All of my friends whom have Selective Mutism have experienced severe depression, or are currently experiencing severe depression. Many of my acquaintances whom have Selective Mutism have experienced such darkness, too.

I have experienced depression, two periods of it – one period of which was related to my SM lasting at least 6 months. Like many of my SM friends and acquaintances, my depression was not caused by my SM, but it was caused by society’s treatment of my SM, of my difference. This is common and is generalisable to many people, SM or no SM.

A Bus journey of Introspection with a Depressed Mind.

Outside was so very bright and full of floral views. Through forward travel, stems and petals merged through snapshot flashes to form a blurry summer pattern. On a bus was where I was placed. Inside my left and right ears, two earphone buds were situated and through them played soft and beautiful instrumental music. Surrounding my seat, on the right hand side of the bus, two rows from the front, were many unique shapes carrying unique human minds.

Many mouths smiled. Many returned a laugh when toddlers threw stuffed bears at their parents’ faces. Many returned greetings at the life which arrived at each stop. “Hello Sue! It’s a bit packed on here today isn’t it! You off to the market?” asked the one reading his free newspaper. “Oooh, isn’t it just! As long as I can plonk myself down on a seat I’m alright! Yes, off to the market today I am! Got to get some ingredients in for a cake for my grandson’s 4th birthday!” replied the new addition, whom wore a lovely red coat. They sat together and continued common back and forth conversation, with lots of repetition due to the racket of the interior of the bus as it attacked potholes.

Much chatter happened. Giggles, greetings, agreements, disagreements, questions, answers and statements were exchanged inside our red painted bus travelling for a total of 50 minutes. On the outside on this mini-society were bright green leaves with yellow and white splurges, attached to fence-coloured trunks and whiskers, as sun beams shared phenomenal light. Feeling rather dazed and dreamy, due to being up late beating myself up, I played around with the view my tired eyes and brain provided me with. Flashing tree shadows hit my face with semi-burning sensation. I felt positively sick, but subtly euphoric at the same time. Winding narrow roads with over-grown shrubbery hit my view and punched my eyelids. I stopped looking outwards and started looking inwards. Intense introspection with complimentary indirect social interruption was evident.

“I have lived my life and finished what I have lived so far, the now of then is not here anymore, but I am still right here.” I thought. “Why am I still here…not here, but HERE, right here as I am. Not good enough? Suffering?”, I asked myself. “What have I got, where am I going? where have I been? All this time I’ve been a huge hassle, an absolute nightmare, a huge failure!” I dwelled on this a while.

I glanced out of the window. Our bus had frozen. I felt I could relate; I freeze a lot. A traffic jam was what we were in. I smiled. “Ah, I remember always lining up my brother’s toy cars and demanding they stay right there in there little line, in their traffic jam. He used to get so bored! I thought it was fun. I wish it were still then! I miss the freedom of eccentric allowance.” I thought through tone of reminiscence. I remained sedentary in a sort of haze for a further 10 minutes as I recalled the brief timeline of my childhood and adolescence. I dragged each year of my life on a rope of their own with events intwinded with threaded material; I dragged it along the the yellow line my view followed, out of the window. My long-term memory is strong. My cheeks felt slightly stiff from the remains of gentle tears, which had escaped through act of rebellion; I had not permitted my eyes to shout.

“I’m such an awful person, I shouldn’t be here…I should only be here, now, if I were somewhere else!” my mind and brain said. I had failed. I was a failure. Supposedly, I was a failure who had failed. I was to recover from Selective Mutism. I was not good enough if I had SM. I was a burden if I had SM. I was not resilient enough if I had SM. I was not taking life in my stride if I had SM. I was not meeting basic social expectations if I had SM. I was not likeable if I had SM. I was not strong enough if I had SM. I had failed. But, I had not failed…I was being myself, my brain was being my brain, my mind was being my mind. I was succeeding in being myself.

I was not embracing my individuality. I was not proud of myself. I was not comfortable with my social profile. I had been conditioned to view myself as a fail, as in urgent need to be changed, for my social brain as it functioned to be rid of. I was in need of being shaped, or so I believed. I was in need of being different, but not the different that I truly was and, indeed, am.

“Use your brave voice”

“beat your SM”

I had failed. But, I had not failed. SM is not a choice. I cannot beat it or use my brave voice; my voice is very brave, I am very brave, I am just as brave as you are. I am just as loud as you are, my body posture’s volume is intense.

I promised I’d change. I promised I’d be different. I promised I’d recover from SM.

I failed. I failed again and again. I was not good enough; I am supposedly not good enough.

There is nothing wrong with me. I am an SMer and that is ok, it is no worse nor no better than not having SM. Society told me otherwise. Society didn’t listen to my voice. Society doesn’t listen to our voices. Society doesn’t understand our voices. Society doesn’t like difference. Society doesn’t like having to change; but society loves asking us to change. “Be brave, be strong! You can do it!” it demands.

No friends. No access to my potential. No access to opportunities. No access to those experiences. No access to thrive.

I am not allowed if I am not aloud.

I suffered. I suffered not with Selective Mutism but the rigidity of my surroundings, the comments, the hurt, the exclusion, the forced feeling and belief of failure.

“I don’t deserve to be alive, life is beautiful. I don’t deserve to feel the grass beneath my bare feet. I don’t deserve to sip cold water. I don’t deserve love or friends…I don’t have friends, so I have some of what I deserve!”.

I searched 2012. “I remember writing a note, a response, a reply, with a pencil on a piece of squared paper. My teacher stole it from me, my voice; she stole my voice from me. She snatched my pencil, my voice, out of my hand…well, she tried, but I held firm grasp of that voice and she failed. She still stole my voice – she denied my voice, she stormed off. She called me ignorant and rude. I see, I was not ignorant or rude…but she was”, I recalled.

I had not failed, I am not a failure. My voice has always been right in front of you. Society fails to listen, to understand and to accept.

“I shouldn’t be here. I’m only allowed to be here, welcomed, if I’m not me. I can only be here as me if I try to go through long winding paths surrounding the discrimination that is placed firmly in front of my feet. What’s the point?”.

Out of the window people walked past, some with dogs, some with children, some with friends. They all seemed happy, but I suspect masks were strong for some. My music felt too powerful, I couldn’t stop my tears so I switched it off. I felt numb. nothing. nothingness. Gaps. I sat and I thought and I felt and I thought some more. I asked myself questions, I reflected and answered.

“I am not the problem, not anymore the problem than anyone else is the problem of themselves either. I am ok. I don’t need to change, not anymore than anyone else needs to change to better themselves anyway! All this time I have accepted bad treatment, hurt and denial of being just as I truly am…I feel so much better when I’m alone, I wonder why that is? I will change with time and the change of my surroundings, the patience, acceptance and space I am given”.

“I need to change, yes, but so does that person planting flowers on their lawn just there. We all need to change, and we all do change. I am not the same as I was earlier. I am doing my best, but I need to do my best for myself and those who truly care about me, understand me, accept me and respect me. I do not need to change to please people who don’t accept difference. I am proud I have SM, I am pleased that I am me. If I did not have SM, I would not be thinking this now, I would be different and I am not that person, I DO have SM. I do have a voice and I will share it…many won’t listen, most don’t listen, but some will and that is just fine”.

Most of the sadness, dullness, darkness, heaviness and pain I have experienced has not been because of my differences, it has been because of my surroundings. Ableism.

I am glad I am alive.

I am proud to be an SMer.

Verbally talking is not better, it is just one way. Voice variation is important, it is equal – but it is not yet seen that way.

Expectation is the issue, pressure is the issue, anxiety is the issue, low self-confidence and view of self-worth is the issue at the front of the freeze of SM – so why do we continue to be so narrow to SMers?

Change. We’re trying our best. Please try your best. Listen.

*Social model of disability is needed for many*