In former times I half-knew it, when I went to places
where conversation did not happen, no words described
what I, and others who were present, were there to find.
My itch was observed, and reduced in the sharing of it.
Silently, for the duration of each frequent short visit.
The place I went to quietly passed itself off
as a place of temporary mutuality
of a type I, otherwise, could not find.
Even as I knew there were names for where I went
and what I did there, the blanket of silence fell heavy
on those I lived with who bade the words not be spoken.
Which was why I had the itch that made me seek such respite.
The life I led using the apporved of unhelpful language
could be survived but would not cure me of my itch,
where the lack of words made me seek temporary relief,
and left me seeking temporary relief seemingly forever.
After over a decade in this silence, and a few years
away from family, I started writing to myself - to ask
where the blanket of silence began, tracking it back
near and nearer to where it started, along with how
different absences of words meant different things.
From a place of unconscious isolation
I wrote about my then present situation
to find, for seemngly the first time,
a wider conscious sense of choice.
What I did then is now called Journaling
When I was writing I called it scribbling.
Over eighteen intense months the weight
of the blanket of silence slowly lifted from me,
revealing the language of taboo underneath
most of which began with a new reading of my family.
Was I any less of a ghost at the end? Sort of.
I was not the ghost my family wanted me to be.
The old itch pressed far less,
such that I felt nearly no need
for the silent/secretive respite
I had needed in the past.
But I did not feel complete as a person
in average ordinary, inclusive, conversations.
I was also slow to grasp that 'restored' as I was
there was no compensation for where the silence,
and the years of seeking relief from the itch, had left me.
The best I can say is that I have a renewed respect
for those whose sense of care for others extends
to mental health and personal development matters,
shared in taboo-free vernacular terms: a wide field
of care that I now see as being sorely neglected.
