Life has been very hard recently... many incredibly painful life situations:
- a suicide of a very young man - planning to be married to a dear friends' daughter
- releasing go of my son and learning how to be a military mom
- my young daughter has been sick with heart issues for 3 months and continuing
- rejection that regularly comes with living boldly
- the death of my husband's dad - the agony of seeing him shriveled up
- a criminal who robbed my husband's family home and took everything and
- family members who lashed out at my husband regarding funeral matters.
My heart is heavy... I cry inside without a sound.
Why do I feel so deeply?
I can't go backwards... I can't stuff or put my emotions on a shelf to deal with later... I can't compartmentalize like so many can.
I simply feel deeply. What I see, people's words, actions and even non-actions... they scream loud and clear to my soul.
I was at a loss of words... I had nothing to say. And I wanted to pick up nothing to read.
Writing has been what I could do when the bottom fell out of my world, when I was spinning out of control or longing to be gone, forever gone.
Writing kept me in a state of being connected and alive. I wrote to stay alive. I wrote to remain human, to have something to communicate even if no one listened, read or heard.
But now I have experienced a new depth of agony, the day I felt the words stop. The end of a road - I had nothing to say.
And even as I write today- at this very moment - I don't much feel connected to the words being pressed out of my mind and onto the page by the tapping of the plastic keys. They come but not with passion, need - a sense of MUST... I MUST speak, I MUST write, I MUST be heard.
I have experienced the day in life that the music stopped, the continual rhythmical beat of life became still and the need to be faded into the grey shades of indifference, doubt and even despair.
Writing and Reading is a form of relationship, people intertwined through words over miles and ages that otherwise they would have never met. One day the song may return ... and the words might need to flow, but for now I will be content to breathe.