seen my videos, and tens of thousands reached out to me to share their stories, let me know they had been inspired, or simply just to congratulate me.
By the time 2025 had rolled around, I felt like I had it all, but I also knew that I had become dependent on my circle, my family, my friends, ADDICTED, and my social media, and while I had seen so much success, I had a haunting feeling that without it all, I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own. Without the acclaim, I might still feel like a failure. So when the chance came up to move across the world, and leave my support system, my work contacts, and the world I’d built behind, I had to take the risk and ask myself: without it all, starting over yet again, would I be okay.
As I write this a year after leaving, it’s wild to reflect on everything that has happened over my life, the last twenty-five years, the last 15 years, and as I write this two days before the 15th anniversary of the day I stopped doing drugs and started my life completely over from nothing, here’s where I am today. I am stronger than I ever knew possible. I am incredibly resilient. I am the man that I dreamed I could be fifteen years before, and after years of wondering, I know, no matter what, that I can stand tall and be so proud of who and where I am today.
I have inspired maybe millions, I have touched the lives of thousands, raised money and awareness for charity, I have been a mentor and an advocate, and built a following of almost a million people. But beyond all that, I’m so glad I never gave up, because if that had been the case, I wouldn’t have found love, I wouldn’t have met my amazing dog Manny, who I adore, and I wouldn’t have found myself, the version of me that I was always supposed to become, and I wouldn’t be here, reflecting now, writing these words, as tears roll down my face once again. But this time, they are not tears of sadness or loss of hope, they are happy tears, for where and who I am today.