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May 17, 2020

The Necessity of Being Silent

I’ve witnessed many things that I will never be able to unsee.

Not with the strongest eye bleach on the black market, nor any cheaply made cornea wet wipes ordered on Wish that take two months to arrive.

There isn’t a strong enough medication available to erase these disturbing images from my mind, for they’ve been deeply seared into my memories flesh, until the day that I pass on from this world.

No alcohol, by volume or proof, would ever be capable of forever eradicating the series of traumas that I’ve been exposed to.

For all it would accomplish is rendering me unconscious for a spell, only to wake up many hours later, discombobulated, with everything a blur, yet still unfortunately intact.

The only way forward towards survival is to allow myself to feel it all, to absorb it into the core of my being, by somehow (with sheer determination and prayer) continuing to live with all of the heartaches, the sorrow, and the multitude of crevices that are now permanently a part of my infrastructure.

I’ve learned that it is indeed alright to cry, to feel sad and to just stay quiet if you need to, even though these are behaviors that are mostly undesirable, unwanted and not socially acceptable.

I’ve been very silent lately, finding myself unable to put my thoughts or feelings into action, the way that I’m accustomed to and which makes a lick of sense.

I’ve had to remind myself time and time again that it is alright to be this way right now.

Deep inside my ever-churning brain, that’s always been riddled with ideas, where my words and creativity used to flow so free like a water faucet, is now dried up.

Hopefully just temporarily.

Watching my cherished dog as she passed away recently, then looking on at my daughter’s pure anguish (and now her regret and guilt that she didn’t spend enough time with her best friend while she was still alive) has sucked up the last remaining droplets of moisture on my tongue and fingertips.

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