The switch at the top of the stairs

I've been told a few times now that I can write - well - that I articulate thought well in words... So, is that writing or just being able to ramble in apparently a semi-intelligent way when given the time to proof read? Doesn't matter I suppose. What I really think matters is ones ability to make sense of their own thoughts, if that is even possible -  and so without further ado;

Dark places... We all have them. They might be memories, or skeletons, or shadows of shadows of our past, broken hearts, crushed souls or even just plain good old self loathing, but I'm sure we all have them. You know what I'm talking about. It's that place your mind wanders to when for whatever reason you find yourself in a thought of melancholy despair, the analytical self diagnosis of emotion, or just a plain old culmination of self pity mixed with self loathing and a dash of anxiety all rolled into too many drinks or not enough self love. Whatever the reason we go there from time to time - in my case usually after I've drank enough, or stressed enough or hurt enough to just stop fighting and start analyzing why. Why me, why like this, and why now?

I find myself once and awhile slipping into the darkness. It's like everything that is good has a twin - dark and distant that needs to slip into focus once and awhile to remind me that for everything I've got - it comes at a cost. In some cases the cost was miniscule. It was time, or pain or effort. All small things, especially after you've done them. Think about that; Ever work out or run or whatever and hate every second of it? Loath and despise the very moment you started to the moment it ends? But give it a bit of time, recover from it and then look back? Usually it's with some self pride of completion and almost never do you regret the effort it took after the fact... I've almost never regretted working out or running an hour after I did it. I'm usually more then grateful. Yet, despite knowing that - I still procrastinate some days on working out or getting changed to go for that run... Strange if you think about it.

I carry large amounts of self loathing and guilt when I look back. I would like to think that almost everyone does - but I really don't believe it. I've done my fair share of damage- no hiding it. No denying that my wake of destruction stretches back well before I was even in possession of a drivers licence. So then what? Dwell in it, think on it? Loath and despair what makes me, me? Yup - some days for sure. The salvation to this darkness - to this despair, for me anyway, comes from outside. Yes I know - look inwards and ye shall find the answer - blah blah blah - or some shit like that. Whatever... Sure - I love me - as much as the next person loves themselves I suppose - maybe a bit less as perhaps some of my past decisions might have carried more consequences' then others decisions at times - but for the most part I don't hate me.  My point being that it took an outside force to remind me that I'm not all evil, not all taking, all destroying all world crushing like I've felt some days. It took someone outside looking in, listening and watching and experiencing me and my thoughts - the ones I share anyway - to remind me there is far more good in me then I sometimes realize. Don't get crazy now - I'm not interested in saving the world or anything, I'm just saying I'm not as horrible as I sometimes think of myself. The most darkest parts of my thoughts always wash away when I take a moment and think about you. Not about what you say or said, or did or didn't do, but just you. When I think about how my life changed when you came into it, how it changed when you're near and how it continues to change whenever you're in my thoughts. You are my savior. My beacon to the light, the light switch when I run up the stairs from the dark basement.

So I say unto you - thank you. Thanks for reminding me, thanks for the light switch, and thanks for seeing in me what I many times forget to see myself.