I wish I could tell you I stopped speaking out of some noble quest for inner wisdom.
I wish I could tell you I made a choice to hold my stories, my truths, my words out of a deeply felt need to hold them my own.
I wish I could say I found answers to questions I have been silently screaming.
I’m not sure which came first, my inability to speak or the harrowing pain I’ve seen seeping through my insides out from my core (or that which I’ve held as created by myself, alone, when its origins were more external than I could see).
There’s been shame I dared not speak. Actions I long ago vowed never to repeat. Vows spoken in moments when I truly meant each word, out of damned pain, intention and renewal.
And I did mean them. I meant every bloody, infected word. But my vows are only worth the second they are spoken and the time it takes to forget.
I forgot how to remember. With my repressive instinct intact I found I can break and break and break my own promises with the knives that insisted on their creation.
Were they instrumental in the soundtrack to my silence or did they play to drown out the deafening noise created in the silence?
I wish I could tell you where I went was a joyful place, a place of solitude and love, life and connection.
I’ve heard ‘I love you’s that felt more toxic than hate.
I’ve seen miseries manifesting outside and in the walls I built, that return and return and return.
I have asked and heard nought. Begged and received none. Pleaded in places where versions of giving were, indeed, taking away. Taking, more and more and more of the pieces I’ve been reduced to.
I wish I could tell you a light came on, blinding the shadow that fell upon me, highlighting my path back to a place where my voice was residing.
I wish I could tell you I moved and jumped and landed on words that were patiently waiting for my return.
I wish I could tell you I’d found each lost word, speaking of every step and breath I’ve not told.
I can only tell you these words find me in the exact space I have been, where these sounds fell mute, the place of my nightmare and torment, the place of my silence.
Yet with these sounds nothing looks as it did. These words change it all, in ways that mere voices cannot tell.
Here you’ll find me all the same, and different, and the same.
And I wish it were not so.
But it is, and so it is.