This year it seemed as if just about everything was outside my control—except for my writing. I chose not to share it with many people, but I started working on a book back in March.

As months went by, I became obsessed with it and pushed myself to the limit of my mental and physical capabilities. Writing was exhausting, but it also became my safe harbor away from pain, death, and the seemingly endless supply of injustice.

When I was in the process of writing the book, it sometimes felt like it was killing me. Now it seems that it was the only thing keeping me from breaking down. It saved me this year.

And it’s finally out