Caught In The Silence

I have chronic laryngitis. At least once yearly I lose my voice. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes a week, sometimes a month. There's no reason for it, sometimes it happens when I get sick, sometimes it happens after a long night, sometimes it just happens.

Now despite the door that opens to jokes from friends and family who know I talk... A LOT... Its not as funny or amusing as it sounds. Especially now, with a toddler who likes to run and occasionally needs to be hollered for (or at) to prevent injury and insanity.

There's also the associated difficulties of having no voice like making phone calls, ordering my tea at drive thru, asking for help at the drug store etc...

But there's an added dimension of pain involved in being voiceless for me. I lose my therapy. I am a firm believer in music therapy and for me it's done vocally. When I'm sad, I sing. When I'm happy, I sing. When Im mad, I sing. See the pattern emerging?

I've been singing since I was hardly old enough to talk. As a kid I took lessons and trained as a broadway and opera performer. (Yes, I sang opera... SURPRISE) It wasn't my cup of tea so I started just singing for myself, family and in school productions. Later on I became a karaoke regular then karaoke host. Anything to get to sing.

History lesson over, basically singing is a huge part of who I am. I use it to free myself from the daily grind. Not having my voice is so mentally debilitating. More mentally debilitating then not having my medications, not having my doctors, not having my reading, my writing, my books. Not having my voice is like breathing underwater. Like flying without wings. Like like like putting a tiger in a portapotty. Its basically taken every emotion, every thought, every everything and confined it within my body. Like an untreated infection it just eats at my from the inside out.

I feel like my thoughts have opportunities to take over when previously I could release and heal. Being that it has been a rather rough week for me, its all the more in my face. I can't sing, I can't scream, I can't even whisper how I feel.

So for the moment, this is my release.

This is my therapy.

This is my song.