Writing is my beacon of light

I lived in the darkness for many years.  I feared the shadows that outlined me, tracing me with its denseness.  I walked around in it, I crawled within it, searching its walls, its corners.  I felt something else must exist.  I didn't know what.  Eventhough I couldn't see, I could feel, I was aware of it.  I gathered, in my writing, small tidbits, trinkets, from my lips and hands.  It was mixed up in the ingredients of pain, fear, rage and deep loneliness. And a sadness that was so deep it filled my soul with a vile , rancid water until it threatened to choke me.  I thought I was dead. 

Disassociation.  The loneliness, living in, but not being a part,  of the world.  The feeling of being outside, on the outskirts of life as it moves around you.  Living unseen, unheard, unable to touch or be touched, unable to love or be loved.  Darkness makes you numb.  It blinds you.  You don't see life going by you.  But there is light, glorious light.  I always knew I'd grow from the darkness and find that light.  It's always been there, I just needed the courage to seek it.  I have that now.  I am awake and crawling, walking, out of the darkness.