There are no clean arcs here. No soft landings. Just hospitals that smell like bleach and blood, drugs that never numb quite enough, and a world that punishes difference with silence or a locked door. Davey doesn't find himself-he fights for scraps of identity in the wreckage, clawing through the fog of Roxycontin, mania, and broken time.
Told in sharp, splintered prose that drips with pain and defiance, Blue Demon is a howl from the gutter, a memoir that doesn't care if you're comfortable-it just wants you to know what it really feels like to lose your mind and live through it.
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