On January 9, 2013, I wrote a post titled “Back to Black”. That post can be read here.
There’s nothing so insidious but the disease that keeps telling people they need pain to be creative. I believed that lie for too long. I basked in this misery for years. And for what result? I lost my mind. Over a year ago, I was full of shit. I was self-centered, angry, belligerent at the world and at myself. I thought I knew my stuff. I thought I was a real artist because I suffered.
The truth is: pain doesn’t lead anywhere but straight into a wall of complete self-destruction. I know that feeling, when you have the world inside your little hands, and all you think about is how fast you can crush it. I’m not disgusted by my words, because they remain a memory of a time where I wasn’t myself. But I’m awake. I am diligent and cautious – and I know when to stop with the bullcrap.
Because these words were nothing but a cry for help. And I didn’t know at the time I needed that help. Today I look back and want to hold my own hand, give myself a pat on the back for being brave and finally coming out of the darkness.
That kind of pain doesn’t produce beauty. I realize my behavior hurt many, but mostly it hurt me.
I take this moment to remember the ugliness of a mind that twisted in all the wrong directions. I’m grateful for this day, this minute, and all the good in the world, all the good I found on my journey to recovery.
I can’t forget the darkness, but I’m not controlled by it anymore. My gift is love, patience, acceptance and understanding. No more hiding behind a wall of smoke. I’m real. I’m whole. I’m here.