Can you hear me? Most people don’t. I don’t speak. It’s not that I can’t…I just don’t.
A few years ago, I couldn’t. My brain wouldn’t let me. Hearing the questions, processing the words and then processing the muscles in my moth and larynx and well. It overloaded me. I couldn’t do it. Oh I understand all these words. I always have; but then using them…
Now though its not that I can’t speak, its more that I don’t. I sat there as the most recent Speechy told Mum and Dad this. Dyspraxia gone. Well speech dyspraxia – you should watch me pour a drink. They weren’t surprised. Hey they know I listen to everything and respond to everything, that’s why I have the headphones, so I can listen to music as they talk to therapists about me and … what happened …well…. what upsets me I guess.
So here I am in my world of superheroes, sandwiches and SPD. Not sure when I’ll let you in.
I will speak one day. In fact when I’m not thinking too much, it comes out. Short bits. Words and phrases that make Brother laugh and bring excitement and tears to the face of Mum and Dad. But for now, it hurts too much.
I don’t want to speak. Sometimes when I do people cry. Sometimes I talk about her.
I was told I was lazy. I was a retard. She was cruel.
The doctor who smiles has said she was wrong. Lots of people have. The news talks about other children, like me, who were put in small rooms - caged. But I know now it was her. It was them. It wasn’t me. And Brother loves me
I don’t go there anymore. Now I stay home. I stay safe and there’s lots of new things to do. Maps and books and microscopes. Brother is jealous. He doesn’t get to do things like this at school, but I do.
I just don’t want to speak. Apparently I have stress. Not the outburst type. The one when you withdraw. Go quiet. Duh you think. I was 4 years old with a horrible teacher. Evil teacher. I want to be Batman. I want to forget. But I can’t. And everywhere has cupboards. So now I’m going to speak. Not today but I’m going to.
You see all of us. We don’t forget. We remember and we will tell you. In words, on an iPad. We’ll find a way. We’ll tell you what was great and we’ll tell you what
was scary. We’ll tell you how we were hurt, and how we were loved. We’ll tell you who we are.
I have a voice. I’m just waiting to use it, so for now – I’ll use Dad’s. He’s like me and he now speaks. He speaks this. For me. For all of us.