Monday, April 7, 2008

journal entry, April 7, 2008, 4:34 pm

Silence. I spend my life in silence.
Dr. Barrett tried to make me talk in class today. Professors don't understand. It's not that I have nothing to say. It's not that I can't find the words. I just can't speak. I feel all jumbled. Thousands of voices inside of me. Each knows exactly what it needs to say. Each fighting to live on more minute. Each begging to be the one released. But the only voice I want to listen to, the only voice that really matters is silent. I still haven't found my voice. I'm still being pushed down into nothing. Sound can't travel in a vacuum. My body is a vacuum. I can't push my voice out. My ideas aren't new or radical, but I fear the repercussions of voicing them. You can't control what people think of you, but you can control what you give them to think about. Words. In the end, that's all there is. "Don't forget your obituary." He asked me what I thought that meant. It's what's left you when you're gone -- what people think of you. "But that's not what an obituary is." But that's what it made me think of. Silence. "Go on. You've got a good idea. You need the participation points." I can't. They don't understand. Am I the only person who feels like this? Am I the only person who's forced silent by something inside? I cry. That's the only way my words can escape. Even poetry can't hold this pain. Even poetry can't help me escape. My voice has been silenced. Not by society, men, or God. I've been silenced by the most powerful force -- myself.