“Why don’t you talk?”
“But you spoke to me yesterday in your house.”
“Left your tongue at home again?”
Yup, these questions were completely routine for me in my early childhood, whether I was in school, at the local grocery store, or at the dentist. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t answer those questions. Sometimes my mouth would open and close fruitlessly. The words just wouldn’t follow.
I didn’t know it had a name. I was enlightened later in my teenage years. Selective mutism. A choice between speech and silence. Personally, I don’t think I had a choice at all. My body became swamped with fear and anxiety, and my vocal cords were literally frozen. I just couldn’t let the words leave my throat in certain situations. There was a fear. Fear of… the unknown.
This is my story.
It all started in kindergarten when a classmate decided to pick on me. I was a sweet, lovable kid who couldn’t hurt a fly. I became her prey. She colored on my pictures, stamped her feet on them, pulled on my sweater, and bullied me whenever an opportunity arose. My morah didn’t do much to aid the situation, just looking on helplessly. I stopped talking to any of the adults in school, though I would happily chatter to my friends even in front of staff.
Create a free account to keep reading.
