The silence is me. I sit back on a empty wall with dirt smudges, and cracks all over it. Most would look at it and say it looked about ready to all crumble to the ground, and yet it still stands. That wall has stood there for the 26 years I’ve been alive and I’m sure it’s been there longer than that. This wall holds pain, and shame, and brokenness. It’s a lot like me and that’s probably why I catch myself coming to this same wall so often.

My family would say I live my life the hard way, never really wanting to listen and always choosing the choice that would cause me more pain than had I just listened. Sometimes I believe what they think of me, the world gets to big and to dark that I feel like I’ll be swallowed up any moment. I used to want to be swallowed up into a dark hole just to escape all my deamonds but now I feel like life has changed to a river. I haven’t gotten to the nice little calm swimming hole yet, but instead feel trapped in a rip current being drug under water every turn I make. I feel completely paralyzed by those closest to me. I feel as if my screams are under water and not even those right next to me can notice. I feel alone and forgotten. When I finally feel like I need to speak up, that rip tide just pulls me back in. It’s no use, so now I sit in crowded rooms in silence. There is no elaborate love confession, or laughter, but the silence is deathly deafening.