Being Mute is akin to being in another, separate and distinct world. Or, in a different vein, it can be seen as an invisible barrier, a thick layer of protection that wraps around me and insulates me from the world.
Mute, the external world falls away losing its importance and quite a bit of its previous value.
It's like falling into a sub-world whereby you exist but are not as readily seen. You walk along alone as engaging in any type of communication the effort to be understood is too costly.
Some people will think you are broken, a project to be analyzed and fixed.
When I am Mute, my brain sometimes stops producing words all together. I might be unable to form letters, text or write. I have to wait for the words to come back so I'll go along with the rest of my day, chores, tasks and hobbies.
The times of nowords can also mean that I lose the ability to comprehend the written word. My novel reading comes to an abrupt halt. Bookmark in place, I recline.
Clearly, I am in that place where I'm not quite able to string words together to form those tangible, coherent sentences that I'm usually blessed with.
Being Mute is both easy and hard. Easy because I'm unperturbed regarding the sick, crazed world around me. Hard because I've become more invisible.
My fate rests solely in my own hands when I am unable to ask for help.
I have no control over when my Selective Mutism starts, how long it lasts or when it chooses to end.
I feel different, weird and separate.
I'm an extremely odd duck.
