Yesterday three treacherous things, hiding ingeniously inside of me, met, oddly forming a good idea, much to my numbing brain’s muse. Going nowhere I nodded, jumping thoughts, knowing very well as I ease awake, gathering in the stolen morning light, I may never speak my limit. Ringing in my silence, I escape writing ideas I single out describing the details in my head.
Knowing I reside in silence, most of my thoughts will not be shared. I think moments line up and before you blink you are sixteen. Nonverbal, squinting, my quick witty jokes become lost then never known. My nightly dream is that I awake speaking. Every day when I wake, I think today I will talk. I am here if you read. I hope my blog somehow helps others deficient in an audible voice by showing undiminished voice in my writing. Hi, my name is not silent e, but I wrote my story using that name. Could you help me be a voice here for those needing hope and a future with responsiveness? Typing has given my thoughts a way to be heard just like everyone deserves to be. Knowing juveniles exactly like me are living without their voices has fueled my inner desire to help. Can being understood accelerate change for others with autism? Far too many voices have silenced and are needing a way they hope can shed light on who they really are, but freeing their thoughts is very difficult.
Recognition went surprisingly well when I was able to communicate. We make assumptions through our appearances and, fearing that which is unfamiliar somehow, we restrict their abilities, bringing labels to their identity instead of seeing the person in front of us. Most will see someone with what is a very limited audible voice and think, simply, they can’t understand. My understanding is not impaired. I have some trouble with showing the words I’m using inside to respond and my body won’t follow my mind, most often needing someone to help me. Knowing and doing commence wanting physical feedback or words so my mind will retrace the next physical step to help my body react.
Lost in thinking worsens my need for help. Knowledge of my own writing merely opens those thoughts more, shrinking the silence, making me more sane.
Remember I’m a human first whose world is cruel if Silent e has no story to tell and no one to read it.
Thank you for hearing me never make a sound.