Personal JournalNovember 2, 2016
Words, words and more words. My fingers fly along the soft keys of the smart keyboard. My thoughts already have the story formed, the characters in mind and what is going to happen. I can see the woman with her long silky red hair, the scent of the perfumed oils she wears, and the man with his blonde attractiveness. I see the story unfold as I begin writing and I am impatient to get to the end.
It’s the month I’ve been waiting for since the beginning of the summer. I was impatient to end the project I was on when it had only just begun it’s 100 days. I already had the plan in my mind for this new storyline. It was already consuming me each day in my thoughts. I had to allow it to be pushed back onto that back burner everyone always talks about. Where is that burner anyway and why is it a burner? Why not a drawer or a shelf?
Words consume me as my brain has healed to the point my eidetic memory allows me to see the words in the front of my mind as I write. Even in conversations with others I see their words and because I can see them? I remember them more often than not. Sometimes I really wish I didn’t see those words as they are not something I want to remember. The ugly words or the ones which discount me. Those which let me know I’m not enough in their eyes or don’t believe my truths. The worst ones are those which tell me I am being treated as if I am brain damaged instead of brain injured. A difference people tend to discount.
An injury can and does heal. Damage does not.
Words were hidden inside for so long. They would not come out of my mouth. The ones I most wanted to not say would blurt out in a stuttering stammer. An embarrassment to myself and my adult aged children. The inability to censor my words shamed me for well over a year. Still shames me when I am very tired or over stressed.
Words hidden for so long are now being set free in an endless stream. Maybe it’s like bats flying out of their cave in those endless seeming streams. Those dark clouds of bird like creatures with the strange sounds they make as they fly. My words seem like this image to me. They are streaming out of the darkness where they hid for so long. They fly out all the while making strange sounds, excited to be set free, yet also silently flying through the air.
Reading, concentrating and remembering those words still escape me in the confusion of healing. I remember reading many books each week, devouring those words, the stories alive inside my mind. Now, however, I have patience as I wait and try many times to read a book, to understand what I have read. Retain the information of older information which was learned so long ago. This has become my goal.
Words, words and more words. They paint pictures I want to remember or even better yet? I want to create those pictures myself.