I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain.

I woke up with the biggest grin on my face this morning. The temperature in my room was anything but pleasant; I was sweating like nobody's business, but come to think of it, that might have been due to the fact that I just saw you. My heart was beating at an uncomfortably fast rate, but I was happy. Happy. And then I realized it was just a dream.

The choir was singing. It seems like it was a special holiday service, perhaps the annual Cantata or something of the sort. I was sitting on the second row on the left (Pastor's right,) all the way by the wall. And you were sitting next to me, so close that I could feel the heat from your leg. I could feel you tapping your foot like you always did. We talked for a long time, simple small talk about how each other was doing and what was new. Nothing spectacular. Later on (it seemed to go on forever, but I'm not complaining) we were sitting outside, under a tree. Still, we were talking. And I was thrilled to talk to someone who really knew me. I found out you had a girlfriend and the mood changed--her name was Judith or something ugly like that. But it wasn't weird. It was okay. I wasn't upset because we were just two old friends catching up and there was nothing there. It was okay to talk about love interests because we were Jon and Jessica, just two old friends. Two old friends. It came time to for us to separate and I remember so clearly telling you this: "This has been nice. I've missed talking to you so much, not as my boyfriend, but as my best friend. I would love to keep in touch--talk maybe once, twice a month?" (Not to be confused with reality, in which I made a similar request but was laughed at, ignored and forgotten.) The sun was shining and before I knew it we were back at church, sitting so close to each other. After the service ended, your family was angry because you spoke to me and began fighting with you just like old times. And then I woke up, sweaty and out of breathe because I saw just you.

Call me crazy, but it was nice catching up. We'll have to do it again sometime. I don't know where you are and I don't know what you're doing nor do I have any clue where we stand, but whatever the case, I hope you're happy and getting as much out of life as you possibly can because nothing would give me a greater sense of peace.

I feel so ugly for doing this to you.

Not to my surprise, sleeping for six hours tonight didn't make the sinking feeling in my stomach disappear. I have no idea what to do. I have no idea what I want. I'm stalling--stuck somewhere in between a safe bet and something real. Something passionate. Something new and exciting. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Life has backed me into a corner, but it's not all bad. Being up against the wall allows me to lift my voice to the sky in search of help and rescue. God, I am not my own; I am Yours. My life is Yours and it's my prayer tonight that you do with it what You already know is best because I'm tired of deciding. I can't do it--but You can.

Probably.

It’s 1:00 in the morning and I can hear the rain tapping on my window. I should be sleeping, of course, but I am choosing to write instead.

I realize it’s possible I may have overreacted just a tad in my previous entry—realistically, I probably can overcome this. Let’s make a quick, very important pit stop: “this” encircles so many different trials, things I have been struggling with for up to seven years. I want to be clear that “this” is not limited to any specific events that may have evolved within the last twelve (longest) months of my life. I am not shallow; the stream flows much deeper and much wider than that.

I refuse to say with absolute certainty that I’ll face up to all of "this." I have no idea what the future holds. Proverbs 27:1 reminds Christians not to boast of tomorrow, because none of us have any idea what a “day may bring forth.” I do not have faith in myself, but I sure do have faith in the God I serve. That’s where probably comes from. And I don’t mean to imply that God will drop the ball—quite the opposite, really. Instead, I’m wondering if I’ll be able to hold up my end of the bargain and give God my future and everything else He deserves. I’m the flawed one. I’m the only thing keeping myself from conquering “this.”

Bitterness is destroying (my relationship with God) (my relationship with others) (my sense of humor) (any internal motivation) (my happiness) (my sleep schedule) (good memories) my life. Bitter feelings don’t just cause me to lie awake late at night. No. They are, without question, eating me alive.

But I feel optimistic tonight, more open than most nights. It could be that I dislike myself less than I did yesterday, or maybe it’s the fact that I earned an A+ on my Modernism exam. Or perhaps it’s plainly the weather. Whatever the case, I’m taking advantage of this rare pellucidity and letting my pencil say all the things I cannot.

It’s never been my honest intention to put a damper on anyone’s day nor has it been to place an extra burden on the shoulders of those I love. I write because it frees me from everything rattling inside this weathered box I refer to as my head. People my age think I’m crazy and wonder why “this” is taking me so long. I’m not shown empathy or compassion, but I don’t know why I expected either. Adults smile at me. They recite to me that time heals all wounds and say they have faith that I’ll be just fine someday, but their melancholy smiles sing a different song. How do I know they’re not lying, too? How do I know they’re really okay? It’s been said that fearless is not the absence of fear; it’s living in spite of those things that scare us half to death. And God knows I’m terrified. I could blame the world for lying to me or I could blame myself for listening and believing. Most days, I blame myself. After all, I should know better, right? I pollute my mind with tabloids and television commercials and I wonder why my thought process develops the way it does. I suppose how much truth I find in the media relates in some way to my lack of certainty. (Duh.)

I’m just so scared. I don’t want to live my life saying all the right things and making all the right choices and impressing all the right people and still end up with an obituary that blandly states, “Jessica Kane did the best she could, but it was never enough. She never reached her goal. Kane wasted an entire lifetime preparing for her happy ending, but he never came back. What a shame.”

This world is an ugly place, but sometimes when I look close enough I’m grateful to find traces of beauty in the strangest of places. Sir Winston Churchill once said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” And so I’ll continue pushing through the pain in hopes that one day someone will be able to penetrate through this ice box in my chest. Then maybe we'll all hurt a little less. I will strive and seek and find and will not yield because after all, I probably can defeat “this.” The odds are in my favor at this point.

I will now close my notebook (and my eyes) and attempt to silence the taunting, yet otherwise chipper, 60s music buzzing around in my head. "Wouldn’t it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?" Yeah, it would have been. And it probably should have been. But it’s not and it probably never will be.

The chains of yesterday surround me.

All over again. All over again. All over again. I'm forced to watch every step and catch every word because I am only one step away from disappointing everyone all over again. Despite the infinite amount of energy this so-called life has taken from me, I don't think it would be possible for me to knowingly fall short (again.) I did something today that was so hard to do but needed to be done. I took a leap of faith. I made a gesture. I fell. Hard. Flat on my face. Never again. Never again. Never again. I don't know which is worse--wasting a lifetime feeling hopeless when there was, in fact, a light at the end of the tunnel or having faith that one day things will turn around and eventually realizing they never will. Waking up from a pleasant dream and knowing it couldn't possibly come true or screaming because of a nightmare that very well could happen tomorrow. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Wisdom always chooses these black eyes and these bruises over the heartache that they say never completely goes away. Time heals? No. Time waters feelings down, and time causes (some) memories to fade but time doesn't heal. I have yet to wake up on a bright and sunny morning only to discover that I'm finally okay. I'm not okay. It still hurts. It still hurts. It still hurts. I'm falling and I'm not perfect and I don't have all the answers. I want this to stop. It never existed and that never happened. You weren't there. I need you to not be there. I need to close my eyes at night in search of peace and rest and not see the outline your perfect face. I can't do it. Every day. All the time. Never ceasing, never starting. Out of sight, out of mind. Right? Wrong. Go away. Get out of my head. You were all so stupid to believe in me, to have faith that I could overcome this because I can't. I can't. I can't.