Hiding on the Other Side of Fear

I rarely write about my present life. That’s as interesting as watching a dildo dry. Today, I will write a prologue for a book, take the dog for a walk around the estuary, and steal some lasagne from my neighbour’s fridge because she sent delicious food smells into the air yesterday that made me drool. My name is The Accidental Sub, eater of the pasta of the North, loyal servant to the true emperor, Mozzarella, slave to yummy food scents. And I will have my vengeance in this life or the next.

This is what my life is today: I work. I hike. I visit friends. I read. I write. And this is heaven to me. I’ve spent years building the kind of life I want, and now I have it. It took some time and plenty of hope. I had to fly in the face of my own fear, and each time I managed it, life gave me a new gift.

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I’m happy. I’ve been happy for years. Fifteen years ago, I had to fight my way out of bed each morning because the day that followed was full of trauma. Today, I feel excited when I open my eyes at 4 am because I can’t wait to get back to my life.

Abuse has a cycle, but so does recovery. Horror ends. Pain ends, and the other side of fear is where happiness begins. I believe this because I’ve seen it, not only in my own life, but that of the patients who were treated with me 10 years ago. I’ve watched desperate people conquer their worst challenges and become entirely new.

I hesitate to write something that sounds this self-congratulatory, but I want to say it anyway so you know that hope is a perfectly logical approach to depression and trauma. If I had died 12 years ago as I intended, I would have missed what life is really for: this much beauty and love. I say this because you can find it too. It’s hiding all the way on the other side of your fear.

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