In Plain Sight

My life is radically out of control. In the past handful of months I've done three things that I promised myself I never would. Two of which I completely and utterly regret and one that at the moment I still don't know how to feel about. I've lost a friend, and began compartmentalizing what I can and can't say to probably, most definitely, the closest person to me. I've begun building different walls around me. I've entered, even just this weekend, to a particular place within my head that I can't be retrieved from. I'm retreating, and I'm retreating fast. Doing my part to disappear without really disappearing.

Yesterday after work I went to confession. As I sat waiting for my turn I was filled with anxiety. My heart was racing and I wanted to just jump out of my skin. I was so uncomfortable and my thoughts kept spiraling. I started to cry and I yelled at myself to stop. My heart felt like it was exploding. I went up to the priest and sat down in a chair in front of him and lost it. I have never cried during confession before. I have never felt so guilty before. So filled with sin. It took me a while to even begin confessing. The priest was nice to me, and gently told me to take my time. I managed to blubber a few things, tell him how I didn't know what was wrong with me, then struggled to reveal the things that bothered me the most. The mortal sins that were weighing on my soul. As always my penance seemed too easy. His advice was more promising to me, but I felt still so...dirty? My faith tells me the truth. God forgives me. But I haven't forgiven myself. I walked out of the church crying harder than before. I realized that during the entire confession, even though we were face to face, I didn't take one look at the priest's face. My shame is overwhelming.

I had to go shopping afterward. I hate shopping. The worst part though was my emotional state. I couldn't force myself to look happy. I couldn't manage to fake anything. I just told my mom that I was sick. Which wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either. I was just so miserable. And I wore every emotion on my sleeve. I had lost the strength to maintain my composure. The tears in my eyes wouldn't stay in. I'm so very weak. So very visibly weak.

The night prior I somehow fell down in my kitchen. I hit my head on the counter on the way down. I woke up at some point later and there was blood everywhere. The cut on my head isn't very big, but it bled very well. I think back and think how I'm lucky that I even woke up in the first place. Erin is in New Mexico so she couldn't be my hero that night. Please bear with me, but the amount of blood was startling. The loss of memory was alarming and the fact that I was alone was more painful than the pounding of my head. In an instant I was upset over the fact that I woke up. But then what, Erin would come home Sunday and find me there? I would never wish that on her. She loves me too much. But I can't help but long for that sort of end. Knowing that my promise keeps me from doing it myself and therefore wishing somehow death finds another door to enter. Because look at me! My despair is completely visible. My heartache is in plain sight. Am I not already dead? Because the promise God made me that He wouldn't give me too much to handle has to be broken. I can't handle any of this. Not anymore.

But that blood and this pain? I guess it does mean that I'm still breathing.