Monday 15 February 2016

Me and my stutter: Part two

I saw a GP on Friday. She was fairly useless, aside from the fact it seemed like I was wasting her time, she seemed to think that I should just sit tight and wait. She might be right; eventually I may just start speaking again, it may just come back as quickly and as suddenly as it went. She may also be wrong, a possibility that is as terrifying as it is growing increasingly likely.

It's hard to explain what it feels like to be entirely trapped inside one's own mind, unable to bridge the gap between what I am thinking and the operation of my vocal cords. There are plenty of people far wiser than me who have said something about feeling lonely, even in the presence of others. I guess that is what comes closest to describing it. People can talk at me and try and work out my response from my facial expressions. They can wait as I type out a response to read what I write and the patience required to do so is immense. They can sit in silence with me, smile every so often and venture a guess as to what I might be thinking. Many have. But I still cannot quite explain it. Sometimes to be with others, despite a complete inability to engage meaningfully is all I crave. Other times I crave a solitude that I cannot escape. Most of the time it's a mix between the two; having someone there should I want to type anything or need to see a smile and feel the assurance that it is going to be okay, even though no one can guarantee that, but being under no obligation to endure the frustration of talking to them via message even though they are sat or stood right in front of me.

Few things keep me going. I await the delicious irony of being phoned by the mental health service I have apparently been referred to in order to talk about what is wrong. The prospect of having profound "first" words is quite attractive though, in truth, the only thing I try and say at the moment is, "Just want to be able to speak." Hardly inspired.

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