I remember this time when I was in grade school when I had one of my first couple of what I today call my grey dreams. I usually dream in color but sometimes I have these terrible dreams that are all in shades of grey and the night.
My father could raise his voice when he was angry or lecturing but he also knew how to whisper so quietly and secretly to me that no one in the room knew the terrible things he spoke to me.
Say Something: Pt 3 The Worth of Voice—Suddenly, I turn, back to the door. I have never felt so alone and helpless or that the world is so large and scary. For the first time, I see this huge world beyond my family. It isn’t safe.
Say Something: Pt 2 The Worth of Me—Before I can turn to see it coming, he whipped that thing against my legs. I am ashamed of the tears streaming down my face, as I walk away, back straight, without sound, and they continue to marvel that the red stripes disappeared so quickly.
Say Something Pt 1: The Worth of Rape—I just want to get out of this dark room into daylight and away from everything that courtroom represents.
My childhood story isn't spell-binding, but I am pretty sure it was on par with other students. I was just another student in a sea of students ...
As with listening to music, physical and emotional pain both have the power to be so loud for so long they affect your hearing it anymore. Pain is powerful. Pain has volume.