Darkness. an epiphany

I had an epiphany.

A huge one.

So much has changed in the past few months. I don’t know what I am or where I am going. I’m so confused.

I say these things, and people don’t understand. They say, “Oh, none of us knows where we’re going. We’re all confused.”

No, you don’t understand. No one ever has.

The future has always been darkness to me. Just darkness. I tried to look, but I saw nothing. It’s an unknown in which there is no hope. Nothing changes. There is nothing good to look forward to.

I think that is why I lived in my head for so long. I think that is why I still don’t sleep well—why I go to bed so late and wake up only with enough time to do whatever it is I have to do before I go to wherever it is I have to go. Why I am always concerned about what I “need” to do.

I avoid life so much. Because I had no life. There was nothing for me to look forward to. There were other people and their happinesses, but no happiness for me. No, that’s not a dramatic statement. I’ve written about it previously. My only purpose in life was to help others because it was the only action that gave me a course of action in the darkness. The darkness, hopelessness, emptiness, fear could surround me, but I could keep going because there was a path, there were expectations. There was another person, and when there are other people, the darkness probably clears for a moment because I see their light on their path. No, their light does not shine onto my path. It doesn’t clear my darkness. For just however long it takes to help them, I can see clearly. And then they leave, and I am in my darkness again.

Requirements, needs give me steps to take.

I think this is likely how it goes. I avoid and escape, so I don’t pay attention to the darkness until it is the only thing there. There are a lot of layers involved in this and my mental and emotional state throughout my life. I don’t want to get into them.

My point in writing was this:

Laying in bed tonight, talking to God about how lost and confused I was/am, about how I can’t trust his words on my own because my mind is so fatalistic, I pointed out the darkness. I told him about the darkness and how it blocks everything. About how I can’t believe in the good things he’s promised in the bible, how I can’t believe the good things he’s promised even to me. Not anymore. That I needed his help to believe (“Jesus, please help my unbelief.”).

I think that I was trying to prove a point.  I pointed at the darkness, and I said, “See?”

And I changed the darkness.

My emotional/psychological visualization changed colors. It was no longer darkness.

I can change my darkness. And the darkness didn’t return. It didn’t swallow the white I change it to. It didn’t swallow the colors I imagined painting. It didn’t swallow them.

If you have never had any psychological/emotional problems before or don’t visualize your thoughts (I think in sensations…that was a previous post), you probably don’t understand directly. But, in the mind of a person overwhelmed by something, in the mind of a person who feels unable to overcome an addiction or depression or a path in life, good things do not necessarily have power. Someone’s kindness or some event may clear the darkness for a moment. They may escape dark thoughts or pain for a moment, but just like in the movies when evil always returns and destroys what the good guys thought they had won, the darkness always returns, undefeatable.

But it didn’t. And now, when I think about the future, I feel colors. There is hope. I think, “What will I do?” imagining good possibilities, instead of, “What will I do?—“ the question I always tried to avoid because I couldn’t answer it. There was no answer. And not having an answer filled me with confusion and fatalistic thoughts. A fatalistic mentality.

The darkness is still there when I look away, but it isn’t the darkness that it was before. It’s the darkness of stillness, of the lack of presence. Not the darkness of emptiness and hopelessness. Not a crushing mass I couldn’t see through or beyond.

Just like that. God has healed me so much. I don’t know when this particular part of my healing began, but he has healed me so much. Thank you, God.

January 24, 2015. I’m twenty-six years old. I have a future.


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