That’s how it starts, right? You stare at a blank white wall stained with age and cracks and ants marching on a line into an invisible hole. You grab your imaginary marker and start writing your lists and dreams. You paint a picture of what your life could be, of what your life must be. And then you realize that you’re still decades away from that life. You realize that all those lists and dreams are next to impossible. Next to impossible. Improbable. But given the right encouragement and the right amount of drive, it’s achievable.
And then it creeps up on you. That realization that you’re actually moving forward from a life that became your home. That you’re letting go of the darkness that was a part of you. You’re shedding a life that, despite the insanity it brought, you made sense of. Their insanity became your sanity. Their tempest became your serenity.
And then in one Thursday afternoon, everything changed.
Everything changed for the best. Everything that made sense to you wasn’t viable for survival anymore. Old strategies became devices that would lead to your eventual demise. That will hasten your demise, rather.
You start to think “it wasn’t all bad. I had great moments with the darkness. I had fun playing with the demons.” You start to miss them. You start missing how great you feel when you wrote about the things that go bump in the night with dark ambient music deafening your ears. All the protagonists and their tragedies and the antagonists and their beastlike hatred for humanity, mirrors of your own personalities, which you wrote about when the darkness was inside of you. Eating you away. Flaying your skin and muscles inch by inch. Consuming your every dream and desire. You were the darkness. The darkness was you. And in a twisted way, you felt alive.
But you weren’t really alive. You were dying. You were already dead. Dying even more. A corpse rotting. Decaying. And you loved it? You only felt alive because the darkness wanted you to feel alive. It was tricking you to open yourself up to it. Until that moment when you finally pull the trigger. Until that moment when you finally fly off a skyscraper. Until that moment when you finally drive your car towards the highway barriers at 140kph. Until that moment when the whole of the darkness is your cells, finally consuming the only soul you have.
That’s not a life you want to live. Even if the mere thought of slipping back into its deceptively loving arms seems appealing, seems right, it’s not.
When you start missing the characters you created while under the intoxicating spell of the darkness, flirt with them a little. Keep it strictly at that. Do more and you’ll slip back into the ever so deepening abyss. When you start to long for the feeling, the high, you get when your eyes turn black, remember that your eyes aren’t the only ones that turn black. Use what you have learned while you were living with the darkness. The good things. You know what those are. You’re intelligent enough to comprehend those. Then apply it to your new pair of your eyes. Integrate it with your current brain that’s in repair.
Once you’ve mastered that, stare at that blank white wall again. Read your lists and dreams. Marvel at the life you painted. Then step out of that room. You’ll see that your lists and dreams have come true. That life that you painted has happened.