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Short_comedian

Speaking Out

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My parents tell me that when I was little, they couldn't understand me. My sister had to translate, saying with a sigh, "she says 'I want ice cream'" or whatever I was trying to communicate to my parents. How fucking ironic is it that, more than a decade later, we're back with the same issue, but this time speech therapy won't help. We can't talk about the things that are important to me without calling my other sister to moderate. The only kind of therapy that can fix this is family therapy, and god knows how that would end.

I was in first grade when I first met the nice lady who patiently corrected my lisps and mumbling. We played games and I met some pretty girls who were in 5th grade. I was a chatty fellow, telling stories as they picked me up from my classroom led me to the lady's room, where we practiced breathing through our noses and played Heads Up! My voice got better through the 4 years of speech therapy, but it was raspy for years after. 

In 5th grade, I joined chorus for the first time, and I fell in love. I pretended to hate it simply because everyone else hated it, but I loved it. I loved the vibrations in my throat and the sounds that poured from my mouth. For once, I had a voice, and it was beautiful. 

My year of chorus ended, and I left for middle school, where my voice was ripped from my throat by people who thought that I was something for them to destroy. I couldn't even order food at a restaurant. My mom became my voice, ordering my food, talking to the principal, even calling the cops on this one girl who prank called my cell phone for hours and hours on end. She stopped being my voice when I came out. No, she didn't stop being my voice, she stole it.  She read my texts and I never got to come out. I never got to use my voice to tell her that I like girls. That I felt more like a boy than a girl. I wasn't able to tell her. She found out.

I don't talk to my parents much. Sometimes it seems like our relationship is irreparable. But I'm speaking out, I'm rising up. I'm using my voice again, and I'm getting stronger everyday. I've found a family, and I'm being the man that I needed when my voice was gone.

I'm in chorus now, and my tenor is strong, vibrating through the auditorium. I sing, telling everyone that they are not alone. That they can always use their voice. I'm living proof that they can make it. My voice is strong, and I am brave.  My voice and I are friends. Sometimes, when I'm speaking and I want to claw my vocal cords out, I sing. I sing, and I feel the strength and the journey that it took to get me here. 

 

  • Like 5

Not quite sure where I'm going, but I'm going somewhere, that's for sure.

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