For so long I loved the darkness and feared the light. I would seek comfort in whatever I could find to distract myself from a world that seemed like one gigantic, unending reminder of my own insufficiency. I was sure that I would fail at whatever I did, and that pain would be the unavoidable result of each and every single decision that I would ever make, no matter what. All that pain. Of course it would return again. The certainty was that strong. It was absolute.
Then the process took a turn, and things abruptly changed. There was nothing I could do, and it hurt so bad, but the hurt actually pushed me into the only thing that could save me. I was always skeptical of that being the way things would work out, but it ended up being the truth after all.
Now the tide has turned, and I can hardly believe it myself, but the assurance finally flows in the other direction for real. I believe in myself. Freaking finally. I am still getting used to it, and to be honest it feels really weird. I keep almost expecting it to go away. Part of me worries that this must be a dream that I will soon wake up from, crumpled in the corner of a psych ward, drunk as ever before. Eventually it will sink in all the way, though, and I will begin to really accept that the truth has finally happened.
It’s good news.
