My Selective Mutism

it was in fourth grade that i started to withdraw. i had a bad start to the school year. shortly before classes started, i accidentally cut my eye with my thumbnail. for about a week, i had a huge bandage on my head over my eye. i stayed in bed the whole time, and missed the first few days of school. after the huge bandage was removed, i had to wear an eye patch for a few more weeks. i started my school year late, and wearing an eye patch.

to make things worse, another kid in my class also started the year wearing an eye patch. what are the odds? i felt very awkward having to wear the same patch over my eye as this boy. i thought the other kids would think it was weird. on top of that, my best and only friend wasn't in my class. i felt extremely uncomfortable at school.

i started to speak only when directly spoken to. i also started to participate less in group activities. i don't remember much about the transition. i do know that i felt less and less comfortable speaking. i didn't understand it. it was weird and confusing. by the end of the school year, i spoke only to my best friend and to teachers when not in earshot of other students. i became mute.

it became progressively worse through fifth and sixth grade. the other kids made fun of me, not only for not talking, but for pretending to be my favorite animal: a cat. they thought i didn't talk because i thought i was a cat, and cats don't talk. but of course that wasn't the reason at all.

my teachers also didn't know the real reason why i didn't talk. they thought i was being defiant. they said i was disrespecting them. sometimes they would ask me questions, and make the entire class wait while expecting an answer from me. i would sit mutely staring down at my desk. everyone else would sit staring silently at me. minutes went by like hours while i tried to gather the courage to squeak out an answer. i was terrified. the teachers didn't let up. i finally had to say something out loud to get the torturous moment to end.

moments like these only made my fear worse. i really can't describe the horror i felt at these times. just writing about it now almost makes me cry.

even more disturbing than having to give short answers was having to give entire speeches while standing in front of the class. the intense amount of anxiety leading up to my time in the spotlight was overwhelming. my only comfort was knowing that at least i spoke too quietly for anyone to really hear what i was saying.

i didn't know what was wrong with me, and decided that i just must be weird. i started saying that i was "a nut."

the school told my parents of my actions, and they questioned me about it. the only answer i would give to why i wouldn't talk in school, was, "i don't know." this was true. i really didn't know. i was embarrassed about my problem and didn't like talking about it. my mom would cry as she tried to pry information out of me and got no response.

when i started middle school in seventh grade, things got even worse. the teachers were really nasty. they would get right in my face with their bad breath and yell at me until i cried. i had one in particular that told me that she "would not play this game with me." i wasn't playing a game at all. i was terrified. how could they not see that i was scared?

along with my fear of speaking, i had severe performance anxiety. this showed up in p.e. class. i felt very uncomfortable changing into the required clothes for the class. i wasn't comfortable showing that much skin. i always normally wore jeans and sweatshirt, even in the hottest months. i was afraid to do anything physical while being seen by the other kids, and those other kids hated me for it. they blamed me for losing sports games, cornered me while throwing insults at me, and threw balls at me really hard while playing the horrible game of dodge ball. they would exclaim, "i hit the cat girl!"

eventually i started to just not participate, but of course i had a mean teacher who battled me on it. he would punish me for refusing to do what was asked, and constantly brought everyone's attention to me. i got my parents to write me note after note, excusing me from the class. after a while, however, the teacher stopped accepting these notes. i missed many days of school because i was too scared to go and face my p.e. class.

about half way through seventh grade, they had me start seeing a special counselor. her name was vicky. she wasn't the regular school counselor. she only dealt with the really problematic kids. finally, i was diagnosed with selective mutism. my teachers were informed of my condition, and they had to stop being mean to me. i was able to give speeches only to teachers instead of the entire class, i wasn't expected to answer questions out loud, and i was even able to sit out of p.e. class.

fear of my teachers was no longer an issue. fear of my classmates, however, still terrorized my school days.

The Purple Paper

the first instance of social anxiety that i vividly remember happened in the first grade. after missing a day of school, i returned to find that the other students pulled out a purple piece of paper during reading time. looking over at my classmate's papers, i determined that it was for recording how long we read and how many pages we read.

i knew that i should tell my teacher that i had missed the last day so i could get a paper, but for some reason i found this task too scary to attempt. i sat in my seat, hoping that should would notice me and give me one. i didn't know why i was afraid, but i just couldn't muster up the courage to go talk to her. the teacher never noticed me, and so i never got one.

for weeks, the other students pulled out their purple papers during reading time, while i had nothing. instead of reading, i sat staring at my book, worrying about what i would do if my teacher noticed my lack of paper. if she asked me why i hadn't asked for one when i first noticed the appearance of the papers, i would have no good answer. i couldn't tell her i was afraid, that wouldn't make any sense. i would only be able to say, "i didn't notice."

my anxiety not only tortured me at school during reading time, it tortured me at night also, while i was trying to sleep. i tossed and turned in my bed, imagining the scenario of my teacher confronting me, over and over again.

finally, the day came to turn in our purple papers, and i had none to show. the scenario in my head finally played out. she asked me why i didn't have one, and i admitted that i never got one. when asked why i never asked for one, i told her that i didn't notice the other students having one.

later, at a parent teacher conference, she attributed my lack of noticing to "daydreaming."