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I hate being mute.
I know that’s not the poetic way to start, but it’s the truth. I hate the way my throat locks up like a cage every time someone looks at me, expecting words. I hate the way my mind screams with things to say, but my mouth stays shut like it’s not mine. I hate how people look at me like I’m strange, or worse, invisible.
I’m not physically mute. I have vocal cords. I can speak. But social anxiety has taken that from me. It's like there’s a war inside me every time I try. My brain panics, my heart races, my mouth forgets how to function. The words tangle, then disappear. I freeze. And then I’m just... silent. Again.
It’s not peaceful. It's not poetic. It's suffocating.
Kierkegaard talked about anxiety as the dizziness of freedom. He called it a kind of spiritual vertigo—a fear of falling into the possibilities of yourself. That hits hard. Because I know I have potential. I feel who I could be if I wasn’t so scared all the time. I see that version of myself—confident, vocal, unafraid—and then I feel the sickening drop in my stomach as I back away from it again and again.
Do you know what it feels like to have to type out what you want to say, while the conversation moves on without you? Or to desperately rehearse a sentence over and over in your head, only to choke when your turn comes? To be in a group of people laughing and joking and feel like you're behind glass, pounding on it, trying to join them?
Everyday interactions feel like battles. Ordering coffee. Answering the phone. Saying “hi.” Most people don’t think twice about these things. For me, they can ruin an entire day.
What’s worse is how people interpret the silence. They think I’m rude. Arrogant. Stupid. Shy. Distant. Cold. They don’t see that I want so badly to connect but don’t know how without fear setting my body on fire.
I envy people who speak without thinking, who can just exist in a room and not have their nervous system betray them. I envy the casual ease of conversation, the freedom to just say what you feel without your brain whispering, they’ll think you’re weird or you’re going to mess this up again.
And yes, I know coping tools. I know grounding techniques and breathing exercises and exposure therapy. I’m trying. But that doesn’t erase the years of being stuck behind this invisible wall, watching life happen on the other side of it.
Sometimes, I wonder what kind of person I’d be if I could speak like everyone else. Would I be more confident? Would I have more friends? Would I feel less alone?
Being mute because of anxiety isn’t a choice. It’s a prison. And I’m so tired of pretending it’s okay.
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andrey
im really sorry to hear about this, i obviously wouldnt truly understand how it feels to have it that bad but i have some mild social anxiety or maybe im shy, i know theres a difference but i cant tell. sometimes when people say hi to me, i want to say hi back but i end up saying nothing as my brain just chokes on what to say and i just end up smiling and its shit, i wanted to greet them
im just curious, do you know whats causing your anxiety, like fear of judgement or something else? or is it something thats happened since childhood that you cant really understand?
id say the problem with social anxiety is, from what i interpret it as, a vicious cycle of being anxious, and then you get some courage to do something you wouldnt have been able to do, and then you muck up because you still have that anxiety there, and youre back to how it was before, then its just rinse and repeat
if you need someone to talk to at times, im happy to listen
my anxiety is clinical, so there’s no specific event or reason behind it. It’s just... built-in, like some faulty factory setting I never got to adjust. I also have paranoid personality disorder (PPD). Sometimes I think people can hear my thoughts or that someone’s watching me in the most mundane situations. One time I even convinced myself that one of the ovens i have at home was recording me because the little clock light flickered weird.
But yeah—mental illness doesn’t always need to have an origin story. Sometimes it’s just a part of the wiring. Still, it helps a lot hearing from people like you, who try to understand and share their own stuff too. So really—thank you.
by ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭; ; Report
L0NELY
Try learning some sign language! It can be very helpful when trying to communicate quickly, and there are some simple signs you could teach anyone. It also opens up a new language for you!
I actually learned sign language when I was five. There was a deaf student in my kindergarden, and even as a kid, I couldn’t stand the idea of them feeling left out or alone. So I learned, and I kept learning. I still remember quite a lot of things like how to sign my name or saying ''yes'', ''no'', ''let's be friends'', ''you're cool'' and such.
But the thing is, most people don’t meet that same energy. They don’t want to learn a new language, even a little.
So yes, sign language helps. It’s beautiful and powerful. But the real issue is people’s willingness to listen in the first place—no matter the form it takes.
by ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭; ; Report