It’s all dark. Are my eyes open or closed? In the murk, I cannot tell the difference. The air is cold on my face, silence mitigated by the hiss of the background movement of others. A cough. A clatter of something on a wooden desk. The lifting of a cup. The scratching of a pen on paper. I can sense them, but not see them. My fellow travellers. My friends?

If there is a light out of this place, the lamp is only held high by the memories of those friends who have gone before me. I am the lost soul, with an (innocent?) belief that I know the exit from this place. Perhaps the reality of the first step will cast me into a black hole, an endless pit below me which I cannot see. Falling for ever, my dragons whispering in my ears… they were right. What was I thinking? There is no space for me in this world.

I know this journey well. I walk a solitary path and have done all my life. Stepping out into the unknown, fighting adversity and disbelief. The fears of others driving me to keep moving forward. Who am I without the fight?

Whether it being disabled, I have found my firm footing with feet unstable. Whether it being gay, I have found acceptance in an (ancient) world of disgust. Whether it being a therapist, I have solidity in a world of others “how can do you that?” and “You? Don’t you get too involved?”. Whether it be a tutor… I bring my wobbly, unstable, messy, different self to the space.

I hear the call of hope, through the shouts of dissent. Is the call real, or the trickery of dissent?

My voice is a whisper. I am a hermit, the walls of the cave echoing the darkness of my (naive?) belief.

Help me find words to speak of this journey, not as a guru, but as a friend.