Mill P Writes

Buy The Memory Broker Some stories simmer. Others scream. The Memory Broker did both. This one didn’t knock politely at the door of my imagination. It kicked it clean off the hinges and dragged me into the neon-soaked underworld of a future I didn’t even know I had in me. I was in the middle of writing Wishes of a Mortal Man —a quieter, more grounded project—when the idea for The Memory Broker hit like a jolt from a cracked-out data node. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But some stories don’t wait their turn. This one came armed with chrome teeth and a bad attitude, whispering things like: “What if memory could be bought and sold? What if someone stole the wrong one?” So I listened. I shelved Wishes (temporarily, I promise), picked up a pen—yes, a real one, because this all started while I was in rehab, where laptops and phones are locked away like weapons—and started writing. By hand. On paper. With caffeine, insomnia, and raw nerve fueling every scribbled line. Eventually I f...

  A Round of Applause for Politicians? Stop the Presses. It’s not every day that I find myself tipping my hat—or, more accurately, my metaphorical pen—to politicians. But hey, when the unlikely happens, you’ve got to call it out. Enter the National Council for Mental Wellbeing’s report on bipartisan support for mental health training programs. Yes, you read that correctly— bipartisan . For those unfamiliar, that’s political speak for, “We actually managed to agree on something without breaking into a food fight.” Color me shocked and mildly optimistic. According to the article, this rare act of political unity revolves around Mental Health First Aid (MHFA), a program designed to equip everyday people with the tools to recognize and respond to mental health crises. It’s basically CPR for the mind, and it’s the kind of thing we need a lot more of. “The program trains individuals to identify, understand, and respond to signs of mental illness and substance use disorders,” the articl...

  There are two types of drunks: the kind who get soft and glassy-eyed, and the kind who snarl like cornered dogs. I was both. A coin flip. Heads: I’m sobbing into the neck of a stranger, talking about childhood dreams. Tails: I’m spitting venom at people who love me, daring them to stay. I drank like I was trying to erase myself—fast and with no mercy. And for a long time, I chalked it up to being “young and wild and free.” You know, that bullshit Bukowski-lite swagger people wear like a leather jacket they’re too broke to dry clean. But the truth is, I always drank alcoholically. Even when I kept it to weekends, even when I showed up for work Monday morning with my shirt tucked in and my guilt folded neatly inside my chest pocket. I was the poster child for the Jekyll-and-Hyde drinker. You could count on me to show up, but you could never count on who would get out of the car. In 2020, the mirror finally cracked. I caught my own eyes staring back and didn’t like what they had t...

 I’ve always thought of my fitness tracker as the digital equivalent of a nagging gym buddy—chronically passive-aggressive, subtly passive when I need motivation most, and scoldingly judgmental when I bemoan my third donut of the day. But NPR’s recent deep dive has convinced me that beneath the passive-aggressive nudges and red rings lies a surprisingly compassionate therapist on my wrist. The article opens with the kind of revelation that knocks the earbuds out of your ears: “The more steps we take, the less likely we are to feel depressed,” based on a mammoth meta‑analysis in JAMA Network Open covering 33 studies and nearly 100,000 adults from ages 18 to 91 across 13 countries. That’s right—your trusty tracker isn’t just tallying your trips to the fridge; it might be squashing those low-key blues hiding in the creases of your mood. It’s like discovering your Fitbit moonlights as Freud. Here’s where the plot thickens like an overcooked stew: the magic number isn’t 10,000 steps—b...

  In the grand tapestry of cinema, alcohol flows as freely as the dialogue, painting a picture of glamour and revelry. Think James Bond with his martini—shaken, not stirred—or the clinking champagne flutes at a Gatsby-esque soiree. The media loves to show us the sparkly, seductive side of booze, as though every drink is a ticket to a better life. But behind this shimmering façade lies a different narrative—one of struggle, destruction, and the often painful road to redemption. These stories rarely make the marquee, but when they do, they’re unforgettable. As the Curzon article "25 Powerful Films About Alcoholism & Heavy Drinking" aptly puts it, “Films about alcoholism have run the gamut when it comes to their representation on the screen, from glamorous excess to the gritty, unvarnished realities of addiction.” Rare are the films that dig into the darker truths about alcohol without sensationalizing or trivializing the experience. And yet, when done right, they become a ...

Ozempic: The Instant Gratification Miracle or Moderation’s Latest Mirage? Ah, Ozempic , the injectable elixir of the moment. It’s a name that’s been whispered at brunch tables and shouted in gym locker rooms, an alleged magic wand for weight loss and, as this Politico article suggests, perhaps even addiction itself. Yes, according to new research, Ozempic and similar drugs like Mounjaro might just curb alcohol cravings in the same way they curb appetites. But before we roll out the red carpet for this so-called “miracle,” let’s inject a little skepticism (pun intended). First, let me lay my cards on the table. I’ve been through the body image wringer. I’ve had washboard abs so sharp they could julienne a carrot, and I’ve carried a gut so big it looked like I was smuggling a beer keg under my shirt. Alcoholism didn’t just change my brain chemistry; it sculpted my physique, too, and not in a good way. Sobriety, on the other hand, reshaped me in more ways than one—physically, mentally,...

  I’ll be blunt: some days I feel like a deflated balloon—flat, sighing, and so ready to burst back into tears. That cocktail of mental health hell and alcohol addiction? It was my daily hangover, even before I’d taken a swig. But then there was writing. Writing has been my life raft, my defiant middle finger to chaos. When I found the article from West Coast Recovery Centers titled *“Creative Writing Reduces Stress and Improves Mental Health”*, I didn’t just read it—I felt seen. Like someone had crawled inside my skull and taken notes. The article explains, “Creative writing can reduce mood swings and other side effects of substance use disorder by supporting healthy self-reflection and mindfulness.” And they’re not fluffing it up with vague affirmations or woo-woo nonsense. They back it up with real studies, like one from the *Substance Use and Addiction Journal*, which reports that expressive writing “resulted in significant reductions in distress, and improved psychological and...