There are ten bags of trash on my sidewalk today. I am chucking literal and metaphorical shit out the door. Again.
I've come to the point where I can't believe in my own transformation because I've made the effort so many times before. How many times have I shucked off the excess only to gather it around me again more quickly than I could have imagined?
Something feels different this time but I am quick to downplay the significance. I am tired of disappointing myself. I am tired of letting down the people who dare to have faith in me.
My house has been such a catastrophic mess that the last week has been soaked in bleach and loss. I've cleaned messes that I can't even tell you about. I've let go of accumulated clutter I've collected for years, sentimental perhaps, but excessive and unnecessary.
I have finally come to that breaking point where I must remake myself or die. I know that sounds dramatic. I can't go on in the way I've been; there needs to be a fundamental shift. My default setting seems to be self-destruction and someday I will know why that is. Not right now. Right now I need to get things together, for me, for my babies, for everyone who loves me. Self-destruction is an indulgence I can't afford. Through the diligent practice of building (rather than destroying) I may discover why I have always been so driven toward self-sabotage. That is the only way I will ever find the answer.
I have done this before. I have been on the brink before. Maybe not this particular cliff in this specific location, but I have been close enough to the precipice of so many cliffs that I know what it takes to direct myself back to safe ground. I have done this before and I know I am capable.
Every time you come to a cliff it seems like the steepest, the most treacherous, the most irresistible. That's just perspective. This cliff is no different than others I have already conquered. It is just a cliff; the only thing I need to do is walk in the right direction.