From the pages of "Speak", by Laurie Halse Anderson

I crouch by the trunk, my fingers stroking the bark, seeking a Braille code, a clue, a message on how to come back to life after my long undersnow dormancy. I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can i find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax i can take to my memories or fears? I dig my fingers into the dirt and squeeze. A small, clean part of me waits to warm and burst through the surface. Some quiet Melindagirl I haven't seen in months. This is the seed I will care for.

I reread parts of the book a night ago. I am not Melinda, and I haven't had her experiences, but this passage spoke to me. Like Melinda, my pain and fear has made me dormant. 

But it doesn't have to stay that way. The time has come to speak.