I am feeling very full of myself lately. Not because of what I have accomplished at this point in my life, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t a lot, but more so because of who I am as a person. Now this post may shatter what’s left of my credibility as a “good person” and it may laugh in the face of humility as it has been defined, but f**k it. I am great. I am assured of that, in this particular moment in time, and I’m hanging on to it for all of those nights that I cried myself to sleep, all those times when my heart was hurting so badly that I thought of taking my own life, and the only thing holding me back was my daughter, and the fact that in exterminating myself, I would possibly cement her fate and she would be haunted by my ghost, among other things. I raise my fist in victory for all those times when I had so much to say, and no one to say it to. I am victorious over statistics, victorious over stereotypes, and victorious over the bullshit that seems to follow some people I know, around like well trained dogs.
A good friend told me yesterday that I seemed more self assured, and that he was glad to see that, because he had tried relatively unsuccessfully to convince me of that very same fact. I told him, that self-assuredness had to come from my self, not from someone else. As noble as his words were, it was my own actions that have thus far lifted me up out of the ruin of my own mistakes. My own hard work that has produced tangible evidence that I so desperately needed to prove to myself that I am a productive member of society and worth the air that I breathe. And now I get to reap the benefits and revel in the hard work that it will take to keep myself out of that same valley of the shadow of death.