Losing Our Religion #deconstruction #stagesofdeathanddying #kublerross

 

That's me in the corner

That's me in the spot-light

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

And I don't know if I can do it

Losing My Religion

In my mid-twenties, during the height of my fundie experience when all was still rosy, I spent a scant amount of time as a youth counselor for my church's youth group.  In that, I met with, got to know, and became close with several young teenage girls and boys as we traveled and fellowshiped together.  For a short season of my life, that little group was of high import to me and one that now, after fully deconstruction, I look back with fondness at the inside jokes, cherished memories, and experiences we shared.  Of recent, I have had the good fortunate to re-connect with several of them via the famous Facebook and am rather pleased to see that the majority have made the difficult but empowering decision to separate themselves and leave the fundamentalist religion of which they were forced to comply.  Through the leaving, I am now seeing them define and discover their own selves apart from what was forced upon them with much celebration and encouragement on my part.

Thus, as one that will always hold in my heart that of big sisterly affection for them and because a social media post or direct message never seems to fully impart what I wish to say, I decided to write this blog sharing the journey I have taken in my deconstruction path.  Now, I must clarify, that these individuals have not remained 15, 16, 17, but rather are all fully grown adults in their thirties, maybe forties, and thus I do not clearly know where exactly they are in their deconstruction and healing.  However, be that as it may, I feel strongly that I must share my story to help not just my once upon a time "youth group younger siblings" but perhaps a reader who discovers this entry may find it useful for their own journeys.

Officially and also unofficially, I left Calvary Chapel on a Sunday in 2010, as described in this entry, On The Day I Left Calvary Chapel, not ready to admit fully to myself, feeling the freedom within to have the ability to realize, that I was actually walking away.  Those first early years stumbling away were fraught with their own struggles, mostly due to an abusive, undiagnosed schizophrenic (most likely) husband, who I finally got the wherewithall to kick out in 2013.  After that, I was finally able to start the process of deconstructing, not just from Calvary, but from the myriad of abusers that had bull-dozed their way into my life and taken control.  For whatever reason, throughout 2013 and 2014, it was then and only then, that I was finally able to find people online sharing their stories of leaving Calvary Chapel and the abuse from such they had experienced.  My search led me to a website titled, "Calvary Chapel Abuse Recovery" where I poured through stories upon stories of those sharing their truths about what they had experienced, most seemed worse than I had experienced, tales of child abuse, sexual assault, and more.  With tears streaming down my face, I felt both vindicated but also guilty.  Yes, I had been a victim of Calvary Chapel, but, at least what I could see at the time, I had not experienced anything of such paramount.  This caused me to lessen my degree of suffering and not want to share my story, my voice, at first.  Through this website, I was led to the podcast, Drunk Ex-Pastors, (hosted by two former pastors of Calvary Chapel), and through that was able to connect with others whose experiences were less drastic and similar to mine.  Finding these like-minded kindred spirits helped me to finally share my truth and find healing in my journey. 

As I traveled through this journey, something I found on the Calvary Chapel Abuse Recovery website stuck with me, that of the stages of death and dying put forth by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, something I had been exposed to during college.  But, as I looked through it with eyes of a struggling, deconstructing lonely ex-Calvary Chapelite, I found new power to the truths therein.  Physical death is not merely the only thing pertinent in Kubler-Ross's stages, but also the death of other such losses, such as belief, relationship, or career.  Before I set forth, I want to express that the process of these stages does not fall in a linear fashion during healing, but rather the road through is one full of ups and downs, backwards and forwards. 

Because of you

I never stray too far from the sidewalk

Because of you

I learned to play on the safe side, so I don't get hurt

Because of you

I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me

Because of you

I am afraid

I lose my way

And it's not too long before you point it out

I cannot cry

Because I know that's weakness in your eyes

I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh

Every day of my life

My heart can't possibly break

When it wasn't even whole to start with

Because Of You

Denial:  For my part, this phase wasn't formulating because of anything political, but rather closer to the core of my being.  As I walked the walk of a Christian throughout the years of 2008-2010, there were several red flags of warning that kept waving themselves in my face try as I might to squash and ignore.  As early as 2004, the church seemingly began to, ever so slowly, decree what information and knowledge sources we, as believers of the Calvary Chapel god, should ascribe to, these were either conservative based Christian media, networks, and news-based, or even more insidious, consume only that material which is written and endorsed by Calvary Chapel leadership.  Furthermore, I had church members warn me of reading and watching such content as what would be the classics of literature and film.  I was made to feel shame for my favorite all time film, The Wizard of Oz, for that very reason! Lastly, due to my diagnosis of Bipolar, I was finally adventuring into the world of recovery, at the time both secular and religious, and as I grew in the depth of relationship with my variety of recovery friendships, my Calvary Chapel friendships were falling flat and feeling more and more empty.  This, too, I did my best to shake off, by reminding my red flag waving self how blissfully pure it had been and was, I mean, yeah, it has its ups and downs...red-flag waving self, you can just be quiet, I'm not listening.  However, my red flag waving self, having an advanced education and background in critical thinking, could not be silenced and finally I allowed her to align with myself again, which led me to that fateful Sunday in 2010.

Anger:  Oh, my god, yes was I angry!  Angry at the years wasted in my twenties following lies when I could have been enjoying the beauties that life fully offers outward, angry at the abuse that I and others had experienced, angry because I still felt silenced, unheard, alone in my revelation.  Like I shared, in those early years after departing, still trying to proclaim myself as Christian, yet feeling increasingly shame and anguish, struggling in an increasingly abusive marriage, I found no other sources online or in person that could concur with my assertion that, maybe just maybe, I had been involved with, gulp, a cult.  (Technically, I wasn't, but yet I assert that the definition of cult needs to be updated in light of the reality of what the fundamentalist christianity has become, but that is a blog for another time, perhaps this entry may be sufficient: The Christian Right Needs To Die!!) The Exvangelism movement had yet to take root and my friends, Jason and Christian, had yet to begin their Drunk Ex-Pastors podcast journey.  So, my anger was left unheard or explained away, I wanted so much to rescue my saved friends from being saved, for them to see the light too, and to have that sweet connection we once had shared. But alas, nothing doing, I was left alone in my heart-ache.  

Bargaining: This one is a heavy load when it comes to my journey of deconstructing from fundamentalist Christianity.  It contains everything from "This can't be reality, come on, let's just act like its as good as it once was" to the sufferings of one leaving and having to struggle over the guilt over not attending church, not reading their bible, not having their morning devotionals leading to worries that every bump in the road of life is based on their not being faithful in their Christian imposed duties.  It's the place you find yourself when you first walk away and looking around, realizing you are all alone, well, maybe, maybe, it's not that bad, all my friends are still there, position.  It's heavy, it's dark, and when also faced with the growing realization that your wedded bliss is anything but and you are quickly becoming the stereotypical battered wife, it leads to the depth of despair of the next stage.

Depression:  The dark and lonely stage and for me had to be overlooked due to my more pressing reality of dealing with my often psychotic and abusive husband.  It was not until I expelled him from my house and life on that fateful Oscar Sunday 2013, in a performance that should have received an academy award, that I was slowly able to start recognizing, admitting, and beginning the healing journey.  It came slowly, through loving friendships(non-Christian) who came along side as I went through my divorce and supported me with laughter and a loving hand when I awoke screaming in terror, finally finding websites and a podcast that proclaimed a truth similar to mine, and others who shared similar stories shared over hours upon hours-long coffee dates.  It came in quiet moments of my life, reading alternate spiritual books wherein I realized the sweetness of the Christian Holy Book, the Bible, as just that 'A spiritual text not THE', the moment when I realized it wasn't literal but figurative and actually heard a part of the mind controll break off and fall away "Crack", the moment when my PT Cruiser broke down yet again and I realized that this wasn't happening because of my sin, but merely because bad things and good things happen in life regardless of our actions or circumstances.

Acceptance: Finally, I found myself at this stage, through all the struggles of the last four, lots of laughter at the absurd craziness of the shared experiences of fundamentalism and, more so, Calvary Chapel, and the tears over realizing I am not alone.  At last, as the tears fell away, a smile formed of peace.  I look back now at those happy, gleaming faces of friendships of memory I shared in the golden moments of Calvary with gratitude.  I hold in my heart those I called friends still a part of that worldview, even though I disagree and despise some of their understandings and practices, still, on my end, the love remains regardless of action.  With that, I have peace and release them unto the journey they have been brought to this life to explore and behold.  

Finally, once again, these steps weren't always linear, but were often mired in a mixture of one another, sometimes simultanously and other times overlapping, but continuing forth, healing was actualized. 

As I write this, I don't want to presume to know fully what others have experienced or have suffered, specifically those I once counseled in our little youth group, those who were once pastor's kids (PKs), or youth group pastor's kids, or by parents' who just thought the whole fundie thing was swell.  Even more so, I am a white, straight, cis-gender woman and cannot fully understand the suffering of one with another alternate identity.  Yet, I do have empathy increasing based on my own experiences and sufferings.  In that, I can say that there is hope, that whatever the path may lead, belief in the divine or not, real love and peace is found in such an increasingly abundance outside the confines of fundamentalist Christianity that the struggles of deconstructing are worthyof all the pain.

If you or someone you love has recently left a fundamentalist religious organization or is suffering in anyway, please feel free to reach out: cafegirlproductions@gmail.com or comment below.

Check out my buddies' podcast: Drunk Ex-Pastors

Do you have religious trauma disorder? https://woventraumatherapy.com/religious-trauma-quiz

Trying hard to reach out

But when I tried to speak out

Felt like no one could hear me

Wanted to belong here

But something felt so wrong here

So I prayed I could break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly

I'll do what it takes 'til I touch the sky

And I'll make a wish

Take a chance

Make a change

And breakaway

Out of the darkness and into the sun

But I won't forget all the ones that I love

I'll take a risk

Take a chance

Make a change

And breakaway

Breakaway

For more of my deconstruction journey:  My Religious Trauma Story

End Is A Beginning

The End Of The World

In my young impressionable youth of a mere twenty, I traveled on a study abroad program to Florence, Italy.  In one of my classes, the teacher spoke about the fall of nations and societies.  "Just as in Rome," he said, "throughout history all societies and nations find their end, so to will America."
As a young naive twenty year old, this thought of my country dying, all that I knew as safe and comfortable, was petrifying, to say the least.

But, now that I am ancient, nay I should say wiser and more mature, I see this reality with less horror and with more of a sense of hopeful comfort.

Many of the world religions believe in some form of 'world ending' philosophy in their theology.   In addition, there are many a novel written about the end of the world as we know it replaced by a dystopian society, as it were.  Hollywood has in itself gotten into the thread of the story by producing films and TV shows with a world-ending, dystopia theme surrounding the characters and story-lines.

Why is this 'end-times' notion such a popular and relatable theme? It seems as if all people, on whatever the spectrum of spiritual belief or not at all, have some sort of understanding that the world as we know it will cease to exist, in some way and fashion.

In high school, I thoroughly enjoyed the assigned reading texts of Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World, and (my personal favorite), 1984.  The characters' living through the existence of a present dystopia was intriguing and fascinating to my hyper active imagination.

In my fun-die days, I, hungrily, ate up the bible studies the pastors taught through the book of Revelation as well as the Left Behind novels written by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins.  These lessons and stories offered me some semblance of comfort that I could never truly explain, perhaps as if my future was already planned releasing me from some sort of worry or anguish.  Added to that, there is even a crazy and dark crime scandal in Idaho (of all places) shrouded in the mystery of a dooms-day Mormon cult.  (Google: Lori Vallow Daybell for more info!)

So, why then was I so worried when my college professor declared the ending of America, way back in the shockingly innocent times of 1999?  I think I can explain why---

I have come to believe that the end of the world is not necessarily merely a corporate reality, but even more so part of the individual journey we all must venture.  The reason for the universality of this belief is because we all have births and deaths throughout our entire lives.

At the age of ancient wisdom that I have now reached, I have had many a death, a destructive ending, as it were.  From heartbreaking good-byes of lovers and friends, to a bitter divorce, a shattering diagnosis of bipolar, all brought me to a deeper appreciation and love for myself, my abilities, in the wake of such despair.  My twenty year old self, sitting in that classroom in the beautiful ornate building in down-town Florence, Italy, had yet to truly experience any of these losses, pains, and deconstruction of self that I have now.

On the other side of all the pain and anguish I have experienced, I find an inner calm and peace, a light that guides the path of which I'm to follow.  My life today is far from perfect, nor do I wish it to be.  I still have days of struggle and sorrow, but deep within lies the belief that I will make it through, if only because I have done so before.

So, dear reader, as you look upon all the insanity, tragedy of this world's current events, from the persecution of racism against African Americans to the rampage of the global pandemic, causing its own turmoil in a variety of ways, know that the end is not in and of itself, a loss of hope, but the birth to a new chapter of your life and that of the whole world.  Together and individually we are in the midst of pains of spiritual and emotional birth, an upheaval to shake us out of our comfort zones, bringing us closer and closer still to our truest purpose, to live in complete wholeness as we progress further in our journeys toward evolutionary enlightenment.

Thus, with Jesus we can say, "This sickness is not unto death," because, my friend, it is not.  Take heart, for darkness shall not prevail and we will not toil here long, out of the shadows we shall emerge, new, refined, healed, and truly alive.

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Its The End Of The World

It's the end of the world as we know it

It's the end of the world as we know it

Whether you agree or disagree with what is written above, please comment below.  I welcome all opinions and thoughts.  I do my best to respond to all comments.

The Thriving Artist is a subset of Cafe-Girl Productions, Inc, a film and media company with the emphasis on bringing quality entertainment to the world that raises awareness and understanding to a wide variety of social issues.  Support Cafe-Girl Productions, Inc at: www.patreon.com/cafegirlproductions

Re-Examining 2020 In The View of COVID-19

In the start of this year 2020, while others were out reveling in the "Roaring Twenties" themed parties, I spent my night walking through the streets slowly, pondering the year passing away and thinking of what was to come.  Earlier in the day, I walked the labyrinth at the Methodist Church as I always do on NYE, releasing into the confines of time all of what 2019 was and looking forward with set intentions of what was to come.  The rest of the night was spent in similar fashion, and although I stopped by and visited a few gatherings (mostly Awake Cafe & Gallery), I was retired to my pad (where I was house-sitting) at around 10 pm. 

The message of the night given to me overwhelming was that of 'Vision', a play on the year then approaching and perfect eye-sight.  I mean no dis-respect in those ringing in the New Year with hopes of the roaring twenties, but I have never truly been a big party type girl. 

However, I think that intention has grounded me these last three months and even more so in these last two weeks as we now find ourselves in the season of quarantine.  It is quite interesting to note that in January I visited the eye doctor who showed me how to align my vision with the help of 'reader' glasses, with only one lens, the end result not just correcting my depth perception and physical balance, but emotional, mental, and spiritual as well.  With that simple act, so much overall growth of well-being has transpired.

That said, this year has already given me a sense of feeling grounded and with a clearer focus, which has shaped how I viewed the effects of COVID-19 on the world, my personal life, and that of my closest friends and family.  

I do not view this pandemic truly as the 'end of the world apocalypse, in a general sense, though I do view it as the end of an era.  As I joked with friends this week, the effect of human kind 'staying in' has had a positive influence on the environment which made me comment, "Its like Mother Earth had had an enough.  'I gave you a chance to change,' she said.  'But you did not.  This is a consequence, go to your room, you are grounded.'  

All joking aside, (but yes, humor is important in our spiritual growth and advancement), the truth of the matter is, we as a human race needed this.  And, not just humanity but all of life.  We had all, and I am just as guilty, gotten to caught up with the business of busyness to truly understand the purpose of living.  

COVID-19 is an external reality of a long inward truth, we, collectively and individually, have been ill for quite awhile.  We have tried many ways to appease, silence, and get over this sickness, but to no avail.  This blight would not be cured until its time, forcing us back into quite possibly the scariest place on earth, our insides.  

The humorous meme being passed around on social media is that reminding those who partied at the 'Roaring Twenties' shindigs on NYE that we got our "roaring twenties': the plague, the market crashing, the lack of alcohol.  But this isn't the 1920's, this is 2020, the year of vision and clarity, healing and wholeness. 

Yes, I believe a new era is dawning, a truth we can all admit regardless of our spiritual practices or lack there of.  But, in the birth of something new, we have to release unto death that which no longer serves us.  In a very real sense, we are 'being saved as if by fire' as we all plunge deeper into the depths of our own selves.  This 'sickness is not unto death' speaks Jesus (and I do not mean to make light of the physical deaths of those already lost due to COVID-19) but more to speak of the spiritual healing transforming and rising us up to a higher vibration.  

For in order for the world to be healed, for there to be peace across all the lands, it must first begin with each of us individually.  We must all go inward, reduce all the distractions of the busyness of life, and dig deep into our own healing.  We must cleanse, release, forgive, and ascend to the true enlightened selves we were born to be, and only then, will this world be the beautiful haven it is mean to be.  

Only then, will Mother Earth release us from our sequestered lives, allowing us to emerge from our cocoons of darkness and feel finally the true light of peace and love upon us, basking finally in the warmth of a healed and healthy humanity and world.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVmB3lRjCmc

Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered crop.
Look at that low plane! Fine, then.
Uh oh, overflow, population, Common Food,
But it'll do. Save yourself, serve yourself.
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed.
Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right, right.
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light;
Feeling pretty psyched.

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

www.patreon.com/cafegirlproductions

One Final Time

One Final Time

The outside scenery flooding by the bus seemed to pass quickly from the early city morning to the rural landscape making way towards the summer camp. Once arrived at the camp destination, the bus parked itself on a rural road, releasing the students and junior counselors to begin the long trek down the hill to the river, where canoes awaited to take them and their possessions the place that would be their home for a week, for a life-time.

Les, or Trip, swung his guitar over his shoulder as he grabbed the rest of his belongings from the belly of the bus. He turned to see Ruby, waiting behind him.

“Which one is yours?” he asked, hoping to once again find away to know her better. She pointed silently towards an orange sleeping bag with a pillow tied to it and a large green knapsack. As she did, he thought he saw some peculiar-looking vertical lines (or scars) running up her wrist. Noticing, she quickly pulled her arm back and pulled the flannel shirt, she was still wearing even though it had to be in the high nineties at the least, down over her hand. He said nothing as he bent over and grabbed the bags, setting his own down as he did so, and handed them over to her. She nodded at him and made her way towards the line of other campers and counselors streaming down the hill.

The river flowed gently as the young approached, setting their packs down momentarily in order to thus remove their shoes to cross. Bags placed in canoes and the younger campers too, the counselors worked together to pull them across to the shore, the entrance leading to the camp. The water was cold as it rose to just above their ankles, a healing energy unknown to Ruby as she made her way across, stepping gingerly even with the added weight of her canoe in order to not hit a stone or turtle, and felt the mud squish between her toes. For the first time in a very long time, she felt what it must be like to be truly alive...and the beginnings of foreign feeling of happiness began to spread throughout her body.

The sand and stones on the beach mixed with the mud on her feet as she stepped ashore and pulled the boat on land. She helped the campers (how cute they were) to gather their items, found her shoes and her own items, and followed the crowd to the entrance of camp, then to the tree-lined center of camp where everyone gathered to meet and greet and find out which cabins they were placed in.

The wind rustled softly through the arena as the head counselors loudly announced the list of campers' names and the children filed downwards to meet them, the junior counselors' joining in the throng. The other counselors and older junior counselors cheered loudly with each announcement. Once the cabin-mates had met and been announced, they made their way back to their place in the audience, which would be their place at all camp meetings, the head counselor on one side, the junior on the other.

As the remaining campers found their places, the rest of the camp, bags and sleeping bags in tow, made their way up the hill to their respective cabins, their homes for the week long adventure before them. What was to come lay before them unknown as they began to make themselves comfortable in their new surroundings. The counselor joking with her teenager counterpart, the campers shyly greeting one another and sharing stories.

In that first meeting time, sitting around each other in a circle, Ruby's head counselor, Breeze, gently laid down the cabin rules and the laws of camp. Ruby watched as Breeze joked and communicated easily with the children, feeling a pang on her wrists bringing out that familiar desire to cut. Once again she pulled down the grey flannel she was still wearing over her scars. Packed away in her suitcase, her mother had given her several coverings for the slice-scars, large bracelets, armbands for swimming or “strength-training”, anything for a good cover story, better to not show the truth of one's misery.

The days would pass peacefully for Ruby and the kids, filled with archery lessons, jewelry making activities, swimming, hiking, and the nightly shows of campfire. All the junior counselors had their daily meetings with their Junior Counselor Leader, Seuss, who allowed them space to be the kids they still were and taught them the life lessons needed for childcare. All the teenagers looked up to her and to the other senior counselors in their twenties, whose lives seemed full of sophistication and allure. They longed for the freedom these older friends had, not under the watchful eye and suspicious supervision of their parents' and guardians. Little did they know, these senior counselors whose lives they envied were in fact in some ways envying them their youth, longing themselves for the more carefree days of their teenage years.

Ruby found a close connection with the curly haired girl, Tera, and they grew to have a fast connection. It was to her that Ruby confided her growing affection for Les, who was now mostly known as Trip, around camp. Ruby and Tera had not yet found their “camp names”. For his part, Trip (Les) seemed to be an average teenage boy, an interest not just in one particular girl but in many in the quest to satisfy his desires. He did give Ruby some attention though, of which moments she lived for, repeating often in her mind and heart.

One such moment stood out among the rest. It was late afternoon their first week at camp coming to an end, Ruby was sitting alone in the designated junior counselor private area, a solitary table amongst the leafy trees and shrubbery set apart from the rest of the camp. Before her was a notebook opened, she listened to the delightful sound of the children playing in the water as it lapped against the shore. Peace filled her heart, a feeling so familiar to her in this place and yet unknown in her life back home. Every moment or so, she'd pick up her pen and write a few thoughts before then staring back into space, a contented smile on her face.

Quietly behind her, Trip entered, carrying his guitar cradled in his arms, the strap around his neck. She turned and looked at him, seeking to hide her blush letting her hair fall in front of her face.

“Mind if I join you?” he stammered out. She nodded and turned to her journal, trying to avert her gaze from him and trying desperately to think of something to say to him that would be cool and flirtatious, as she had seen the other girls' do so effortlessly. He sat on the opposite side of the table from her and faced the river. Quietly, he began strumming the guitar. “I'm sorry, do you mind?”

She shook her head and managed, “How long have you played?”

“Not long,” he began. “Basically this summer. I had a girl-friend back home for awhile that played, when she broke up with me, I just kind of kept up at it, don't know why, really, just something to pass the time.”

She nodded and looked back down at her journal, not knowing what to write, but waiting for him to say more.

“What's in the notebook?” he asked, turning slightly to her and letting his hands fall away from the strings.

“Oh, just..it's nothing, just my thoughts,” she said, ashamed and looking away.

“I'm very interested in that,” he said and she turned to see him smiling at her. “Can I see?”

She hesitated and said, “I don't know.”

“Its okay,” he said. “Its none of my business.”

He began playing again and she watched him, shyly, out of the corner of her eye. Noticing, he turned back to her.

“Ever played?” He asked. She shook her head.

“Never even held one,” She explained. “Played piano when I was a kid.”

“I can teach you, if you'd like,” he offered and Ruby's heart soared to heights it never thought possible. She nodded and he motioned for her to join him on his side of the table. She came around, leaving her notebook open and sat beside him with a gasp. He removed the guitar strap from his neck and placed the guitar in her arms. Then, he placed her hands in the appropriate places on the instrument. “It may hurt your finger tips the first couple times, until you build up the callouses.”

She looked at him and he laughed. She smiled back.

“This is c,” he said, placing her fingers on her left hand on the appropriate strings. “Then you strum with your right.”

Doing so, she awkwardly heard the music flowing outward. He showed her the other notes, g, f, a, b, and she played each, reveling in the time spent together. A harsh breeze suddenly kicked up, shattering the moment because the pages of her notebook ruffled in the wind. She turned and watched as a loose slip of paper blew out and fluttered by their faces to quick to grab. Momentarily it fell on the ground and Toast reached down quickly snatching it up before it would travel farther on.

For a moment, he caught sight of the words scribbled on the page, full of pain and loneliness and he suddenly suspected why she always wore the armbands. She got up to retrieve the paper from him, still holding the guitar, which was the only thing between them as they faced each other. His eyes searching hers, as if to ask why. Then, he handed her the slip of paper and she, too, saw what she had written.

“I cannot stand my life anymore,” they began. “I do not want to live. I will end this.”

She averted her eyes, folding the paper, and sticking it deep within her pocket to hide the evidence. She began to remove the guitar strap from her neck to give him back his instrument but he grabbed her right hand and pulled it towards him. Slowly, wordlessly, he let his finger run up towards her armband. She shivered with his touch, not just with pleasure but from the shame. He pulled down the band and saw, the sewn up scars of the slices. He looked up and their eyes met, hers filling with shameful tears and his with pained wonder. She pulled her arm away quickly, handed him the guitar, and pulled her armband back in place.

“Don't tell,” she said in a pained whisper. “Don't tell...anyone.”

He took the guitar and looked her over.

“It's okay, they won't care,” he said, trying to reassure.

“Exactly,” was all she could say and moved to collect her journal, starting to leave.

“I won't,” he said, his words stopping her. “I won't tell.”

She turned and looked at him, before ascending towards the main camp.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said, breathing out. “Always.”

Everybody Hurts