I would like to tell you that today has been easy.
But that would be a lie.
It’s been long. I’m tired, I’m sick (19 days in a row now. C’mon Vitamin C, kick in already!). I’m running on little sleep. I’m at that point where you just cry silent tears because there is so much to do, in so little time, and all that you want is sleep.
Tomorrow I share my Really Big Fear. I haven’t even started writing it yet. And I work almost all day tomorrow. Ugh.
I have the first paragraph constructed in my head, but as soon as I go to start writing it will disappear, as always, and I will have to begin anew. It always works that way. And it always sounds better in my head the first time.
I cried in the shower last night. Tears became song as I made up new lyrics. It doesn’t happen often anymore. But when the silent hurt becomes too heavy, tears fall and, occasionally, words come. Two lines of a song, a slice of my hurting heart.
I have it good. I have a lot. But I have a lot of weight on me. March 1st seems to be the deadline for everything. So much to get done, a 5k to prepare for, a job to show up to and complete happily, and schoolwork to be done to the best of my ability, and on schedule.
This is where I’m at. The silent hurting stage. That place where tears fall not because you want them to, but because so much has been broken inside of you that, when no one is around, your body breaks down as well.
Just for a minute.
Just for a little relief.
And then you pick it all back up again, hoist in on your shoulders, and keep on walking.
Until maybe someday you find someone, a soul lover, to take some off of you and place it on them. Easing your burden and letting it be known that, no matter the day or time or trouble, silent hurts may no longer be silent. They may only be spoken hurts.
