Mute…

 

 

Speech is becoming difficult; more difficult with every passing day. Your head whirls around and races with thoughts. Words manifest themselves in your mind’s eye, but putting them together to form a comprehensible sentence is proving to be impossible.

On some level of consciousness, you are aware of what you are feeling. The difficulty lies in expressing it.

You try, and everything comes out wrong; the words, your tone of voice, the breath breaks in-between sentences. The final result; you are misundertstood.

You try again, and it happens again. Words just fail you.

What you say is not what you mean. You hurt people’s feelings. You express what you are not. You insult when you are actually trying to compliment. It just always comes out wrong.

You start feeling crippled, as though you were paralyzed yet insisting on trying to move your muscles by mere will.

Eventually, the truth dawns on you; you are mute, but not because you have no voice. You are mute because what is in your head is utterly and completely different than what you say.

As that truth resides, you give in to it and make a vow of silence; to never try to speak your mind again.

As comforting as that may seem, it proves to be even more difficult, because your desire – your need – to express yourself has not died yet. It still thrives inside you and awaits manifestation. Unfortunately, that kind of desire does not die. It keeps feeding and growing, and it cripples you more and more with every new endeavour.

You start looking at the world around you with bewildered eyes, like a child who discovers the Earth and can only make grunts and woes of incomprehensible sounds.

Words just fail you over and over again until they make no sense anymore.

You are like a spectator who knows more – much more – than anyone gives you credit for, yet your silence conceals it brilliantly.

As more time passes, your muted state spreads to your facial expressions. They are always blank. Even though volcanoes are erupting inside of you, your face shows nothing, your body language reveals void.

Again, the end result is; you are misunderstood.

You sit down and write, and every expression that comes out is in the form of a question.

How do I kill this desire to express?

Will I ever stop caring about being understood?

Why is the action to not speak preceding the conviction?

When will it be ok?

Or will it ever be ok?

Questions, questions and more questions, all of which you have no answers for.

You put your pencil aside, stare down at the piece of paper that harbors your latest endeavor with self expression, and gasp in horror.

The words in front of you are not the same words that were going through your mind or that you willed yourself to write.

Your mute-ness has spread to the tips of your fingers, to the lead dust that carves its way across the paper in the form of words, to the very core of your head.

You have become contagious! You have transferred your muted state to the cold, lifeless objects that surround you.

Horror!

Horror!

All in utter silence; pure, expressionless, muted horror!

 

 

 

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