The Death of Dependence

I want everyone to say no to my face, to refuse me help, to withhold their kindness. I want them to push me away, to be ashamed to call me their kin, their friend, or their neighbor.

I want to be humiliated at every doorstep. I want them to think the worst of me, and then think even worse. I want almost nothing—just one person beside me. Or nothing at all.

Yet beneath all these refusals, I know. I know I will be fine. I know I will survive. I know I can stand on my own two feet. I know this darkness will break, and I will rise. I know the Creator walks with me, and He will protect me, come what may.

Nothing troubles me anymore. When someone threatens to abandon me, or warns me I'll be cast out, or frightens me with hunger and thirst—nothing stirs within me. I no longer fear fear itself, or hatred, or pain, or solitude. I am becoming someone else. It is as though a voice inside me says: there is nothing to dread. You will be well. Even in the hardest moments... you will be far better than well.

Does extreme suffering turn some people hollow like this? I am neither powerful nor wealthy—I know only this much: when the core of a person hardens, nothing from outside can break it anymore or make it afraid. Life requires many stumbles on the road. It demands that we shatter, again and again. We must see through the faces of those we thought were close. These trials simplify the math of survival. Now I know how to keep myself happy without needing anyone's approval.