My voice. I can still talk, but a great love of mine, which has always been the beauty I can create with my vocal chords, is on hiatus. The larynx or the “voice box” which enables singing, is an organ. I’ve learned that when this organ isn’t used for two years, it weakens substantially, as I’m sure you can imagine.
I saw my voice teacher recently (this is relative, it’s been months. But when your memory becomes hazy, time becomes…abstract) who assured me that the organ I adore is still in tact, I just need to practice incessantly, to gain my strength and ease of fluctuation back.
This was undoubtedly comforting. But, this must beckon my soul, to sweetly invite my whole self, to practice singing. No matter how horrid the sound. And, please believe, it does sound monstrously horrid to me. The hardest part? I know how it used to sound. I, Bien sur, despise this difference. The disparity is down-right (I’m just going to call it what it is, although I know this word is a trigger for anyone in a mental health profession) depressing.
I used to sing so sweetly. Now my voice sounds like a jumpy, out-of-tune, unused instrument.