words, for me, have always been pieces of illusive beauty that i have ceaselessly attempted with all of my heart to capture and express with the utmost grace. and yet, also, words have been jagged pieces of confusion that i lost for nearly a third of my life. and you may be shaking your head, maybe you are ready to give up reading this blog completely, confused by this paradoxical nature of words, and confused why it even matters at all. but, if you, like me, are fighting for your life and clawing your way out of the inexplicably dark void of an eating disorder, you know exactly what i speak of. for years i felt more empty than i could ever express, so empty that i could truly physically feel my loneliness as a weight pulling me ever closer to the cold earth. an empty shell, crumbling by the undernourished hands of my own self-loathing, with no words at all. too hopeless to think, too exhausted to speak, i dissolved into my own silence. it was like this for a very long time.
almost a year and a half ago, with a knowing from the depths of my being that this was my last shot, i yet again entered residential treatment. my hopes were low; after twenty three months spent in various residential centers and twenty seven hospitalizations since the age of thirteen, i had more than given up on this life. this silence was all that filled me. i had lost my words so long ago, that they had become a figment of what once was, or maybe what once had never even been, for i could not even remember. but all this being said, this time around something shifted in my inner most core, the shard my of soul that still remained awoke from its slumber, the seeds of my voice took root, and ultimately the beginning of my becoming was born. i learned that this existence, this life, even when words were so deep they could never find their way to the surface, was meant to be loud. full. vibrant and painful and abundant and chaotic and beautiful all at once. but most of all, this life was meant to be lived with a voice. i learned that no soul is truly devoid of all words and thought and ultimately life itself, and instead i learned that my words (though sometimes slower to come to than most) could move mountains. my own mountains. the ones that filled my lungs with stones. my voice could begin to free me.
today, i write because even though i do not know where i am headed, though i yearn for a life i still can neither fathom nor articulate, i know two things: that i am on my way, and that i can only one day live this intangible hope if i never let my voice be lost again.
when the words leave, the darkness rolls in like the deepest fog, and if i have learned anything it is that i have spent my fair share of time in the darkness. i know that i am no longer (nor ever was) meant for that life, and i am now, with tongue tied and wavering voice, speaking my truth day in and day out until i emerge into the light.
i am on a journey, weaving my words into a boat to take me across unknown waters, and i hope you will join me.
i hope, if i do nothing else, i hope that i can one day be living proof that each and every one of our lives are the most beautiful poems this universe could ever write.
bear with me, for words still do not come easily to me. becoming is a painful process, but it is one in which we are never alone in, as long as we never let our voices cease.
let us begin.