If Wishes Were Horses

So much to say, and so little to say it with…

I have been intending to write about–hm, shall we say, ‘the circumstances of Abby’s conception’ for probably two months now. Saying that, though, just shows how much I need to sit my butt down and find a euphemism I–hm, shall we say, ‘like.’

See what I mean?

I haven’t begun. Not with words I can see with my eyes. I have composed sentences and paragraphs in my head, mostly while lying awake in bed at night, or sitting awake on the couch early in the morning, or some other time when I feel alone, whether or not I’m physically alone.

I started once. I wrote a few thousand words, and added to it sporadically for three months or so, until the hard drive died, and I lost it. Now I hoard my words, refusing to delete the most daft draft.

Today I read Belle’s post, and I admire her terribly for it. To say and do instead of saying without doing, that is always admirable, but even more so when it’s in spite of fear.

My fear wins in so many ways. The fight for words, the fight for sleep, the fight for peace.

Fighting for words? Most days all I can do is beat around the bush, because I can’t even think the things I want to say. It’s like the monster in the closet, never there in the daylight when I’m prepared to face it, only the lonely darkness when I can’t help but face it in spite of myself.

Fighting for sleep? My night seizures were the worst on the anniversary of the only time I slapped my husband in anger. The day I didn’t write the post I wanted to write, the post I could lock all those memories up in and throw away the key. I’ve still had some, but nothing like the week of no sleep.

Fighting for peace? Every day I continue to not write that post, to not let myself even consider actually writing it.

Fear wins those battles.

But much of the time now, I’m me. I’m not crying and wanting to gouge my eyes out to stop seeing things I never saw in the first place. I’m not throwing books and stopping movies because infidelity is such a wonderful plot device, let’s use it in everything. The hurt is always there, somewhere, but I can go hours without even being aware of it. I can go days without even being hurt by it.

I want those times to be forever.

I want to will wishes to be horses, to force beggars to ride.

8 Comments on “If Wishes Were Horses”

  1. traathy says:

    Ugh. I am so sorry you are feeling like this.

    I actually was only able to open up on my blog and not anywhere else in my life at the time we went through our RPL stuff. My first month of writing, I didn’t write to an audience I wrote to me. Sorta like I was trying to just remember the shit we went through so I could make it tangible. I didn’t even really understand the concept of a blog at that time.

    Hope you are able to sort through your feelings *hug*

  2. jjiraffe says:

    Can I just take a moment to say how beautifully this was written? “Not with words my eyes can see.” wow.

    I can feel your pain coming through the glare of my screen and I wish there was something I could do to fix it. But, alas. Can I suggest you write your story and maybe share it anonymously? Or with just a few writers you trust? O

    I just read Keiko Zoll’s The You Project and I found it helpful for working through some fears I have.

    Sending many hugs.

    • April says:

      Thanks, jjiraffe. I can’t even say if it’s the writing itself or the sharing hindering the writing.

      I read Justine’s review and your comment, and I’m thinking I’ll order a copy next week.

  3. SRB says:

    Composing sentences and paragraphs in our heads… yes. Yes, indeed. For all the things we can never say. You have said so much here with so few words… I wonder if you realize that? I can hear you. ❤

  4. I hope that if you decide to write it out again it brings some peace if you post it or not. For me when I write something that has lots of emotion behind it, something difficult maybe, I feel kinda good when I post it. Feels good to put myself out there and be vulnerable. Hugz!

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