Some people inherit money. Some inherit land. Me? I inherited silence, addiction, and a mind at war with itself. I didn’t understand it then, but I was already carrying the weight of generations, unspoken pain passed down like heirlooms. Years later, smoking alone in a haze of familiar patterns, I saw their ghosts staring back at me in the mirror. This is about the cost of what we don’t heal, and what it takes to break that cycle when all you’ve known is survival.