Dear you

Dear you,

You know who you are. You saw me in the most bare condition. My chest exposed, unzipped, so far past embarrassment that my skeletons were hanging out. Yet, you weren’t phased. You didn’t hand me the shovel with empty opinions such as “you need help” or “I’m worried about you” though those sentences were valid, they never once fell from your lips. Though, most would take that route, you offered a more positive initiative on the vulnerability I vomited upon you. Instead, you poured water into my barbaric garden. You said things that reassured a hopeful tomorrow in exchange for dead ended responses such as “wow, that sucks.”

Without anyone even knowing it, I was one more “that sucks” away from throwing in the towel. But you, you didn’t even have to do much, just acknowledge. You acknowledged my inability to tolerate another dreadful morning. Not one person wakes up and says I am going to end it today without the slow rot.

You saw the malfunction in my eyes. Or the lies protruding from the bullet holes I inflicted upon my own back. Every-time I said, “I’m too far gone” you would say, “You’re already returning.”

Everytime I thought all was lost, you would say it’s only the beginning.

You never pressed fear upon me, even when we both knew it was scary.

You weren’t worn out from giving the same advice over and over and over before it started to sink in. Each day, you’d say it again. Whether the state of my situation progressively grew worse or better, you remained the same. Affirming the unconditional practice behind the value in words.

Very few could I ever allow close enough to see such shape. The ‘state of emergency’ I pitched my tent in. “ How could anyone understand?” They’d run! She’s too deep to dig out. And if they could, it would take a series of doctors and maybe some shock therapy to return this girl to proper civilization where others would want to be around her again.

This was the narrative raging inside my head. Even when I tried to sleep. The script I wrote of how life was being viewed through my fuzzy eyes, was as if a black and white silent film flickered pictures of horrible things in my mind. Only digging the shovel deeper into my own grave.

It must’ve been so exhausting for you to review the list of ‘what if’s’ I constantly wrote out for your eyes to read such weighted words. Good grief -if only I was half the human you are. I check-out when someone complains about a sandwich.

The world isn’t full of people like you. So when you meet one, it’s divine. Holy reminders of his handy work piecing together the end before we even arrive. Anxiety that tried to outrun me in my own race to the finish line, can’t compete next time I’m found restless in a solitaire state.

You, dear friend, trudged through the darkest season of my life with me reminding me, thats all that it was, a season. You coached me through what I thought was decaying, was actually very much still alive, youthful and full of potency. Teaching me that it can’t last forever and that everything will pass. You showed me how and milked the minutes on the clock with me.

Today, you were right. It passed, and I can undoubtedly affirm your divine angelic placement in this part of my story that saved my life. I’m closer to God because of his character that gleams through your skin. In a sense, this letter is written to him for orchestrating a pretty song by intertwining our paths together. For placing violins in the wilderness. I stand healthy enough to play this song for another weary pilgrim now that it’s proven possible to survive nightmares.