One of the saddest things in the world is knowing what to say, but not being able to say it. This has been my existence since birth. The anxiety; the fear, the attempts, the failures, the embarrassment and the depression are as common to me as breathing is to 'normal' people. The good days and the bad days bring about hope and despair, the self-taught therapy brings about disappointment. Watching the body language of people change when they realize this unassuming young man isn't so unassuming after all, breaks me to my core.
Phone calls feel like a death sentence, I shake uncontrollably and my voice trembles as I speak to the other party. I feel the pity in their voices, the sadness in their tone. I don't want to be pitied, being pitied sucks. This condition makes one feel helpless, and alone. No one truly understands how it feels to see your stock fall in the eyes of others due to something you truly can't control. If you could, you would. There is no one to speak to, there is no counsel to alleviate your pain. People say they understand, that all you have to do is try. What makes them think I haven't? Maybe it's the lack of improvement, maybe this just never gets better. Maybe I will always be damaged, and seen as such. Maybe Job interviews will always give me splitting anxiety that makes me want to $#%^ my pants. Maybe I will always have to work twice as hard to earn the respect I should be given. Maybe my relationships with others remain platonic because no one wants damaged goods. Maybe I'm wrong about all this, but it feels as if this yoke on my shoulders gets heavier as I get older. The stutter isn't cute anymore, the time for outgrowing is far gone and the obstacles only get harder and longer. Failing to overcome these obstacles only prolongs the depression. Sometimes it feels as if you-know-what is the only remedy to this, or isolation. Saving myself from the pain may be easiest thing.
Every word uttered is examined, every mistake or pause or stutter is analyzed internally for days and days. Sometimes the mistakes are so plentiful that I become mute. I'm not upset, I'm ######6 devastated. I want to scream and punch things till my knuckles bleed(but i don't). Funny thing is, mine isn't even bad. I've seen people with worse degrees of it, and I mourn for them. It's not easy to feel like every laugh in your immediate environment is directed at you, or that those you think are your friends maybe your greatest tormentors. I wish I could stay strong. I wish I could say these things don't affect me, but if you get hit enough times, you're going to go down. I'm down right now, which is why I wrote this. I might be down for a long time, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. The tunnel is dark and callous, and stretches the length of my life. I just hope I become numb to it all, because being sad just gets so tiring.