Clandestine Confessions

I was packing my suitcase for my road trip when it hit me.
The overwhelming realization that the last time I packed for this length of time was seven and a half years ago.
Traveling north to a place to get my life back.
And here I am embarking on a trip to make the most of that life I valiantly fought with blood and tears to reclaim.
–
I kneeled on my kitchen floor and wept.
In a deep gratitude and joy.
To be here.
To be alive.
To be standing strong.
–
I was told I was chronic.
“The most you will ever do is stabilize.”
I never could comprehend the gall of professionals to speak such a fate to someone.
To provide a hopeless diagnosis and then expect the person to keep fighting.
For what?
The disappointing promise of a life half lived?
For a woman who knew her purpose was to give away the abundant life in her, I would have rather succumb to death.
–
People tell me I am too headstrong.
But they fail to realize that stubbornness is what kept my heart beating.
Because I refused to bow to the doom filled future they proclaimed over me.
I rejected their final verdict.
I resisted their attempt to decide how I would spend the remainder of my existence.
I may preach to live in the yes, but I have learned when it is necessary to shout no.
And for that, this redemptive life I now claim.
–
I get a lot of pushback for how vocal I am about my story.
And so be it. I stopped caring a long time ago.
I do not do it for them.
I heal loudly to silence the voices telling those in the darkness this is the best it will ever get.
Because it is a lie.
A bold faced, destructive, hope robbing lie.
And may my life be ever growing evidence of that.
May all that I do be a reflection of the promise that it does get better.
You will live again.
This I know.