So often, we say things that are only half truths, or based on a truth and then built upon. We often say these things to convey a point or to share humor. But sometimes, the point they convey makes them feel so very, very real.
It might be seen as some as an exaggeration to say that I would die if I couldn’t write. But as of late, I have begun to truly feel that way. And it has nothing to do with actual death. There has been enough of that in my life lately to not want to exaggerate in such a way. At the same time, there are ways to die on the inside. I have twice felt that way, where nothing else in this world mattered. All emotions were shut down, there was nothing worth feeling. As my farrier told me the second time it happened, my “give a damn” was broken.
With the loss of one of my best friends, and the very best human being I have ever known, there has been a wrenching sort of grief that continues to threaten to consume me. I feel this consuming passion to put my agony in words, but life has been holding me back. There is simply too much going on to take the time to let my heart bleed onto paper, and as a result, every day feels a little bit duller. And yet the wrenching pain remains. To start the healing process, I need to write, because to write is to start to heal my soul. My heart will take longer, and for some reason the two are never on the same page. But without one, the other is utterly miserable, and neither can start to find peace in the wrinkles thrown into life.
And so that brings me back to my point of the day. Sometimes the words we say, like “I would die if I couldn’t write” are not so much an exaggeration as a truth. Sometimes our emotional well being is tied into one thing, in this case, the written word. Sometimes, an exaggeration that might seem a bit ridiculous, speaks more than simple words ever could.