To Stumbling In The Dark (first letter)

I’ve chosen you more than once.  This is not to say I’ve abandoned free will or some semblance of reason in these moments of decision. You’ve given me some hope when all other options have seemed oppressive (and certainly not my own).
I’d rather fight my fear than swallow my pride. This is not as noble (or perhaps as retarded) as it might seem, for I’m always longing for discovery. There is some pleasure in it, yes, and also more than a little quiet desperation.
You offer the new, the unknown, the possibility of something not yet comprehended within the morphology of things as they are or appear to be. There’s no need to panic. After all, pain and death also wait in broad daylight. Sometimes they sit visibly upon the faces of the living, smothering them over the horrible familiarity of years.
I would rather struggle — even within myself — even without the means to see what I am doing or what it is I will be confronting. Safety must be earned instead of accepted. How else does one attempt to know one’s self?
I know the brute forces of reality are indifferent to these unwittingly self-absorbed quests of mine. The parasites of darkness have free reign. A humanitarian aid worker will be raped to death on the job. A country rube will become an addict after one night in the city. A young idealist will be forced to eat shit until broken.
Whatever you do, don’t run to the light (that’s what I think to myself anyway). There’s no way of knowing what’s behind it. It’s like the dark, but with an essential difference: the light, in these instances, is always sentient and usually self-interested.
I would rather embrace you and retain my will. Private and public space cannot configure or present themselves against you. Even the departments of time lose their organizational powers.
Are you the cost of Freedom?