I sometimes wonder where I could be had I not lit a match and set it all on fire. What would my life look like had I stayed and swept up the dirt that had become caked onto the floor, an endless task it was, lying to myself about my own happiness.

Change is hard, frightening even. But what if you don’t set out on the path of being honest with yourself? How does one become a better person? How would you realize where the cracks are if you’ve decided to pretend they don’t exist?

Peace. It’s all I really needed to become who I am. It’s as if the quake that created all that rubble destroyed a wall I had built. One that protected me from feeling. I can’t imagine picking up the bricks to put them back together. I like it here in the open, where I am me.

Love didn’t evade me; it found me in a form I never expected. Love, like when I look at my children. Love from the women I’ve made my family. And love, from a man who met me here, where I am.

I sit here in this armchair, one I’ve cried so many nights in, and find myself grateful. Grateful it all fell apart, grateful I became lost, grateful I found madness, and in turn found myself.

What’s next, I wonder? I hope it includes the ones I love, with one of them finally being me.