Saying Nothing.

It's hard to write, when there are so many things to write about. When there is just so much happening, and so many ideas, and so much overwhelm. When you are passionate about so many different things, and each new thought tugs on your heartstrings in a different way.

Do I write about disability? About the inadequate systems that are in place to support disabled people; or the myriad ways so many still misunderstand disability; or how we even define disability; or the overlap of physical disability with mental disability, often because of how people are treated by those around them and the systems designed to support them; or how we pat ourselves on the back for doing the minimum to include disabled people, when there is still so much that excludes?

Do I go more broadly, and write about inequality? About racial inequality, or wealth inequality, or gender inequality, power inequality, and so many other forms of societal inequality. About the systems and structures of this world and their unfairness, how so much has been built for only certain types of people, ignoring diversity either by ignorance or malice?

Or perhaps I write about religion, that has perpetuated so much inequality? That has killed, and shunned, and hurt, and persecuted, and traumatised, and excluded; often citing the names of gods or spirits, but it is really in their own name?

Or maybe I talk about queerness, that religion has persecuted? About gender, and sexuality, and relationship; about the false dichotomy of male and female, the assumed normalcy of heterosexuality and monogamy and sexuality; finding the sacred in what has been demonised and disregarded?

What if I talk about identity, and who we are as people, as humans? About how we develop, and grow, and blossom, and shine? The depth and breadth of personality, the incredible complexity of who we are?

Maybe I talk about creativity - about music, and song, and art, and poetry, and dance, and drama, and performance, and the act of creating? About the power and possibility in something that is both constructed with so much thought, yet has no physical form? That communicates in sound, or movement?

Perhaps I have fun, and talk about games? Computer games, board games, card games - about cooperative games, or legacy games, or competitive games; games that are good for playing one on one, games that you bring out for a party, games that you can play by yourself, games that you keep for that regular play group. Decks that you've built for that card game, constructed carefully over time, expensive pieces of cardboard and colour?

Or about science! And maths! About the million things we have discovered, and continue to discover, every day; about wonders of this world, and this universe, that we live in, and the laws and patterns that seem to govern it and contain it, to the best of our understanding?

Or about stories, and how they entrance, and bewitch, and sustain, and so much more; how they take us to places we have never been, and allow us to walk in the shoes of those we never would - or help us to walk through places we know well, but fear. How stories unite us and connect us like few other things, how they bring us together in joy and pain?

Or maybe I need to talk about pain; about suffering, about trauma. About the hurt that so many of us carry and never work through, don't know how to work through, just live with. The fires that we have been formed and transformed by, the experiences that now dominate and shape our existence today, the burdens we have not yet cast off.

Perhaps I talk about emotion; about that chaos of feeling, that seems uncontrolled and wild at times, unpredictable and uncontainable, with no sense and little direction; about sorrow, and joy, and anger, and love?

All of these - and many more - I could write about, or talk about, for so long. Many of them I have already, yet there is still so much more. But when all are shouting at once, and all are jostling in my head for space, and to be released; it is difficult. It is hard to hear amongst the noise. To focus on one thing long enough to give it time to shine, before something else comes in to block it out. Because all are important, and so all demand their moment; but because of this, so often, none see the light. There is so much within me, but it cannot escape. It just rockets around, spinning and whirring and exhausting me constantly.

There is too much to say. And so I say nothing.