Silence, Writing, and Growing Up

I've discovered the secret to living alone. It is the mere act of solitary conversation. Of verbally discussing one's emotions in an attempt to understand how one internally feels. To use ones voice as a form of self discovery. Further, as map with a road that leads us back to ourselves. Though, what I've found on the way is that this form of escapism (that has given me the privilege of making it to day five of recovery) encourages self importance in the voice of the person who engages in it. I find myself using my voice, though too often. Focusing on my perspective too much. Listening less. I feel it is listening itself that suffering breeds. The act of feeling incapable to share, to talk, to grow. Though, it is this same listening that I admire about my suffering self. I do not want to abandon it. I prefer the quieter, observant, listening version of myself lifetimes more than I do the talkative one. In her, I value words and other people, and I now understand it is this silence that breeds this value. In an attempt to reclaim my silence, I am trying my best to not speak. In efforts to experience the depths of my own suffering, in a manageable, non-toxic way. I do not want to violently purge my body in excess. No longer do I want to stick my fingers down my throat and experience the feeling of control that a toilet bloated with stomach acid and undigested food allows. Though, I also do not want to abandon what this bulimic girl possessed, for it was her incapability to speak is that demanded her to listen. To value human connection in the way it is meant to be valued. When one is silent often, alone often, lonely often, the feeling of seeing the person that they love is so much more grand. Both the feeling of being together once again and the desire to hear the perspective of the other rather than focusing on how to assert one's own is much greater. I feel it is this self assertion that breeds selfishness in the end. In contrast, it is selflessness that breeds love. I am in pain currently. In silence I find burning agony. In voicelessness I find grief. Though, through it all, I also find a road. Unlit, yet aromatic with gingerbread, this road that leads us to each other is only decipherable when immersed within our own darkness. This understanding of human pain, and therefore multidimensional comprehension for the human experience, allows me to be there, both presently and emotionally for the people that I love. It is for this I choose silence. It is through this I find love.