Clandestine Confessions

9:32pm.
A quick tap on my phone revealed this indicator that I was close to being able to say I endured another day.
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Endure (verb); to suffer patiently, to experience and deal with something that is painful or unpleasant without giving up.
Synonyms: bear, tolerate, withstand, face up to
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There are countless other words I could have placed in that sentence to change its tone. To paint a prettier picture for you of my current reality.
Guaranteed if you were to go back and switch out “endured” with “thrived through” your mind would have curated a much different image of my mental state.
Hopeful. Positive. Happy. Peaceful.
A woman out here living her best life free and abundantly alive.
Truthfully, it is one of the many aspects to language I love…how one swap or addition of a word can significantly alter the direction of a story.
It adds an intense intentionality when I write.
And for those paying attention to my careful composition, my deliberate selection of words in my writing (however sparse it has been) over the past year, what I will reveal in my next couple of sentences will come as no surprise.
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The battle with my existence has been gaining momentum.
And the coping mechanisms used in a futile effort to claim victory over the fight have intensified with it.
Last night it had reached a peak I was not too certain I could come down from alive.
I have been trying excruciatingly hard to walk out of this one as physically unmarked as possible.
All signs were pointing to that being an impracticality, another white flag I would have to wave to surrender my authenticity, to give up fully to the darkness the version of me aching to feel the light again.
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“God, you must give me something to hold on for. Or give me permission to tap out. Make a choice. Because I cannot and will not do this much longer. Either let me go or let me get a glimpse of the need to live.”
A quick unfiltered prayer uttered before I turned a minuet portion of my attention back to the self-help podcast playing on my laptop.
Advice being spoken but not heard by my stubborn mind.
Its focus on every other distraction it can think of to entertain…my body, work, tomorrow’s worries, yesterday’s mistakes, food, the clothes I need to put away, the floor I need to clean, the pictures I need to hang, the words I need to write, the loneliness suffocating me….
It is the constant background noise in every moment of my life.
All thoughts running at the same time. Never with a destination. Never with a resolve. Existing to keep away one of my biggest fears…silence.
I will avoid it even at the expense of my sanity.
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I felt it before I saw it.
The vibration of my phone, still on silent from the workday, pulled my gaze to my left.
Half covered by the blanket fully covering me on my bed, the screen illuminated with his name.
It still feels surreal seeing it appear.
It had been about a month since we reconnected after 15 years.
However, from that first hello it was as if no time had passed.
The only indicator being a deeper voice coming through my phone.
He was exactly how I pictured him to be at 32.
His personality. His pursuit of his passions. His career. His taste in music. His humor.
The tears that had been my normal found a new source…laughter.
He confirmed my authentic heart does indeed have a type.
It was funny how his successor texted while I was on the call with him….
The butterflies of my teenage self collided with those of today.
And oh how I wished I had the ability to store them in a jar…to pull down from my shelf on the days of darkness as a reminder that this life is nothing short of beautiful.
Magical.
Brilliant.
I had anticipated that would be the one and only call.
But here we were again.
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9:34pm.
I have been living in a seemingly endless “not yet” from God so the lack of delay in His response time on this one shocked me into a state of disbelief.
That combined with the fact it was 11:34pm his time made this one of the most unexpected calls I could have received.
A hope of my heart? Yes. Always. That little piece of me perpetually lives in delusion.
But a possibility to my mind? No. Not even a passing thought. 0% likelihood of it being a memory to add to the day.
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“Did I wake you?” he immediately asked. “I took a gamble calling remembering you mentioning our mutual…should I say ‘complicated’…relationship with sleep.”
It came out in jest.
His laughter took all of ten seconds to enter the conversation which meant my mind took all of ten seconds to settle into safety.
“Not at all! So glad you called.”
Translation: “My goodness you have no idea how much my entire being needed this moment…”
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Just how much so would be uncovered over the next hour and forty-five minutes.
As I watched who I am become who I was.
And who I was become the holder of long awaited, hard fought for answers to questions that led me to the return into that mental homeland.
The past will always reveal purpose.
As long as you allow it the opportunity to be released from your present.
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To be continued…