My voice is all but gone, missing, absent without leave. Literally – and metaphorically. Let me start with the latter – though the link is clear.
After my hopeful and vibrant post on Friday morning, things turned, with a speed I could not have anticipated, into a nightmare scenario. Suffice it to say that we are on a knife-edge once more – and, no matter how articulate I am, no matter how loud I shout, speechlessness has now spread to my larynx, and I am not being heard.
The feverish cold and aching has now been with me for several days. It is rife amongst my circle of friends, so this is unsurprising. But the claws in my throat, the tightening and pain in my voice box, the way only deep gutteral sounds are now emerging (and, actually, I cannot project above a pained whisper) is symbolic of the wider malaise.
Nothing I say makes a blind bit of difference. That is the terrifying truth. Tomorrow is the day when things will be decided, on the move front, one way or another – and it could be that the Completion Date (reached with such joy on Thursday) will be swallowed up and spat out in the wake of the latest tsunami.
None of this is to say that all is hopeless. None of this is to say that I did not express my views with passion, anger, logic and, ultimately, no voice at all. But I am powerless. I could rant, and collect a large audience, but it would be pointless: The endgame is out of my hands.
Last night, and on into the early hours, I went to an unexpected, last-minute gig my lad was playing in. Wonderful, it was – and, as a bonus, I drove, through fog, to parts of Bristol I have never before visited.
The atmosphere at this Jazz gig was electric and wonderful. We in the audience whooped and clapped and, in my case, danced awhile – and, mid final joyous yell, I felt my poor voice give up in virus-bound disgust and slink off to heal in silence.
But I think it significant, and sad (and bloody painful), that my sense of psychological powerless, and knowledge that my voice is NOT being heard in some areas of my life, has somatized so speedily and effectively: That I am now effectively mute in my day-to-day dealings with the world – though able to express myself loudly and with total clarity on here.
I will share one last insight – which relates to my vocal theme. On Friday, in the midst of the gathering storm clouds, I let go a huge and fierce roar of sheer anger and frustration. I was, for a brief time, the epitome of Sekhmet fury – and, for all that it barely registered with the source of my rage (and was, in fact, turned aside with a comment comparing me to a very different kind of animal!), I let it out; I vocalised; I did not hold back.
Hoist on my own petard, I suppose!
For now I am speechless, in pain, over-heating with fever and inclined to leak from the eyes at odd moments.
But temporary paralysis of outgoing words will not stop my inner ability to fight with passion. One door to expression may, for the moment, be jammed shut – but I am a communicator and I will not be silenced in the wider sense.