When Words Evade Me – Or Not

There was a time not so long ago that the words just seemed to pour themselves out on the page. They’d capture exactly how I was feeling with just a tweak or two.

Lately, they evade me.

I want to write – to capture this sense of disorientation – to make sense of this new version of me, of life, but…

The words evade me.

I distinctly remember some nights in the hospital when I’d sit and stare at the computer – looking for words. Looking for ways to say the same thing over again. Looking for ways to say that there wasn’t much change, but there were more questions and more doubts. Looking for ways to keep a positive air that we’d hoped would manifest itself in a positive outcome.

There were so many people rooting for Rylie, for her recovery and for our strength. I almost felt responsible for keeping that movement going.

There were times that was somewhat paralyzing. We wanted to be positive. We wanted it to be true, but as we began to see the writing on the wall it became harder to say the same thing in different ways. To keep that positive energy flowing. Even then, though, the words would flow.

After the accident, during our hospital stay, after Rylie’s death and beyond, that positivity and even that ‘responsibility’ has kept us afloat. It’s given me a purpose and something to cling to. Except when the words evade me…

Truthfully, sometimes the raw emotions, the fleeting feelings, the moments of disorientation which are so real, yet so foreign don’t align with the message we want to share. I often think about these strange new realities, but I don’t write about them. Many times it is because I can’t find the words to describe them. More often than not, it is because I choose to build on the power of community, of togetherness, of finding the good in the bad. I don’t want to wallow in self-pity, to make excuses, or admit that things are different and hard.

It is then, in those decisions and choices that the words evade me. Perhaps, though I’m doing myself, and others, a disservice by not acknowledging the disconnect. I don’t want people thinking that it’s horrible all of the time, because it’s not. In fact, MOST of the time, things are really quite good. Only SOME of the time do things feel downright awful.

ALL of the time, however, it’s okay to admit that things are different. I struggle with that. I struggle with the randomness of my emotions – the way I can’t predict when or how a wave of loss will wash over me. I struggle with this new version of me that is no longer Type A, Miss “Super Organized, Always Knows What’s Going On” and is more of a Type A-, B+ who loses sight of details and feels like she is floundering a lot of the time.

In my heart, I know this isn’t a bad thing. It is, in fact, a wonderful opportunity for me to grow as a person. It is just very different and very uncomfortable. It makes me want, even more, to find just the right words, the right ways to capture this fogginess and the unknown.

Now, though as the words are starting to make their way back, I am realizing how important it is to share. Perfect words or not, I NEED to write. I need to share this experience.