Self destructing and living to tell the tale.

I will be the first to admit that I am an expert at hurling myself into dangerous situations, especially when it puts my sanity or emotional welfare on the line. It's one of the many quirks I have acquired over two decades of life. I'm a firm believer in taking risks and eliminating the "what if" dilemma as much as humanly possible. Although I have become rather proficient in choosing the "right" battles, I don't exactly have it down to a science. For the most part, I know when to put up a fight and when to back down and admit that it just isn't worth it. However, in either case, I'm usually not great at saving myself simultaneously. On the contrary, I'm quite good at haphazardly causing myself pain. I'm a self-proclaimed masochist. I'm not an impulsive person and I know very few people who might describe me in that way. But I am a passionate person. And this is the sparkling attribute that gets me into trouble nine times out of ten.

I'm the "all or nothing" type. I don't believe in doing things halfway or settling for mediocre, or really anything less than extraordinary. I work hard for my dreams and even harder to keep the ones that have already come true. I don't fall in love often, but when I do, I fall harder and deeper and more thoroughly than is probably advisable to my health. However, this predicament then plots me at the exact opposite end of the spectrum as well. I fall apart precisely the same way: harder, deeper, and more thoroughly than should be physically possible. And the worst part of all of this is that I'm usually the one to drive myself to this point of ridiculously unreasonable destruction.

It was rather recently that I found myself caught in the midst of another one of my own absolutist webs. It was frightening, to say the least. I existed in a very dark place within myself for a very long time. For an indistinguishable expanse of time, I lost myself. Not completely, but just close enough to the point of destruction where I constantly felt as though I was drowning. The past few years have been rocky. So much has changed and I, in turn, have changed with it all. I've lost people close to me, I've had my heart broken repeatedly, I've sacrificed myself on more occasions than I care to quantify, and I've allowed myself to fall into traps I swore I was too smart to fall into. There are a handful of people I could place the blame on, but it's time to be an adult and take responsibility for my own misguided behavior. With that being said, no one, and I mean absolutely no one, is to blame for all of these downfalls but myself. I made these mistakes because I was, and am, naive. I thought that I knew better, that I was wiser and a more seasoned human being than I actually was. I trusted people that I shouldn't have. I believed words that had no weight or truthfulness at their core. I got too close to people I should have stayed far, far away from. I forgot who I was. I forgot to remember my faith, my beliefs, and the promises that come along with that. I forgot what was important. And then I fell apart.

I tell you all of these things not to complain (although, it does sound a lot like complaining), but to offer up myself as a living testament of someone who has fallen apart so absolutely and somehow still managed to pick herself up and put the shambles of a person she had become back together. This is one of the principal reasons I write at all. I write what I know, what I have experienced firsthand, and what I feel could possibly be beneficial to someone who may stumble upon it. This time, it's a story of recovery.

Losing yourself is terrifying. Self destructing like I did is certainly not something that I would ever classify as "fun." But I think it's important to go through things like that. I think we need those dark times in our lives because we're human, and therefore stubborn. We need to fall down sometimes in order to realize that we can't do it all on our own. We need to be humbled every once in a while. As much as it hurts and as scary as it is while you're in the middle of the storm, if you're able to stay afloat long enough to feel the calm, it somehow makes it all worthwhile. There's a purpose behind the trials we endure. Sometimes we just have to be patient and wait for those purposes to make themselves evident. But no matter what, we gain something at the end of all of it. We learn, we heal, we grow, and we ultimately change. We come to terms, we learn to appreciate all the things that go right, and we keep going. It's essentially the cycle of life.

I've been through a raging fire or two in my lifetime and I have no doubt that I'll have to battle my way through a few more before my time is done. I don't know when they will come or what they will be characterized by, but of a few things I am absolutely sure. I'm sure it will be difficult. I'm sure it will feel like an eternity while I'm in the middle of it. I'm sure it will leave me with scars that will never completely fade. And I am sure that it will be worth it. We're thrown in the middle of storms, not to be punished or destroyed, but to be strengthened and bettered when all is said and done.

So now I can stand here, in one piece, and admit that I've made mistakes and admit that I was wrong, truthfully, hopelessly wrong. And confess that I wouldn't take any of it back. If given the chance, I wouldn't ask for a "do over" because everything I have done, both good and bad, has brought me here to this point. It's a place of contentment and acceptance. It's the place that I've been searching so desperately for all this time. I can breathe here. It's safe. I'm happy. I've been waiting a long time to be able to say that. It's time to move on now. And I'm finally ready to do just that.