I used to own a loud voice, and my words would flow like a freshwater stream, I was good at starting and having conversations with anyone. People loved the way my mind worked, I was creative and during our schools open day, the class teacher would complain to my mother how often I disrupted the class with my voice. I wasn’t afraid to ask questions neither was I afraid to respond, I was alive

I’m 21 and I believe I’ve died twice. My first death occurred sometime during my preteen years, my first death stole my voice away. I went from the vibrant young girl to a hiding shadow, and if you’d look in my eyes you’d see all the words that were threatening to spill but couldn’t. Fear is a fucking bastard and it gripped me by the throat. 

I walked around with a dark cloud around me, anyone could see it from a mile away and it was infectious - get close to me and you’d get a dark cloud of yours too, it was pretty simple. But people loved complicated and damaged and I was both in extremities, I attracted “saviours” like flies, everyone had their own method of wanting to “fix” me. I wanted to be fixed too. But I couldn’t be fixed, at least not at that time.

My second death happened yesterday. I decided to get rid of my dark cloud, because it was beginning to leave a stain on my heart, and I need not walk around with this dark feeling for the rest of my days on earth. I’m trying to get my voice back - and this entry is a feel of what I used to sound like. Slowly but surely, I will get my voice back, all of it in its might, and I will use it to make a better life for myself. 

Fear still grips my throat with ten of its fingers, but it has none left for my hands

So, I will write.