The Darkness of Stuttering

A little leaf. A beautiful one, torquing and glistening its shiny photosynthetic skin, radiating the sun’s rays. It’s growing day by day, hour by hour, second by second. It is curious and the excitement it reciprocates is undeniably a sheer thrill of what its future beholds. It’s hanging on a branch on top of the world, swaying with the help of the vivacious wind and wallowing in the midst of that pure clean hygienic air. Can someone pluck it out mercilessly? No, it’s exorbitant. Can someone shoot it down? No, it is highly improbable. Can someone ignore it? No, it would merge impeccably well with any photograph. Now imagine this. What if one day out of a million days and out of the million leaves deriving out from that tree, this particular small one gets a little scratch. But the scratch is infectious. It spreads. Not the scratch, but the infection. Underneath that ulterior scatch, is the tormenting aberration. This leaf, within a few days, realizes the whirlwind presented upon it. It cannot show itself with the compelling confidence it used to have. It tries obscures this devastating abnormality. But the more it conceals, the more it reveals. All the paramount and astonishing visions it built is destroyed brick by brick every single day. And the feeling and emotions it endures is accumulated in a web with a depressive epicenter with no exposure of any of its true feelings to the outside world.
           This is stuttering. And I am a stutterer. And I speak on behalf of my people who have to go through a metaphorically distinct and strenuous hell to express themselves. For those of you who are fluent, consider yourselves lucky. Because, we stutterers, know the value and significance of having a proper unblemished voice with conventional flowery. In other words, we know the pain we are forced with.
I have faced a plethora of vexing and psychological moments due to this camouflaging speech impediment. And I still do. It succumbs those very little intervals of happiness I obtain sporadically. Do not assume I’m exaggerating. But the hegemony a deranged flawed speech can have in a person is excrutiatingly agonizing.
A fluent person has the ability to express themselves and the mute have the flowery of the sign language to communicate and pass on his message without a hindrance. But, a stutterer, is devastatingly stuck in the middle inbetween the fluent and the mute. And this is where the problem arises. This is where we combine the function of talking and blocking every sentence, not deliberately, but unwillingly. It is breathstakingly painful and despite getting the message out after a series of waves, it will be unclear like a desultory war at the end.
As these waves continue to disrupt, the effect illuminates our faces to give an unorthodox reaction as we struggle to push out every word. Our tongues start vibrating. Our hands, trembling. Our eyes look through the person in front of us, entering a colossal door consisting of his or her remote thoughts. And we try to feel how they feel at that specific moment of witnessing an awkward and unapologetic face nudging and swallowing half his words.
The waves hit the shore hard, but the people don’t concentrate on the message it expresses. They rather focus on the uncanny charactertics, so peculiar that only a few in the miserable and populous world possess. It is arcane how we survive every time we encounter a conversing situation. Each time we get hurt, we have no other choice rather than moving on.
To book a plane ticket through the phone, to order a burger at Burger King as a birthday treat for my friend Jen, to issue a library book, to ask a girl out, to enquire a timing, to answer a normal question, to buy a bar of chocolate, to borrow a pen or even a fine guileless “Hello” would scrutinize the very thought in our minds of how we’re going to let go of the words that would place us on the surface of a hot burning fire in inexplicable pressure; mental and physical.
The scorching apocalypse everyday playing games in our minds shifting every thought into a juggernaut whirlwind makes us worry. Every. Single. Second. How would we proceed living on with this utterly engrossing silent killer? What happens tomorrow? Do we fulfill the visions we had with this impediment entrenched in our minds? Will it keep on gobbling us alive till the ends of our times? Why me?
The waves knock us down hard. We try to get up, but the accelerating water just crushes us on the ground. The sad and grotesque feeling turns invariably depressing. It makes us believe, well atleast me, how callous life can be.
On all accounts, the bitter truth is yes. Yes, it will suck us throughout. And yes, it will hold or even completely obliterate all the visions we possess to make our lives a meaningful tale. The sad truth. It can get you. The waves will sometimes pull you in to drown you. C’est la vie (This is life). But let’s mourn later.
What if a stutter through years of hard work, successfully gains fluency? Awesome and detrimental in a good way! Normal people look everyday at everything. But the blind can’t see and so, they know the true emphasis and power of sight and vison. The chipmunks knows the value of the porcupine’s defending spikes than the porcupine itself, because the chipmunk understands the importance of saving itself from the ruthless lion. Equivalently, better than the fluent, the stutterer knows the formidable and dangerous power of a fluent voice. And once this stuttering decreases, that’s when a storm forms.
Because we stutterers know the ubiquitous possibilities a mouth can do. In our lives, we believe that all our problems are sourced from this one psychologically degrading disorder. But, once that disorder is erased from existence, the revolution of the earth around the sun will shift direction, the gravitational force acting within the atmosphere will mitigate in magnitude and that’s when the colliding waves which were stored in, amalgamate together and implode forming a brobdingnagian tsunami that’s ready to stupefy and contribute to the worldin a big way.

One day, I’ll rise. And so will the many stutterers aroung the globe.