Clandestine Confessions

My birthdays have a track record for being notoriously painful.
Always felt more like I should be grieving than celebrating.
To be begging to die while living in a day that marked another year of life was mentally torturous.
Seemed like the world was mocking me.
Five of my birthdays were spent in treatment.
The relapse starting always at the same time every year to line up with a death before February.
Other years were spent half alive, frozen in a state of fear over the thought of having to do this again for another 365 days – intentionally isolating to not have to recognize what this day signified.
Only showing my face to blow out the candles of my cake.
Which I would then proceed to watch everyone else eat.
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As my 30th birthday approached two years ago, I held great hope this decade would change the plot line.
And I have to be honest, nothing logically pointed to this being the case.
It was a delusional desire.
One that never came to pass…
I, instead, would live out one of the worst days of my life.
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I remember so vividly sitting in my car in a darkened grocery store parking lot, the snow slowly falling, begging God to make it all make sense.
Having just been squeezed into someone’s “busy” schedule; given an allotted fifteen minutes to do all I could to fight to be chosen – prove my worth, give almost all of myself to him, show him I could be everything he wanted.
I prayed it was all a decoy, that he really wasn’t going to go see her right after.
That he actually was going to be cooking me the dinner for which he was buying ingredients.
That he finally was going to tell me it was me he wanted.
All I asked for months prior for my birthday was dinner with him – and then he told me the day before he had made plans but could meet me right before.
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I was desperate to be chosen – my yes to meet up spoken from that place of despair.
I hold regret for how many times I chose to give that precious word to a situation that abused it…
–
My uncle took me out to dinner right after I returned.
To my knowledge, he had no inkling of all that was unfolding, but yet was still trying so hard to make that day something special for me.
Which always left me wondering if he did sense there was more to the story of my frequent presence there.
But was yielding his questions until I was ready to talk about it.
His name was casually brought up over dinner…and I sat there and still defended it, speaking highly of it.
Even after all that just happened…
(I have a reputation of being loyal to what is killing me.)
–
I remember being extremely guarded in my conversations throughout the dinner, afraid one wrong word would lead me into a breakdown.
I was living right at the edge…
A part of me always one second away from screaming my truth to someone, anyone.
To no longer be carrying the weight of a secret wrapped in shame.
But it would not be until another month and a half that I would ever release the words fear held hostage.
–
The waiter singing happy birthday as a slice of carrot cake was placed in front of me was almost my demise.
These eyes on me but not the right ones.
But the right ones now the wrong ones – no longer seeing me like they once did.
Vision I trusted now stripping me of all dignity.
And while he was now filled that night by my low self-worth, that low self worth now had me emptied.
A shell of myself staring at this piece of cake…
Questioning why I kept choosing this path. Questioning how anyone could celebrate my existence, who I had become.
–
It would not be until that night, while sitting in the darkness, of the living room and my soul, that I would let myself feel it.
Removing the weapon stabbed into my heart.
Now unable to stop all that was flowing out of the wound.
The sorrow, the grief, the fear, the regret.
And I wept from such a deep place of identity shattering pain, muffling the noise with the blanket to not wake anyone.
While still simultaneously looking at my phone every 30 seconds – waiting for it to light up with his name.
Which it never would…
Not until I was convenient for his life again.
And I inevitably would be two days later – once again giving away a yes to the building of a life that was unrecognizable.
A life that was a violation to the truth in me.
–
The trauma of this day had me actively planning for redemption as my 31st came closer this February.
I refused to spend another birthday trapped in the memories, grieving all that never was, a passive participant in my own life.
I committed to spending it reconstructing my future – to one that matched my heart, aligned with my authenticity, and challenged my dreams.
And there is only one place I saw that happening.
Only one place that profoundly captivated my spirit with its abundant life and beauty.
Utah…