Silence - the Most Powerful Scream

ONE

I've always lived in silence.

Not on purpose, though. I just figured if I could not hear what was going on around me, then there wasn't much I could comment on. I couldn't comment on the debate that was going on at the dinner table between dad and Wes (well I assumed it was a debate judging by the red faces and throwing up of hands). I couldn't talk about what I thought about Lucy Hale and her allegedly irritating voice. I definitely couldn't comment on the latest One Direction song. I felt pointless, hopeless. More so when my mum passed away. And even more so when everyone was going into college, and getting boyfriends, and I was stuck at home. I felt like there weren't really many options for me in life, because of a disability that I was born with.

But the silence was deafening.

When mum died, I kind of wanted to join her. I tried. But apparently, that wasn't part of God's plan. Therapy was. To be quite honest, I found it rather amusing that dad tried to send me into therapy considering I couldn't hear anything that the poor woman (her name was Anne Wainwright) was saying. I mean, I have been taught lip-reading (which, after therapy, I practised), because, being deaf, I still needed to understand basic words, but I was never good at it. At all. I think I realised this when I spent a whole therapy session thinking my shrink was crazy, because I thought she was asking me about camels, when really, she was asking me if I believed in karma...

So, quite obviously, therapy didn't work.

Unfortunately, this Wainwright woman still had a say in my life because she "cares about my health". So, she pushed me into going to a "quiet" place at 6:00 am every morning. Technically, I could go to a construction site. Or my bedroom. I actually asked her. Her response was "You need to go somewhere that is silent, and tranquil."

"Maybe I could set up some candles in my room and put a picture of the Caribbean?" I replied bitterly.

"No, Bethany, no," she said. "You need to be one with nature." I think she started talking about the rustling of the palm trees and the crashing of the waves and all that, so I stopped trying to read her lips and actions; it was too depressing.

Well, I figured that if I had to do this every day, I may as well pick a scenic place; somewhere that I would want to be. What I ended up choosing was perfect. Morning came and I was woken by my father at 5:45 am. We lived just by the water, so I walked down there in my pyjamas and sat there for an entire hour. I would be my usual, melancholy, negative self and say that it was a complete and utter waste of my time, but I would be lying. It did help. I get what she was saying about being "one with nature" and by the time I reached my one hour limit, I actually didn't want to leave. The sea and sky were as blue as sapphires; the clouds were little clusters of cotton candy. There was messy, long grass and weeds everywhere, but it made things more perfect - perfectly imperfect. I even enjoyed sitting on the old, probably rotting wooden bench. It was so tempting to get up and swim, but Anne specifically instructed me not to move for that hour. "Just think," she said. So, I did exactly that. I thought about my mum, my classmates [who hated me]. I wondered what they were up to. I thought about how I had behaved my whole life, and if I thought really hard, I came to the conclusion that I was so ungrateful to everyone – and if I was one of my classmates, I would probably hate me too. I even spared a thought for Doctor Wainwright: she isn't that bad. It was at that moment, that I decided. I decided I would change. I wasn't the victim. Maybe I was, at first, but then everyone around me became the victim instead; of my cynical, bitter attitude.

That being said, I wasn't done feeling sorry for myself. But instead of wallowing and having a pity party, I was going to do something about my situation. "I will hear." I said. One day, I thought to myself, I am going to repeat that line and hear myself say it.