I fear silence.
Do not mistake me. I am not a lover of noise, especially inane chatter that is simultaneously too loud, too fast, and too, well, inane.
Yet I still fear the silence.
Not because of the unending tranquillity, and definitely not because of the restful quiet. No, dear readers, it is because of the lack of those heavenly feelings that I am afraid. For silence, to me, is quite often anything but silent.
For when it becomes quiet, I become trapped. Trapped by the web that builds, wraps around me tightly, choking, suffocating, as thoughts, one after another, collide in my mind at a pace far faster than the inane chatter – that is just as cumbersome.
The problem with silence, however, is that one cannot block it out.
Silence is when the introspective persona from within me emerges, hurling fireballs of words and phrases at me that eventually blur my vision and create an incessant pounding in my head. It is when all my inner demons are exposed to myself, when I reflect, cringing and wincing on those words and phrases that are perpetually reverberating in my mind. It is when the tiredness envelops me, darkening my vision to the rest of the world and allowing me to dwell on griefs that only seem to enlarge when thought over in the quiet. It is when inconsequential ideas and problems seem to become significant, when carelessly said words come to hold too much meaning, when past actions seem to paint the future.
Yet in a way, in a strange way, I also love the silence.
For though this silence is quite often foreboding, menacing, and frightening, it can surprise you sometimes, provide you with a sliver of hope. It exposes you to your faults, but rarely does it expose you to them without providing the way to change. It holds answers, allowing you to reflect upon words and phrases and actions again and again until slowly, very slowly, the answers creep up on you, the way out.
And sometimes, it opens your eyes to your own epiphanies. For now, that is enough.