Clandestine Confessions

“Is it hard to do it?” he asked, standing with his back against the windowsill in my bedroom. The desk, now upright, in front of him. We were both blissfully ignoring the fact it kept moving back down on its own – mutually agreeing it was a tomorrow issue for future J to handle.

The rest of the night would be for us to talk.

He elaborated on the question.

“I mean, to go back to that place and write all of this? The memories are intense, and you write it so vividly. Are you holding up okay…mentally and emotionally?”

He is the only one who has asked.

Which made me wonder if he saw something I have been trying to hide from the rest of the world; if he could sense my mind has been fractured again…

–

“How do I want to answer this?” I asked rhetorically.

It scared me how painfully a wound opened back up in this moment…the fear that if I say what is true, if I say where I really am, I will never be chosen. I will never be wanted.

It was part of the lie I lived as in 2020-2021; having covered up the ferocity of my declining mental health in order to be deemed worthy of love…

Spoiler alert: it did not work – not in making that person “pick” me nor in moving me forward in my healing.

I did not want to bleed out onto him tonight. It was unfair to keep punishing him for pain he never inflicted. He was not the one who held the knife, and therefore, he should not be convicted as such.

He deserves better…

“Share whatever you feel comfortable speaking,” he said.

“It does not come without struggle. I will admit to that.”

With that first confession, I took a deep breath and looked to his countenance to verify if it was safe to continue.

Our eyes locked.

Permission was granted.

“I have to check in with myself and make sure to take breaks when I feel my mind getting pulled back. Which it does…I knew it would. How far back is always the gamble I take.”

He allowed the space for my proceeding silence.

“It is even riskier if I try writing around pivotal time periods and anniversaries of certain events, like this time of year. But the worst part is that this is also when the memories are most clear, so it is the ideal time as a writer to release it all. But I have to ask myself…at what cost..?”

“Proud of you for knowing to question that.”

“The real issue comes if I stay back there too long and do not return soon enough. Because no matter how much time has passed, that is still my brain’s default. It is still hard wired to call that home.”

That is the part I hate to admit.

How quickly I can still identify with the disordered self.

–

“In the end,” I continue on. “I know I will be okay. I know I will always return. My why keeps me coming back to truth. If all of this is to change the life of one person I would do it all again a thousand times over.”

With that last sentence his eyes got a bit wider. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly but enough for me to notice he was not expecting me to make such a bold claim. He was clearly intrigued.

“That seems like a lot of work, especially considering how dark things became,” he said.

He was not at all wrong in that assessment. It would indeed be a lot. It would absolutely seem absurd to do it all again given the depth of suffering I reached and how intimately I came to know death.

But faith will forever defy logic…

–

“Here is the theory I live by…” I settled my body into a more comfortable position on the bed; legs crisscrossed, elbows resting on the knees, facing him directly. My body language now reflecting how passionately I felt about this truth that I know…how much more at ease I felt speaking from a place of purpose, not from the pain.

“I live with the knowing that the one person I impact could be the one that impacts the lives of thousands. So, whether I am the one who reaches the one or the one who reaches the thousands, the butterfly effect will be felt. It will all be worth it. No matter what.”

“Hmmm…I like that perspective…a lot. Maybe…”

His voice paused. He glanced down at the floor as he made a circle on the carpet with his foot and then looked back up at me. His smile slowly formed but softer than his normal grin. In fact, his whole expression was quieter than usual…not in a pensive way, but in a way that spoke peace. It was as if something within him just “clicked”.

–

“Perhaps you are my one,” he said gently.

And perhaps he is catching on…