Sometimes it feels like months go without the scent of change wafting in the air, without any reason to dream that things could be better… and then in a moment, everything changes. In two weeks, everything has changed. I’m hoping and praying that this change will be a lasting change, that it is not an ill-founded hope that shall be shattered on the rocks like so many of the changes I’ve gone through in the past. I’m hoping that I stand at the threshold of a different existence, where things start to come together and life begins to make just a little bit of sense. I’m frightened, though, because it seems like every time change does make its appearance, it is an illusion—and when one tastes the sweet nectar of deliverance, only to have it taken away in a heartbeat, it is the most excruciating pain imaginable. It feels as if your heart ventricles are filled with battery acid, smothered in gasoline, and then lit on fire and left to burn in the wastelands of the vacuums of space. Perhaps I am exaggerating; yes, I do believe I am. All I know is that the last two weeks have been wonderful. I have felt at peace, been joyful, and genuine depression has been a mere memory.

Why am I so frightened? I’ve always been so brave when it comes to these things. But now I find myself literally scared. Is it because there’s so much to lose? Is it because I’ve been hurt so many times in the past? Is it because I just think I am too unlovable, too revolting, too despicable? Or is it just because I am so ashamed of my past that I don’t think that God will ever—could ever—grant me the desires of my heart (my own past stares me down, and sometimes I feel as if God is shaking His head and thinking, “I can never bless someone like you. You’re too rotten.”)? I can’t really tell you why. All I know is that I find myself between a rock and a hard place: dreaming of a tangible future, but wondering if it will ever be a reality or if it’s just destined to be a dream forever.