Let's all go back to the start, the start were Carla first let Nick in, first let herself be loved again.
I've been trapped in a loud room for so long, I've been in the room so long that I'm not sure how loud it actually is anymore. I'm not sure of anything. And now I'm leaving that loud room, I'm leaving after all this time but it's still loud. All I can hear is the buzzing in my ear drums, a constant ringing wherever I go. You've allowed me to exit the room, the room that was so overwhelmingly loud but it still rings, the ringing is still there. I think the ringing will always be there.
Loud yet so quiet. A head full of questions, full of hate, full of accusations, a head so full. But there's still space for you, not enough space but there's space. And it's ever so loud, and crowded and over powering but your voice still seeps through. Your voice seeps through the loud vibrations, vibrations of hate and grief and regret. Three feelings, three loud feelings that consume me. The loud feelings that block out everything else, everything else around me. Dominating, that's how I'd describe it, the loudness dominates me and over powers me every day and it's so loud. But, your voice it helps provide the quiet and the calm and the sanity – you give me the things I need the most. The love and care I need the most.
I can't see, I can't concentrate, I can't focus. But you help me to focus, to focus on the important things. The factory, Michelle, my health, you. You. My perspective has gone and I feel like I'm floating. Floating with ignorance for what is going on around me, floating around so subconsciously, so unaware of my surroundings. I can't find where I'm going or where I want to go. When I look at things they seem dull, how can things be happy? Happy after all of this. Two bodies in the cemetery and a street of people who loathe me. My focus has gone, my desire, my ambition. Empty. The loudness is like a screen, a screen that blocks me out, out from everything around me. But, you, your touch and your words and your soothing. They all help to refocus me, help me to break the screen.
One day I think, I think I'll wake up and it'll be gone, and it'll be quiet. But it's never quiet and it won't go. It consumes me and invades me. The speakers for the loudness live within me. And it's not like the cold when your mind is foggy or sickness when your stomach is queasy. It's not like that, the loudness isn't like that because it doesn't go. I feel like it will never go. Then there's you and when I'm with you it all seems that bit quieter and that bit calmer because in those moments it's only you. Not the loudness or the vibrations of the speakers – it's just you.
You've brought me out of the loud room, you've brought me from beneath the power of the volumes that submerged me. And in a way they will always have a power, the volumes with adjust. Loud. Quiet. Loud. Moderate.
The adjusting of the volume will be okay, it will be okay because I have you. The volumes once submerged me and now I feel like I'm gasping for air and it's strange. It's strange to be able to access the air so freely, so cleanly, so quietly. I was submerged for so long but you released me, you made me see, made me breathe.
The sudden loss of the noise, the sudden loss of the loudness that's now just turned into a gentle buzzing is a shock. I've shocked myself, for being open, for accepting help. Some things seem foreign, like they don't belong in my life, my life that I lead outside of the loud room.
But because of you, because of you a life outside the loud room seems manageable, it seems accessible and it seems like this life could be content.
Some days it might be loud, so loud that I block you out and I can't let you in. Other days it might be quiet and I can have fun, I can let go, I can be free.
The buzzing of the vibrations of the volume will always be there. I was in the loud room too long for them not to be there. But you're there too. You're there too and the quietness you bring can pull me through.