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I am so tired of reading the stories of other’s. I admire their bravery, the amazing courage it takes to speak something so openly; it makes me cry, partly in shame at my own lack of courage, my own inactivity, and partly in sympathy for the pain that is there in them all. But, none of them speak in my voice; none of them tell my story back to me.
Voice is an interesting choice of words on my part. For some time now, I’ve been experiencing an uncomfortable tightness in my throat. I cough a lot, in the attempt to clear it, to no avail; there are times it’s uncomfortable to speak. Even when I’m silent, I can feel the tension, the tightness, and it’s actual work to try and let go of it. I never fully succeed. I may be over-metaphorizing, but I can’t help wondering if the tab for not speaking in my normal register, in my own “voice”, is finally coming due.
I am afraid sometimes that I don’t know “what” I want. I have ideas, but certainly no specifics. When I am less than kindly inclined towards myself, I tend to think that I move too quickly from desire to examination of desire, and pass over “what” in pursuit of “why”. After all this time, I still have no answers. Some of the wisest people I know suggest that there need not be a “why”, but I have a hard time believing it for myself. I know that they believe it for me, and I really wish that were enough. Their wisdom seems still somewhere up the road for me, personally.
Voice is an interesting choice of words on my part. For some time now, I’ve been experiencing an uncomfortable tightness in my throat. I cough a lot, in the attempt to clear it, to no avail; there are times it’s uncomfortable to speak. Even when I’m silent, I can feel the tension, the tightness, and it’s actual work to try and let go of it. I never fully succeed. I may be over-metaphorizing, but I can’t help wondering if the tab for not speaking in my normal register, in my own “voice”, is finally coming due.
I am afraid sometimes that I don’t know “what” I want. I have ideas, but certainly no specifics. When I am less than kindly inclined towards myself, I tend to think that I move too quickly from desire to examination of desire, and pass over “what” in pursuit of “why”. After all this time, I still have no answers. Some of the wisest people I know suggest that there need not be a “why”, but I have a hard time believing it for myself. I know that they believe it for me, and I really wish that were enough. Their wisdom seems still somewhere up the road for me, personally.
