My Words are Just... Gone

I've been trying to write a proper blog about everything I'm feeling for the past several months.  I looked at the log for my drafts, and I have over a dozen started, but not finished.  They are full of random thoughts and sentences, blurbs that don't make sense.  There is no rhyme or reason to them individually; they are merely unsuccessful, messy brain dumps.

A dear friend and I were talking about our grief and anger the other day, and she put words to what I've been struggling to pin down.  "I've lost my voice.  My words.  I don't even know how to articulate my losses.  My woundings," she wrote in the text.

Oh my goodness, did she hit the nail on the head. 

That's it exactly, about being able to blog/write and just simply talking most times--I lost my words, my voice.  I am unable to properly articulate my losses any longer.  I have so much going on in my mind, heart, soul and body that I'm just not able to find my words.  I am completely spent, exhausted by just being upright and breathing. I feel shipwrecked, completely marooned on some desolate island, just wondering when this fresh hell will end.

How much longer until help arrives?

My anger, for the most part, is gone, replaced by shock and silence.

I cannot pray, I cannot write, I cannot even think a clear thought.  Reading has become a challenge, as I often find myself reading the same sentence over and over, while it still doesn't make sense.  I cannot pray--the words simply will not come, they just aren't there.  I've lost the passion I used to have during praise and worship at church, or hearing a good song on the radio.  I cannot raise even empty hands to Him.

It is draining pretending I'm okay, that I'm better.  I've started wearing make-up again, and styling my hair.  I smile and make small talk, I give one word responses to questions I'm still not ready to answer.  I silently pray no one will notice me or ask those questions.  I cannot wait to get home and remove my I'm-doing-great-I'm-not-grieving-anymore mask by changing into yoga pants, removing my make-up and pulling my hair up into a ponytail.

I am so tired.  I am so done.

Without my words, without being able to write down what is exploding inside my brain, I am nothing.  Without writing, I stuff my feelings and emotions and everything else deep down inside myself.

So many well meaning friends have suggested therapy, but I do not have the strength (nor the desire) to talk with a stranger, to explain why I'm there, to rehash the past.  I'm not going to pay a stranger to listen to me whine and cry when I can do that for free in my closet.  The little bit of energy I do have needs to be reserved for being a proper wife and mom.

I really hate this grieving thing.

So here I am, without words, faking it, until it all makes sense.