My name is Cameron, but the artist in me is HISson.

I didn’t come into music through studios, stages, or a clean path. I came into it through desperation, detox, relapse, recovery, and the long quiet nights where you learn what your mind sounds like when there’s nowhere left to run.

For years, I lived inside addiction.
Heroin. Meth. Numbness. Shame.
I wasn’t chasing a high — I was trying to not feel anything at all. I lost people I loved. I broke myself more times than I can count. I spent nights praying for death I was too afraid to create and mornings pretending I was fine.

But I didn't die.

I woke up — over and over — when I probably shouldn’t have.

At first, that felt like punishment.
Now, I understand it as purpose.

The name HISson is more than a name.
It’s a reminder of who I belong to now — not the dope, not the streets, not the pain — but the source that gave me another chance.
No religion required. Just truth:
I survived something that takes most of us out.

And I didn’t survive to stay silent.

My music is recovery music — not in the sanitized, pretty, rehab brochure way.
This is the real shit:

sleepless withdrawals

shaking hands

apologies that come too late

the guilt that eats you alive

the moment you finally forgive the person you used to be

and the sunrise that follows


I write for:

The ones who never felt “good enough”

The ones fighting a war no one sees

The ones who lost the people they loved to the same thing that almost took them

The ones still here and not sure why


My sound lives somewhere between: acoustic soul // hip hop // spoken word // prayer // confession // hope

Handpan.
Box drum.
Soft flute.
Warm bass.
Breath.
Heart.
Humanity.

I don’t scream to be heard.
I whisper what hurts — because the ones who need it will feel it.

My songs are for rooms with low lights.
Car rides at 2 A.M.
People sitting on bathroom floors holding themselves together.
People staring at the sky wondering if there's something left for them.

If you’re here, listening — I want you to know something:

You are not too late.
You are not broken beyond repair.
You are not alone.

If you’ve relapsed — come back.
If you’ve fallen — get up slow.
If you’re crying — breathe through it.
If you’re tired — rest here a minute.

You don’t have to “deserve” another chance.
You just have to still be breathing.

I’m not here to be famous.
I’m here to be a hand in the dark.

If my voice shakes in a song — it’s because I’m not singing it at you.
I’m singing it with you.

We climb out of this thing together.

Welcome to the music.
Welcome to the sunrise.

– HISson

Followers of Heather Blessing