Lately, my head has been a bit fuzzy. I've lost my thoughts again, even though I have my voice back. I never lost my every day speaking voice, my "I'd like a non-fat grande mocha" voice, my "Return travelcard to London, please" voice. That voice I've always had. What I had lost was my other voice, the voice that says "Fuck you," and "You don't get to talk to me like that," and most especially, "What I want is this".

In a moment of breakthrough, I got my voice back.

I lost it many years ago. I lost it and, like the civil rights of the nation I come from, I didn't even realize that it had gone. There was no me, there was only a "What can I do for you?"

But now I'm coming back. I'm slowly returning-I'm not all there yet, but I am starting to get back inside of me, piece by piece. And I cannot fucking believe how fantastic the skin inside my forearms feels.

This is a small step, a first. There are more to come. I have celebrated this moment with Angus and tomorrow I get to tell my Couch Man about it, and we can celebrate then, too.

In the meantime something has me quiet. I'm not sure what it is, but I suppose if I had to wager a guess it'd be related to children. I feel quiet and solemn and have concentrated on cleaning out. Yesterday I yanked out half the contents of my closet and the clothes are going to charity. I stood before the open doors and, wordlessly, just started ripping.

It was that or sit around in the kitchen, cleaning out the cupboards with my head inside of them like Sylvia Plath. I chose the path of least resistance. The Great Wardrobe Purge of 2006 has only just begun.

I recently looked back at comments here, and I did a chase on the internet to see who linked to me-my links are down and that's ok with me. I don't really comment on other sites, but I'm often there. On some sites I saw interesting things-specifically I saw that people have written sentiments intimating that I have such a good life, it's better than theirs, what's my issue?

Huh. Interesting. I wonder if it's something in my writing that makes me seem ungrateful because trust me-I'm not. This life I live now is something that I love with a ferocity that sometimes scares me-loving things means giving them value. Giving value means introducing vulnerability. After 32 years I have a home, I have a place that I can't wait to come home to every single day. I have a lovely boy that can make my toes curl. And I have the one other thing that I have always wanted, as far back as I can remember - I get to travel and see the world.

It's the only thing I wanted when I was a little girl and I treasure it more than I can say.

None of what I have was received lightly. I did not have an easy path, things didn't happen overnight and it wasn't handed to me on a platter. My past is marked wth times of poverty. I have been raped. I have been hit. I have been abused in ways I am only just now working out in a weekly session in Operation Save Myself. I don't blame anyone, really-all it takes is someone who will be the victim before the house of cards falls down.

I lost my job and, consequently, my mind. Only I really lost my mind before that, when I went all out and rode the Suicide Train. I lost one of the greatest loves a person can have when he died and left the world behind. I continue to monitor the skin cancer front, which may ultimately be the way I take my check-out. I only speak to one family member now (although this was a choice). I have few memories, and some of those I have I don't want. I have no friends from the past and only a tiny inner circle now. I struggle with fertility treatment and am mindful of one of the two possible outcomes-a lifetime of regret, when what I long for is a lifetime of song.

Am I so lucky? Well, I certainly think so, and not in a "let me rub it in" kind of way. I'm the kind of chick that could just as easily have wound up in the gutter as wind up in a house in the countryside. I don't exactly know how I got this life, I only know that it was fucking harder than hell to get to here. I think I have an incredible world that I inhabit. I have someone helping me fix me. I have a man that I love very much. I have the world's most handsome dog ever, as well as the world's laziest cats (but that's ok, it makes it easier for me to pick them up and love on them that way). I get to travel and I have a job that, while incredibly stressful, is doing wonders for my CV.

But I don't think I can compare my life to yours. I don't think lives can be compared like that. Maybe I have a few extra stamps in my passport, but maybe you get to read bedtime stories to someone who smells like Johnson's Baby Shampoo and Cheerios. Maybe I have a nice house and a nice garden, but maybe you have loving phone calls with your family, where throats don't catch and angry words get exchanged. Maybe I have a man that I love very much, but maybe you have someone, too. Maybe maybe maybe.

Am I lucky that I have these scars on my wrist? Am I ungrateful when I scream at the sky and beg for the chance to be a mother? When I have a bad day, must it be tempered by the fact that I got a good bonus?

Life is hard enough. I've spent enough time being silent and hiding myself. Don't hide yourself either-vent away. We all have a voice, even those whose glasses are a bright pearly pink.

After all, I guess even Zach Braff must have a bad day from time to time.

My site is my apple-I'm happy to slice it open and give you a taste. It doesn't mean I can compare to your clementine slices. It just means that this is me, with all of my baggage, with my now re-appearing voice.

I like my life, with all its bruises and shininess. I honestly, truly hope you like yours, too.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:11 AM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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