There Was Only Time To Survive

Shell-shocked.

She's always had words in her head during times of crisis, physical or emotional. Questioning words. Analyzing words. Angry words. Despairing words. Story words. If she could get these words out of her head and written down, the experience has a chance to become more manageable, endurable, laughable even.

But this past month it was all she could do to stay in the moment and not give up. Rest was elusive, and there really was not time to sit and process the situation, there was only time to act or sleep.

Really, only time to survive.

But now as the clouds are slowly parting, and she's getting glimpses of her normal again (even though one of them is still in the hospital), she needs to decompress. She needs to write. She needs to unload this past month and try to make sense of it. She needs to process everything she has thought and felt so that she can move on or let it go.

Yet, she has no words. She's shell-shocked. She's stunned. She's been attacked, kicked in the gut, discarded in the corner of the alley.

Events of this past month have caused her to go back and question again these past 6 years. She's analyzed the crucial decisions. She's gotten angry over naive hopes, and she has despaired over decisions made in faith.

She doesn't know where she stands anymore on a few perhaps moral or ethical issues, and she's not sure those around her, whether it be her family, church, or special needs community (especially them), would support her voicing her thoughts on these issues out loud.

So perhaps that's why she feels she has no words. Perhaps the words she does have aren't palatable or relatable or acceptable, and therefore she fears writing them down.

She might be alone with these thoughts. And being alone is a scary place for her.