Clandestine Confessions

There exists a video from March 2021 of me in an oversized sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants.

Dancing and singing to Matchbox Twenty in my living room.

The image I curated for the world to see that evening was intentional, methodical, deceptive…

Display the fictitious woman seemingly full of life and joy to throw everyone off the scent of the happenings behind the scenes.

You saw the calm.

But I was in the chaos…

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An ex boyfriend standing in front of me at the stove making his dinner…still cohabitating (peacefully) 4 months post break up.

Another ex boyfriend texting me incessantly wondering where I was…my response times getting longer after abruptly fleeing Pennsylvania a couple weeks prior.

The clock displaying 8:30pm but only black coffee in my stomach…food once again a privilege only to be consumed if I deemed myself worthy.

My right arm sleeve covering up the damage done by the work of my own hand…a plea to the feelings to flee after a traumatic incident.

The bloodshot eyes from nights with no sleep and tears with no reprieve…tormented by a mind compensating for the pain of the heart.

A laptop on the counter opened to a blank document…the cursor flashing in the same spot for days on end.

The little blue pills hidden in my bathroom cabinet…the box to be missing two within the next hour.

A shattered heart. A wounded body. A battle worn mind.

All equating to the certainty that I was not going to get out of this one alive.

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“But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell. I know, right now you can’t tell…”

It was a deliberate song choice – a clue left behind for anyone paying attention.

The lyrics leaving my mouth speaking what I could not yet reveal.

And the smile that spoke them disguising the truth they held.

The same charade I would display for the next two months.

To the day.

Before those lips would speak a hello that would radically course correct my life.

Leading me away from death.

And walking me home to life.

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I am sure you can imagine the emotions that flooded my body while at the Matchbox Twenty concert a few months ago.

A full circle moment, the mountains its backdrop.

The smile…genuine, unhindered…permanently on my face the whole evening.

It was during the drive home when passing by the same spot that captivated my heart the first time driving here in August 2021 when it all released out of me…

The bliss, the gratitude, the peace, the understanding.

Finding solace in the knowing the J standing in her living room in Fairfax, Virginia – defeated, scarred, scared, and alone – existed for the J standing at a concert venue in Salt Lake City, Utah to be made real.

For her to live an abundantly full, breathtakingly beautiful life.

Every ounce of her tragedy transformed, the pain meeting its purpose.

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If there was no heartbreak, if there was the getting of what I wanted, if there was being the “chosen” one then there would never have been the past two years.

No cross country road trip or concerts or purpose filled job.

None of the people who have made me better or the belly aching, tear inducing laughter or the writings I have released.

None of the countless yeses I have spoken that not only made unforgettable memories but also made my healing.

No love or redemption or belonging.

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I was convinced standing in that living room that I could not live without all I was losing.

Clinging to it all so tightly that I was suffocating my own self.

But funny enough, I have come to find out it was actually life without all those things that I could not have survived without.

To surrender was to live.

And my goodness am I alive…