My darkness

Sometimes I think I've become too comfortable with sadness. I wear it around my neck, like a winter coat to keep me warm.
How is it that sorrow has become my comfort, my home? I am afraid to move forward, I am afraid to venture into the uncharted territory that is happiness.
Contentment is just in reach. If I stretched my fingers far enough, I could grasp it and pull it close. Instead I cling to my darkness because it is familiar to me.

Why am I afraid of the light?