This is the first time I've written in about five years now. Before that I used to write often, daily at least, sometimes personal diary entries, sometimes working on a manuscript I was dreaming might one day become a published book. Then, slowly,insidiously, I let myself be silenced. Since then I have been through personal and physical trauma that has utterly completed the task of muting me.
Now though, all these years later, inch by painful inch I am dragging myself out of the sound-proof hole I buried myself in. I am searching for the un-mute button. I need a release for all the questions and ponderings that whirl ceaselessly around my head. I need a conduit to let them flow, so that with the flowing they may make sense and perhaps ease that internal pressure that seems to be ceaseless these days.
Like any skill or strength left unused, my voice has atrophied. It is weak, unsure and fumbles as I seek my words. This entry is just the beginning, a stepping stone on the path to finding my elusive self - that self that has been pushed down, hidden, shamed and muted for so, so very long. This entry is an acknowledgement that at last I am free again to give voice. It matters not whether others hear or approve of my words. What matters is that they come from my inner being and that 'I' hear them.
Later I shall fumble, weak, bewildered, but with growing strength, through the rubble of what used to be my life. I shall no doubt find much that is damaged beyond repair that must be replaced, as well as much that I thought I valued or needed but really am better off without. And in the ash, smoke and rubbish I know I will find some precious things I had believed lost, and will rejoice in the finding.
But for now, I am here and weak and uncertain as it is, I again have a voice.
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