I am clumsy. Ask anyone and they'll tell you: I stumble trhough rooms, over my feet and into awkward situations more often than not. Today, I stubbed my toes no less then 9 times.
But more than even my uncoordinated feet and legs, my tongue is my most clumsy appendage.
My words often trip over themselves in their haste to flee my eagerly parted lips, but my tongue balks at the task, mangling the sounds and syllables until I sound like a lunatic.
To be fair, my tongue is not the only culprit - my racing mind is a gleeful accomplice. Thoughts and feeling pingpong around my cranium, evolving faster than my words can accomodate and second guessing the things I thought I knew.
Nothing makes sense when you can't trust your words; when you can't force your tongue and mind to cooperate long enough to say what has to be said. How can you apologize when your inside voice is telling you you sound idiotic and your mouth refuses to wrap around the necessary sounds? How can you talk about your feelings when you can't raise your voice above a whisper?
I recently spoke with someone about my difficulty with French. They somehow managed to extricate my confession that I don't speak more because I'm afraid of how I sound. This holds true for every aspect of my life.
I want to speak, to yell, to cry, rant and ramble, but I'm afraid of how I sound. I'm shockingly terrified of how I will be percieved for the words I utter.
I am afraid to cry because it will mean I am vulnerable.
I am afraid to scream because it will mean I am noticeable.
My voice is one of my best gifts, but it is also the part of myself I am most afraid of. My voice is an invitation to be seen and I am still to shy to want that.
So don't look at me when I tell you I am broken, because if you can't see the cracks, I can keep pretending they'll be fixed before they're noticed.
But when you look me in the eye, you can't see it, but my heart is pounding in my chest and my survival instincts are telling me to SHUT UP! because if I keep talking, you'll see. You're shining a spotlight on the holes in my armor and I'm naked underneath.
But you barely notice, because you are a normal person and pulling words out of your mouth is not some kind of insane Herculean effort. But for me, it's like sucking snake vemon from an open wound.
I wish I could throw words like harpoons, landing gracefully and effortlessly on a target of my choosing, but for now, I'm stuck on a merry-go-round of doubt and fear and I can't find the E-brake.
Maybe you can shine the spotlight there for once, hey?
