Silence?

To The Silent Ones,

Ever lived a part of your life in silence? I’m not talking about the kind where you could a hear a pin drop in a crowded room. I’m talking about the kind where you hide your emotions like magma resting beneath a volcano waiting to erupt. I have lived my whole life like this.

My father passed away when I was young. To be honest, I understood death but I was not able to understand what was happening upon his. It was not until years later I found myself searching to fill this empty void in my life that had become of me once he had died. I was upset from time to time about it but when the years of high school took over that’s all I thought about. Random times I would think about why the hell I had my parent taken from me while everyone else got to have theirs with them. I honestly hated God for it, even my dad at times. He had a lot of health issues, which is probably where my mental sanity derived from. I found comfort though. Not much but enough to make me forget.

I was always desperately searching for someone to love. Someone to care for. Someone to kiss. Someone to cherish. A male figure in my life that would never leave.

I have a brother but that’s besides the point. He tries so hard to act like a father to me it makes me resent him more because that’s not what he is. He’s a brother, not my father. That’s for another day.

When that wasn’t working and when my mother was not around to control my every move ,I found comfort elsewhere. A razor blade. The bottom of a bottle. And not just a bottle of liquor, but pills. Lots of them, to the point where I should not be alive. But I am. How? I have no fucking idea.

The brief backstory is important in writing these letters. How can you read someones writing and connect if you do not really know them? Now you know me. The silent me. The one who has lost more than she has gained. Broken more than fixed. Corrupted more than suffice. Nevertheless, an endless pit of magma trying not to erupt.

That magma; that is the silence. It is that feeling where the world is moving all around you and even with others near you, you still find yourself alone. There’s a silence within that is full of so much emotion just tearing at the seam trying to break free. But it can’t. You’ve been told your entire life that “you are strong and full of courage” but in reality you’re a coward. You are afraid to face the truth. Afraid to accept your feelings of anger, sadness, rejection, grief, and heartache. This fear has consumed you and taken your voice away. Each time you flip that switch of emotions and tell yourself not to feel, you’re just fueling it. It’s your cigarette. Your bad habit. Your pain is your own nicotine.

Despite the appearance of this as a critique, I too am resting beneath the volcano’s surface. I’m trying to beat the silence though. Slowly working to break that retched bond. Because I am too afraid to openly speak of my diseased mind I will let this be an escape for my words and emotions. Regardless of publicity or viewership; this, writing, is my outlet to avoid an eruption.