I met my college self for coffee

I’m the kind of person people tell their life stories to in Tractor Supply, one minute I’m standing there picking out seeds for my garden and the next thing I know I’m consoling a fellow shopper while explaining that addiction is so hard and that I hope her son can figure it out soon, for the kids sake. So, to imagine me sitting down with me is a bit overwhelming.

When I imagine us, both versions of me, sitting there taking each other in- I can’t help but feel the younger version of me twisting in her seat. When I was in college, despite what onlookers may have told you, I was desperately trying to be the smallest most consumable version of myself. In this moment I’m wishing as desperately as I would have then to tell you a light hearted story. I just wanted to appear to be casually attending college, just like everyone else in Orange County. But, I wasn’t like everyone else and in some ways, to sit down and write it all out feels like a coming out of sorts. It feels like a peek behind a curtain that I would rather staple to the floor, preventing it from ever opening.

I know that sitting down with me then would hurt, because the struggle would be written all over my face and I would be able to see the stress eating away at my body. While it seems I fooled everyone else, I know that putting myself under the kind of scrutiny that I bring to the table would cut immediately to the core of my issue, I was lonely. And while I made it seem like I was constantly surrounded by others I kept my circle incredibly small. While my friends played games deep into the night in the lobby of our dorm I was going to bed at 9PM absolutely exhausted from masking every moment of everyday.

Most people were amazed with my story- even encouraged by the path my family had taken, however I would know something that only a person like me could pick up on. While missionary work is often (but not always) intended to bring more goodness into the world, it was incredibly isolating for me, as my parents were in China the entire time I attended college with very limited communication. I was independently going to school while working to provide for myself. Sure it sounds easy enough, but I wasn’t ready to be out there on my own, I wasn’t ready to be without a home and I know staring myself down for coffee that there would be no way for me to deny it.

The girl sitting across from me at our imaginary coffee date would call her friends parents “Mom” and “Dad” as a funny joke that created a magical intimacy I craved because I didn’t get to say those words outloud as often as my heart wanted to. She would also be incredibly concerned for my Eternity. I don’t know if you have ever heard of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, but him and I were incredibly close in college. He was my imaginary friend and sometimes the only one who knew what was really going on with me. To sit down with myself and explain that I no longer kept Jesus with me throughout my day would be a devastating blow, I would’ve need medical attention. Breathing would’ve become difficult. How could I sit there and explain to her that the man, the myth, the legend that was keeping her mentally stable was no longer apart of my morning routine, or my Sundays, or Wednesday night. How could I possibly tell her that knowing how desperate she was for a love like the one he was rumored to give.

The real problem with me sitting down with me is that I would’ve seen through all the frail thin walls I had up to try and protect the tiny bit of me that I allowed to be seen. If I could even survive this coffee date I would be lost in a world of confusion with the details of how exactly did I end up living in rural Texas? I wouldn’t be able to even hear the word “queer” because all I would hear is GAY, and the college version of me knew with all her heart that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.

For me to sit there an imagine a world where medication was available that could help me through the panic attacks, and a therapy (EMDR) could heal the wounds I carried would be beyond my comprehension because that girl, the one i’m casually meeting for coffee, she didn’t even understand that there was such a thing as nuerodiversity even though it was painted into every stroke of her life. I would have to explain to her that the future me is actually okay, once I was able to meet all my basic needs.

I hope that she would be able to see me, to recognize me in her. These days I shine brighter than I ever have knowing that if others have and issue with me it’s more likely to be a red flag about them, rather than a judgement on me. I am still the pure spirit I was then, only now I’ve learned to stop listening to shame, and allow myself the time and space to unfurl in whatever way necessary.