Broken Records. A foreign phrase to many. They play the same song plus over and over and over... No end. Mind goes mad. Questions come: "really?" "not enough already?".
My silence, nothing but a desperate (futile) attempt to disappear. But I am found under the mud and grime. I am lifted. By unseen faces. Fed by vaguely familiar people who have done this before.
I must- no, I vow, to rise up again; to be well so that I may write your stories. Lift you from the mud. Wipe away all that dulls your shiny, sparkly self. I will receive the healing, stronger again. I promise to help lift you, carry you, shout from the plains until your story is finally heard.
I may be undone, but I am not done.
Do not let yourselves be dismayed.
Look up, where help comes frrip