My words stick somewhere between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. My lips never giving them a doorway to the world. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
I used to be the one with my heart beating on my sleeve. A living tattoo of all that I felt and thought pulsing for the world to see. Somehow the layers of skin have grown over and the ink has faded.
Now I’m left in this unknown place. Hating who I am without a voice and loving the lack of conflict raging in my world. Now it only rages in my mind.
I’ve never lived afraid to hear my own voice. But when you can’t trust what it will sound like you begin to wonder. And wonder doesn’t always lead to magical fairy tales in worlds sprinkled in glitter.
Sometimes wonder is just an ache that sits and sinks deep into your core. A big question that makes your teeth tingle and your shoulders drop. A pull that draws your gaze down instead of up.
Sometimes all I know how to do is sit in this place trying to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. I wait, frozen hoping if I stay still enough the hunter will pass and my camouflage will have saved me. Again.
And when I think for a moment that I can once again be the person I was, I open my mouth filled with cotton. Inhale and try again, but it’s no use. My mouth hangs open on the silence of too many yesterdays.
About Becky Hastings
I am emotional and logical. I am strong and dependent. I am a juxtaposition of head and heart exploring it all through writing. And in all my mixed-up ways I am loved. I'm here to tell you that you are, too. Just the way you are.