Being dumb in a universe of chatterers is an absolute pain, a nuisance, an imposition, a bother beyond the capacity of any individual gifted with but the regular quantity of patience to cope.
Those struck inarticulate should not feel ostracized, marginalized, reduced in point or purpose, bereft of not only their voice but identity, simply because it is not self-pronounced loudly, repeatedly, aggressively, irritatingly, at any possible opportunity. Yet this most decidedly is the thrust of the felt emotion, the inner agony that permeates every awakened moment,.
I am a late convert to the numbers of the voiceless, the tongue-tied, speechless, taciturn, aphasic. My adjoining was not voluntary, but rather enforced, obliged, impelled, wrested, by an infarction within the cerebrum, a momentary blip in an otherwise longtime successful circulation.
My silence was at first amusing, challenging, a puzzle to be resolved, a problem for neutralization. The novelty soon wore off, not for me, I adapted to the new reality strangely easily, but for my follows, those innocents whom my condition imposed upon them undeservedly, without request or permission, blatantly, quite rudely.
I have quicky lost the wherewithal to meaningfully apologize for my shortfall, a very human attitude I am inclined to consider. Constant expressions of regret soon lose their merit and charm, with outright sullenness, or a bogus attitude of savior faire surfacing with rapidity to cover any deficiency.
My particular gratitude is reserved for those few who accept my taint, imperfection, oddity, will a wonderfully refreshing and relaxing oblivion, that makes my guilt less painful, embarrassment less scarring, inadequacy less oppressive. Being different is not easy, comfortable, conducive to a peaceful and pleasant existence.
Public spaces become horribly stressful, rife with tension, but awaiting the next inexplicable non-interaction, unanswered greeting, pregnant pause, endless hush.