The Mute Returns

       As a child, I was diagnosed with selective mutism.  This meant that I would only speak to certain people.  This mainly consisted of my mom and sister whom I lived with along with my Grandma and one of my aunts.  I didn’t speak to my other family members that I wouldn’t see as much or anyone at school. 

            School was difficult as speaking is a big part of the curve. I would write answers down as well as conversations with my friends.  It became a norm to me.  People accepted me and no one really gave me a hard time. I was in a small speech class away from the rest of the class.  I eventually spoke out loud during this class.  One day my regular class came in after Recess and we all went into the speech class.  I was clueless until the speech teacher played a video of us reading stories that we had written out loud. After this,I was traumatized and I didn’t speak or whisper at school again.

            My selective mutism went well into adulthood.  I had two years at Penn State Shenango under my belt.  I didn’t have a major picked out so I took general classes until I decided.  I was getting by paying bills using my social security checks that I got due to my disability.

            In 2007, my half-brother, Rick, suggested that I move in with him.  His girlfriend, Glenda, lived there but she didn’t work due to PTSD. The night before the move, he told me that he would be bringing his work truck. I had a bed and two couches.  He worked selling meat out of a freezer, so I assumed it would be a decent sized truck.        

            The day came and he pulled up in a tiny little white pick-up truck. We somehow managed to get it all fit in and my other friend, Danny, even helped by using his car.  We all drove two hours to my new home in Columbus, Ohio.  

            Things went good for a while until one morning I woke up to loud, shrill screaming. They were yelling back and forth.  This scared me because I thought they would break-up and Id end up having to move back to Pennsylvania. 

            However, as time progressed, I found that this was an everyday occurrence.  One time she started a fight because he didn’t bring her a Mountain Dew. Within a week or two, we were evicted. I didn’t think much of it at the time but later on I realized that it was possible they already had the eviction notice when they asked me to move in. 

            We found another house to rent. The rent was $600 and the costs would be nearly all my monthly income.  When we first moved, I was going to get my girlfriend, Maria, to move in to.  I told him I’d pay the half for myself and Maria and he would do the same. On the move in day, he told me I’d be paying half of the rent, which he said would be $350.  I instantly corrected him that it was $300.  There it was, another waving red flag.

            Rick became more aggressive and demanding in the house.  He once got in my face demanding that I thank Glenda more since she cleaned the house. In his words, “I thank her every day.” I went and gave her a phony “thank you for cleaning our home.”

            They got a dog, Sadie, a black lab. Before they got it, we all agreed that they would take her outside, feed her, etc. I would have no obligation to any of the chores.  One day, they left for most of the day.  They forgot to feed her before they left.  When they got home, Glenda angrily pointed it out to Rick.  Again, he got in my face asking why I didn’t notice the dog bowl being empty and feed their dog.  He said if it happened again, “we would take it outside.”  This became his catchphrase whenever Glenda would harp at him over something minor.

Maria, had moved to Indianapolis.  We would talk long distance.  She had originally planned on moving into the house with us and we’d split the bills, half for us and half for Rick and Glenda.  Maria’s mother was diagnosed with brain cancer so she decided she wanted to stay in Indianapolis with her mother. However, since I had agreed to pay half the bills, he held me to that.  I paid half the bills for three people. Rick had suggested that if I were to move to be with Maria, he would learn Spanish, go to Indianapolis and find them, and ask her mother if she really had cancer.  If she didn’t, “we would have some problems.”

Glenda would sit and watch Dr. Phil all day after a morning of screaming matches before Rick left for work.  She didn’t chip in a dime since she didn’t work.  She claimed it was due to PTSD, yet she’d have no problems smoking weed and chatting with strangers. She’d sit and watch these daytime television shows while getting high.

I was never big on marijuana.  I would do it occasionally if offered.  They basically did it every chance they got so I would partake.  Eventually, he suggested that I start paying every other round.  I knew where that would go so, I decided that I would quit.  I barely smoked and I knew this was just a ploy to use my disability check as much as they could so I could pay for their weed. 

I would talk to Maria a lot on the phone. I would often talk to her mother.  I was learning Spanish and that was their main language.  Her mother didn’t know much English so we would say random stuff back and forth.  I would joke with her mother about having a fight with her in a parking lot.  It was all in good fun and she’d laugh and go along with it.  Rick was bullying me one day and asked why I would try to fight this woman if she had brain cancer, trying to subtly suggest that it was a lie that I was using to have an excuse to leave them.

Rick woke me up one morning at ten.  He told me that if I wasn’t working, I shouldn’t be sleeping in until ten.  I would be pitching in to help Glenda clean the basement. I said “sure” and thought that was the end of it.  I got out of bed and hopped into the shower.  Two minutes later I hear a pounding at the door.  He was asking what I was doing.  I told him I was taking a shower, as most people do every day.  “Well hurry up, Jesus Christ” he urged as if it was a big annoyance that I took a shower before coming downstairs for the day.

Glenda was thirsty one morning and Rick was broke.  He asked me if I had any money.  I only had three dollars so I lied and said no.  I went out for a walk.  I pretended I had a volunteer job at the library so I’d have an excuse to get out of the house and away from them.  That day, I wandered over to Dairy Queen and used my last few bills to get an ice cream cone.  As luck would have it, as I was walking down the road, they drive by and honk at me.  That night, I find a note pinned to my door calling me out for being a selfish person because Glenda had nothing to drink all day but Columbus water.  I wrote one back telling him “if I want a damn ice cream, I’ll buy a damn ice cream.”  Rick didn’t take this well.  It hurt his ego so he knocked on my door telling me “you do not talk to me like this” almost as if I was his child and he had authority over me.

Another eventful day, I was doing my laundry.  The washer and dryer were both mine from my old apartment in Pennsylvania.  There was laundry in the washing machine.  I moved it over to the dryer and turned it on, assuming they forgot to take it out the night before.  Sure enough, a few hours later, Rick is in my face asking me why I didn’t put the laundry to my face and smell it to make sure it was clean before I put it in the dryer.  He ended it with the classic “if it happens again, we’ll take it outside.”

As luck would have it, my mother was on the line with me as he got on my case for not putting laundry that wasn’t mine to my face and smelling it. This lit a fire under my mother.  She decided she was going to pay for a U-Haul and get me out of there.

At that moment, I had two choices.  I could move back to Pennsylvania easily and live with my mother.  However, I could also move another state over to Indianapolis, where Maria was and start all over.  It was a basic take the easy road or take a whole new unknown road that was a scary idea. 

I decided to find an apartment in Indianapolis.  I did some research online and found a nice place that I could afford.  I had it all set up.  My mom and I agreed that her and her boyfriend, Rob, would bring a U-Haul over on July 28^th and move me to Indianapolis.  We kept it a secret from Rick.  He had hinted that if I were to leave, he would have no choice but to only let me leave with a bag of clothes and he would have to sell my stuff to pay for my end of the bills.  Previously he had said if he suspected I was trying to leave, he would have “no choice but to lock up all of my stuff and lock it up during the day.”

The 28^th came, my mom showed up with Rob behind her.  Rick was high and offered some to them not fully realizing what was happening yet.  He figured it out quickly as we started to bring my stuff unto the U-Haul.  Rick didn’t do anything but give me glares every chance he had.  Emotionally disturbed Glenda went onto the roof and sat and cried. 

It was one of the better things that happened in my life.  We got everything into the U-Haul and were on our way to the next state over.  On the drive, my phone was blowing up.  “Don’t be dumb, call me” was one of the voicemails left.  Later on, one even said he was going to come to Indianapolis, find me and put me on life support in the hospital. He would even call Maria’s house late at night demanding to talk to me until one day her sister told him off and told him to quit calling. 

I got situated in Indianapolis and saw my mom and Rob off.  Now I was on my own in a big city two states away from my comfort zone.  My social security barely covered the costs of my bills. Rick continued with his threatening voicemails. He called me a thief because my mom had taken his shampoo by mistake thinking it was mine. Eventually, I got a new phone number.

Indianapolis was life changing for me.  Maria broke up with me after a few months for a guy she met on Myspace.  I was completely alone in this big curious city. I didn’t know anyone else.  I didn’t have a car.  I would occasionally pawn DVD’s to get sandwiches at Rally’s or to buy ramen noodles. 

I had always been fascinated by stand-up comedy.  I found the local comedy club, Crackers, which was a two-hour walk.  I would walk on Tuesday nights to go to the open-mic amateur night.  I signed up for my first set October, 2007.  I remember hearing my name and the intro “Our next comic is new and really nervous getting the microphone out of the stand” which got a laugh from the audience. 

I got up onto the stage, the hot lights on my face, my heart basically pushing out of my chest. Cold sweat felt warm under the bright lights. Somehow, I managed to go through with it.  I went through my three-minute set too quickly and froze.  I didn’t know what to do so I went back to my cards and started with the same joke again, which got a big laugh.  

As time progressed, I got more comfortable being up there.  I didn’t even need to drink to get up there eventually. The selective mutism still affected me but at the same time, I pushed myself and pretended to be a regular person like everyone else. No one in this city knew me or my past.  This gave me ample opportunity to grow and get over my nerves and communication problems. 

I even got a job at a Movie Gallery.  I worked half-time, twenty hours a week for $5.25 an hour. I worked closely with customers and still struggled with my anxiety and self-consciousness. Stand-up comedy was helping but I still felt that tightness in my chest when I would speak out loud to people.  I didn’t get my social security benefits anymore since I was working.  I made way less than I did with the disability.  I wasn’t even breaking even.

A few years later, I ended up moving back to Pennsylvania with my mom.  She suggested the military out of nowhere.  I googled it and signed up for information.  A recruiter kept calling and visiting and eventually I signed a contract just for something to do.  Little did I know that would be an even bigger step in the right direction.

The Army was difficult with the yelling and discipline.  I overcame it and got through basic training and my job training as a paralegal.  I got stationed in Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas.  I started on the comedy scene again. I made new friends and a new life all over again.  This time it was as a soldier, which I had seen on television as a kid as being these larger than life heroes. 

After a yearlong tour in Afghanistan, I went back home to visit my family. I had only seen them a handful of times since joining the Army.  I was a changed person.

  This town was the very definition of a small town. Everyone knew everyone.  Whenever you would go out and get groceries or even gas, you would run into someone you went to school with. This clash was difficult for me.  

A lot of these people didn’t know my new identity.  They still knew me as “the mute.”  I was self-conscious and would feel conflicted about the idea of running into someone I knew.  Someone that I had never spoken to.  Now I was speaking to people.  Now I was more confident.  At the same time, every time I would see someone who I never spoke to before approach me, I would feel my soul leave my body.  It felt like everyone in the world was watching this interaction about to take place.  

I don’t like change.  I don’t like to acknowledge change. Yet, every time someone I knew in my old life, it would clash with my new life.  I didn’t want to face the acknowledgment of this change.  It was hard enough as it was.  I would panic at the idea of going out in public when I was visiting home. Alcohol helped me lower my anxiety and go with the flow.  

My life has changed so much since I first became an adult.  Eighteen-year old Derek hanging out with his circle of friends, watching them drink while I would stay sober and write to them.  Now I was drinking with them talking and having a good time.  However, that weight was still on my shoulder.  That fear of an interaction with someone that I once knew and would talk to me.  They had never heard me speak so that interaction would always paint a target for attention.  

Most people feel self-conscious because they think someone is noticing a specific fault.  In this situation, people were noticing that I was speaking.  They were listening and taking note of what I sounded like. Taking note of my body language.

To this day., I mostly stay as a hermit at my mother’s house when I visit the state.  My small circle of friends from high school will come and visit and we all drink and hang out.  I still live with that heaviness of having an old acquaintance approach me in public and point out my voice or the fact that I was talking.  Can I still act like it doesn’t bother me and put on my best poker face?  

Overall, my life has changed greatly since I first lived in that town. The town has not changed at all. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows everyone’s business.  You still run into someone you knew ten years ago at every corner.  My anxiety and nerves are still there every single time.  Every single interaction.  I have changed on the outside, but inside I’m still the shy awkward mute kid that became a staple of the high school. 

I’m thankful that my mother helped me get out of that place I was in Columbus, Ohio.  It helped push me in the right direction and get out of my comfort zone. In my new life in Texas, no one knows about the intensity of my shyness in the past.  They assume I’m just bad with eye contact and simply a little awkward. They're not wrong.