It took me decades, decades, to slowly accept what I became. It was a gradual process—there was no clear revelation—and it didn't help that most people to whom I opened my true nature grew as pale as I am with fear. But one just couldn't hate themselves forever. Humans could hate themselves until they die; I had no desire to get killed, and enough power to avoid it.
I wasn't able to tell the exact moment this ache in my soul disappeared, but one day I found it gone, and realised that there was more in the world that I let myself see—and more in me, too. I had powers and talent for using them, but never let myself develop it truly. The entire world was here for me to see, except for the parts I would have to travel on a ship to. (let's just say that ships invoke some terrible memories in me, and stop at that here. I'd be happy to tell that story another time, but I already distracted myself here), but I never left even my country.
