Just Fuck!

Wednesday was a tough day. Really tough. I’m in an emotional vortex. Do I feel horrible because I’ve lost my speech entirely, or did I lose my speech because I’m feeling so intensely something. What’s happening is what I have feared since my speech impediment set in.

I feel smothered, or like I’m drowning. I feel claustrophobic because I am in the word but not in it at the same time.  I am sad, frightened and anxious. This, too, shall pass. I’ll get better or I’ll adapt. Only time will tell. I’ll be asking Dr. Shoja to stick with me on the short-term. 

I wrote to Dwight because he calls often, and always on my land line. When I call him, I use Facetime, but he calls when he’s in the car and driving, so it’s to my land line. I wrote to tell him not to call and that I will stay in touch regularly via emails. So, what does he do? He Facetime’s me. He clearly knew my greatest anxiety was fear of losing our friendship because he called to assure me that we’ll always be good. What a kind, wonderful message he had for me.

Then a miracle happened. Truly, something wonderful happened that I am taking as a sign for my future, regardless of what happens. It empowered me. Driven by need, I tried something new. Facetime has no chat function, but it has a ‘share screen’ function, and I figured out how to activate it. Dwight was able to have my image on one half of his screen, and an image of my desktop right beside it. I opened Word on my computer and Dwight was able to see my page and that’s how I communicated with Dwight. He could see my text on the Word page. VICTORY!!

I thought to myself: I’m lucky I’m smart enough to figure that out. You have to want it, to see it. And then to figure out how to do it. On day two, I figured out how to make Facetime work for me. I will adapt. It’s a sign.

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The big question I have for Dr. S. is: Why am I worse?

FND began one morning when I woke up and had a seizure. And then I started talking with Dr. Shoja because that’s what the hospital told me to do. I’ve known forever that my parents were distant, but my Dad would spank me and often he’s lose control of himself and go too far.  I really feared him. But my process with Dr. Shoja quantified my experience. She labelled my condition (PTSD-FND) + Reactive Attachment Disorder.

Those three diagnoses say to me that my experience was abusive. I wonder if I am where I am now because it’s made me sad to know that. Almost everything on television hurts me because of they bring my past to mind. I can’t stop reacting, and that means seizures and worse speech. And now my fuses are blown. 

I cannot see myself going to a party. I never want to be with more that 4 people. On Tuesday, I’m going to have lunch with Nicola and Dinner with John and Bunny. Now, when I reach out to someone, they want to know: When did this come on? What do you think caused it? 

How do I answer questions like that? My plan is to write a short explanation that I can carry around and hand to people. I reckon that I’m going to email to all my friends to tell them about becoming mute, and I’m going to attach a link to my blog—should they want to travel on the journey with me. And I guess, when I am with people, I will take a letter telling them anything I might want them to know.

But fuck. I just cannot see that lasting. If I really want to see somebody, it’s best here in my home. I’m going to need some practice, but I’ll use my Proloquo4Text program on my new little iPad to communicate. Gesture, boogie board, and iPad—my arsenal for communication. 

A friend sent me a link to an organization that supports speech disabled people. The site assumes I’m autistic.

I’m feeling tired. Orphan, gay, AIDS and HIV+, 3 heart attacks and 2 pacemaker malfunctions, surgeries, and assaults; and now this. I am just pooped.

One day at a time. Think ahead. Learn from every experience. These are my mantras.

One day, a while back, Kris was here. I sat at my desk with my keyboard and Word open on my screen, and she called the bank on the speaker phone. I’d type things that I wanted to say and to answer questions, and Kris would read it to the bank person. Kris also introduced us.

I tried calling a company and playing something, I’d written on my voice generator, and the person hung up. I think they thought it was a sales call. A robo call. I prefer to make calls as I did with Kris, so I’m going to have to ask friends for help when I need it.

I’m going to exchange one of my devices for another—a more complex one that will serve me better as a mute person. The transition has started. I can always come back.

•

Thursday morning: No improvement. I’m still mute as a stone. It is thoroughly depressing to start another day with no voice. Just fuck! 

Thank God for my pets. I’d be feeling dreadful right now were it not for their company. I get such pleasure from them. All day yesterday, I was going to them for cuddles. They don’t care that I can’t speak. They are like medicine for my soul.