Tired …. But I’ll never quit.
Helpless …. So I close my eyes and pray.
Infuriated …. I breathe slowly, craving peace.
Distraught …. I write to get it out.
Emotional …. Nothing like the loss of a child.
Focused …. Retaining millions of details.
Confused …. But not surprised they got away with it. (For Now)
Hopeful …. Love will lead her home.
Drained …. Fulfilled only by the dream of her return.
Guarded …. Try to take what’s mine again.
As I looked at the binder that my writing has gone into; over 400 pages, and now starting to fill a new binder because there’s no room in the other one, I took a moment to just look at it from across the room.
I realized how much of my life I have given, how much it took.
I said out loud ” look at how many thoughts would be racing in my brain if I didn’t write it all out. “
I looked at it and said to myself ‘ until Right is Right, I will keep doing whatever it takes. ‘
I write in the middle of the night so no one can hear me cry, I write in the car, parked on the hill overlooking the city, I write at the library with people staring at me in my dark glasses and headphones, lost in my own world, typing furiously as if they’re not watching and wondering what I could possibly be writing about.
Every page I write brings comfort, strength …. although written with tears streaming down.
If I didn’t write this out for myself and my family, I don’t know how I would be able to cope. Just getting through one day is a small miracle.
I’m glad I’m able to tell our own story, because I refuse to let all those other liars tell it …. Period.