From my journal — March 3, 2026
No more caveats. No more modifiers.
I am here.
At the place he dreamt to be.
I was thinking about him.
How might he be feeling in this moment?
What would it feel like to try to find words to explain
That when
When it felt impossible
When it felt there was no way out
When there was obviously no route to happiness.
And in all of those times
When he felt forever lost
With no path to being himself.
That he was wrong.
That when
He was certain.
Certain he would never escape.
Certain that he could not act.
Certain there was no way to be happy.
That the cost of escape would be too high
That the fighting and the anger would be unavoidable
That the pain and resentment would linger forever.
He was certain.
And he was wrong.
That when
He knew.
Knew that the black pit of fear and anger
That he avoided looking at for years
Was impossible to see inside.
He knew deep in his bones that he would continue
To walk around it
In circles
For the rest of his life.
It was a fundamental truth.
It was so deep and thick and sticky
He would never truly escape its gravity
Nor penetrate its depths with any light of hope.
He knew.
He was wrong.
I do not know if words exist that could have changed his mind.
I do know that experiences exist that prove him wrong.
I know because those experiences are now my past
And I stand here today
Looking in the mirror
Watching a self I love
Writing these words
With the certain knowledge
That he was wrong.
His future is my present
And this present is my truth.
I am here.
And the future is now mine.