The Bluest of Clear Skies

Imagine you're flying an airplane.  Passing through a cloud (and I don't mean one of those piddly little 'looks-like-a-giraffe' type clouds either, but a miles-deep, vista spanning sea of a fuckin' cloud).  Looking back, you can't remember how it was you came to pass into the cloud, or how long it's been since you last had a lick of visibility.  The turbulence is so frequent and predictable that even the most jarring of bumps doesn't cause you to stir, and the amped up whirring of the plane's engine sounds a soothing lullaby to your pressure-popped ears.  Got it?  Good!  Now you know where I've been for the about the last 5 years...

That said, I have since emerged from the fluffy white mass... but only just in time to (potentially) avoid hitting the top of a mountain I should've seen coming.  And thank God, too.  Because if I hadn't realized that mountain was there, I'd have lost at least the better half of who I am.  But on the night before Christmas, I was given a gift.  A chance.  It may be my last, but it's all I can ask for at this point.  I know now: had I been flying just a little bit higher these past few years... trying just a little bit harder... I'd be sailing right over obstacles like this!  Above the fog and through the clearest and bluest of skies!  I know because I can now see beyond the mountain.  And for the first time in all my years, I can truly see beyond myself.  I just hope and pray that it's not too late for me to pull out of this one!