Write or Wrong?

I used to write. A lot. Almost every day I had my pen out writing in my journal, a notebook, even a scrap of paper. But I lost my passion when I lost my baby; it just slipped away from me along with a handful of other things I loved to do. Things that even in my lowest times I still enjoyed. I don't think it's the fact that I don't enjoy them any more because inside myself I know that I do. Maybe I am lazy. Maybe the passions will return to me stronger than before. What I do know is I am a different person than I was prior to all of this; and I find myself wanting to write again, but I don't know where to start. Or what to say. Or even why. It could have to do with my fear of being judged for what goes on in my mind. I remember going through many dark times and writing was my way to get it out. It was almost like therapy. Then I burned (in a bonfire) pages of writing consisting of journal entries, poetry, stories and letters. Sometimes I am thankful that I got rid of it because of the awful place that I was in, but there are times that I wish I still had it; not to wallow in that place, but to remember and be thankful.

At least I am not here any more:

Loneliness

The way you see the world...
jaded hearts.
Ice melting away, falling freedom.
Gaze into your insecurities.
Give up your ideals of self and opinion.
Differences.
Deep, gaping canyons, they swallow you,
and humanity turns away,
a swirling mass with no emotion.
Thoughts.
Cold being.
Heartbeat concealed.
You are the machine created by...
your isolation.

Me, 1999

Maybe I am more here:

I'd Like to know the Truth

Would you tell me if it is possible?
Even if there is a place
where water rises and meets air,
where you cross the bridge from doing to being,
where a man makes the connection
between what he knows
and what he is.

I'd like to think that such a place exists.
Is it true that a man can fool his own mind
into believing what his heart has always known as the truth?
Is it true?
Even if I'd like to know...
would you tell me the truth?
Or is truth the thing you hid from others
because you feel the danger in
letting another man know you for what you really are?

I know that fear all too well.
It is so real to me that I know it has to be real to you.
Now it is clear to me.
I must stop holding the hand of fear.
To let go!
For such a small step, why does it feel so huge?
One finger at a time I break free
from the cage that has held me captive
all of my breathing days
and all of my sleepless nights.
I will look back for no man,
for truth has set me free.

Me, 2000

At any rate, there are so many thoughts swirling around in my head that maybe the reason I have been so silent is because I don't have a clue what will come out when I finally do start to write it out. The thing that is hard for me to swallow is the fact that I still don't know what to say even though I have been in similar shoes to another person. So many people out there have a "list" of things to say to people who are going through one tragic thing or another, mainly seemingly useless platitudes. God help me, I do not want to be one of those people. There are so few things one can say to a person without further hurting them or discounting the process that they are going through and the pain that they are dealing with. I have dealt with many comments that were more damaging than helpful, and had to learn to brush a lot of them off rather than try to explain why they were not helpful or encouraging. I sometimes still deal with a lot of these comments in the back of my mind. Even though my faith in God has helped me through a lot of things, many of the hurtful things that have been said to me came from the mouths of people that thought they were telling me what God would want them to say. It actually had the opposite effect than they were intending, I think, because most of them left me at a standstill in the grief process or feeling like I did not have the faith I used to have. In reality I do not have the faith I used to have, but I think in the long run, it will be better. At least I hope to not be someone like Lola talked about in her entry today. It just broke my heart to know that she was looking for something and actually putting herself out there to ask the difficult questions and found that nobody could answer them. May I be the kind of person that, because of my grief, can give some hope where none seems to be found, even though I don't have all the answers.