Melodies of the Broken

record I: silent realities

I wished that people could hear the same things I do.

Not my everyday conversations, or the arguments I used to experience every other Saturday morning; not even the numerous times I got in deep trouble for not paying attention to the teachers in middle school.

No. What I wanted, more than anything, was that everyone heard my voice.

The one that I lacked, no less.

But my kind of speech was completely different from those that could express through words. Instead of being able to voice my feelings to others or tell someone that I disliked having them too close for my liking, I turned to a reliable source.

Music.

It might sound cliché, cheesy, stereotypical, whatever. However way a person wants to perceive this, I like to think of melodies as my external voice.

A way of expressing myself, for that matter.

And quite frankly, the only way that I've found I can do so without pressuring my mother into paying expensive medical equipment, or that I'd undergo extensive therapies.

Here are the three-quarters of the entire story: I'm mute.

Earthshattering revelation, I know.

Now, let's head on to 'Google's Most Answered Questions For The Mute', shall we?

'What do you do if someone wants to talk to you?' 

'Do your teachers let you off the hook for being mute?' And of course, my personal favorite, 'How are you going to manage when you're older and have different responsibilities, say like, calling the natural gas department because their service was cut off in the middle of the day?'

You might think I'm joking, but the last interrogation is one that I've gotten a lot. Just with different words and contexts.

It took a few years, not going to lie. Trying to get around with people was too difficult at first, but I've developed methods of my own that would allow me to communicate easily. 

But as I said, it wasn't an easy road. 

Losing your voice can take a toll on you, especially if you lost it along the way. The psychological damage behind the occurrence might even drive people mad, to the point where some begin to think of... other solutions.

I survived through that. Yes, torn and utterly broken, but still alive and breathing. I became a survivor. A soldier fit to survive through the multiple war zones of life, able to hold my ground to whatever the universe planned to bomb me with.

If you met me at this moment, I know you'd be bewildered when I say that I used to be a happy girl. That I was carefree to the point most kids in my generation wanted to be friends with me. That every weekend, without fail, I'd be surrounded by children my age and playing in someone else's backyard, be it a game of tag or some other sport.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Mom says my attitude turned bitter, somewhat similar to my father's. I like to think I turned realistic; able to discern all those lies that kids place before them, like a barrier, to conceal their true selves. 

After Middle School got ruined because of my lack of functional vocal cords, I hoped- no, I prayed-, that High School might be different.

But oh no, if people at the age of twelve were bad, Austin's "Worst Crowd Ever" was a price only teenage students could hold. 

Kimberly High made me realize that if there was a place on this Earth destined to pair you up with the rottest individuals in the entire county, then this is where you'd want to enroll your kids. Obnoxious, phony, and all-around foolish, I guess it's safe to say they're what makes me this close to punching a hole in the wall.