The digging part reminded me of a piece I once wrote:
I dig, I sleep and I dig, in overture
shrouded in darkness, evermore and more
beneath the moon, obscured by cloud‘s lore
the earth’s wet dirge echoes in funeral chore.
It is certainly not easy when we have to deal with pain that isn't ours to begin with.
Most of the time I have no words—or more accurately, I can't express myself verbally, as someone is always speaking over me. So, I will write instead.
I have struggled to talk or just reply to people. I was afraid, or made to be afraid, when I was young. At that time, silence was a virtue. Now it is taken as someone who ignores.
"It's not like I don't want to reply, but the words really don't come out.