Nag Flags
I am increasingly ready to trust the memory that my medication worthy hyper-expression, including my hyper-graphia, was born in 1959 when doctors concluded that removing my tonsils and adenoids might solve the hearing problems that might have been behind my mutism. I donae remember myself as mute. I spoke nature languages with great fluency and found *lower life forms* to be far better companions than those confusing human critters. I didn't speak human because none of the humans around me were listening. To this day, I believe I understand a listener far more quickly than I understand a babbler.
In 1959, I was old enough for kindergarten. The fact that I wasnae speaking human made me unfit for mainstream classes and accomodating special needs was still a radical concept. I was five years old. Even with an undamaged memory, five year old memories are tenuous, at best, especially in regards to adult conversations. The memory is of waking up after surgery with a throat so sore that even ice cream sounded like a cruel punishment. It had something to do with my not talking. Are *They* going to keep yanking body parts until I start talking? I still had nothing to say, but I said ^it^ anyway, and I have been saying ^it^ ever since, especially when I begin stuttering. Gotta get ^it^ out, at any cost.
Fast forward to 2008 Ecuador when my stuttering weirds emerged in Spanish. One of the things I adore about language study is that stuttering doesnae plague me outside of English. It was a shock to my system when I began stuttering in Spanish, but I had been immersed for over a year by then. My studies at La UDA were passing through the stresses of semester change, etc., etc. There arenae many listeners for the academic blues in any language. When linguistically immersed, I journal in the language I am immersed in. I still havenae translated my therapy journal from that period. It's on The Round Tuit. I'll get around to it one of these days. Maybe. We see. Here in the U.S. Southwest, I feel safer sticking to Gringo Speak. Gringos arenae allowed to speak Spanish and the consequences of being overheard by the wrong moreno can be? ? ? Not worth the politics?
Fast forward another decade and I find myself wondering if my stuttering is nothing more than a psycho nag flag. The conversation is carrying me down the psycho rabbit hole again. Back off and ply therapy tools. K.I.S.S. K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Silly.
Sorting. . .
Replies
"I didn't speak human because none of the humans around me were listening." I believe this is also a reason for when I go without speaking for long periods of time. Even with my dog I use many hand signals as opposed to spoken commands. The "sit down" "Shut up""Be quiet..." and the many other utterances that were issued were easier to comply with than to argue. Argue quickly evolved to physical outbursts/assaults. If I were quiet I was less of a target? It didn't stop me from hearing or seeing though.
I get stuck in conversations sometimes in the effort to find the words, I know many but which to choose? The ones that require the least explanation or the ones I feel?
Good morning the first iris bloomed.
J.
I am utterly convinced that dogs hear humans as well as humans hear the birds. The song can be breathtaking, but. . . Did you how did you want your steak rare or well-done? Oh. . . My bad. You wanted 12 seed special?
I trained Persilly to sounds humans don't normally use. I believe it makes it much clearer to her when it is her I am talking to so that she can relax and enjoy the music. She seems to enjoy listening to me talk to myself, especially if I scratch that special spot while I babble.
I'm just a dumb human who has to re-read this post over again until I can comprehend it fully. Lol I like the writing. It's very puzzle like and. colorful.
I often couldn’t speak English as a child when feeling any kind of stress. Even not in distress, I would at time not speak English. I used to spend many days with a friend of my mom’s who was from Sicily before and after my abuse and from what I’ve been told I rate spoke English with her.
I can remember the story still about how she was walking me home one day and we we’re chatting away and my mom met us halfway. From what I was told, and I have dim memories of it, my mom was shocked that her friend could understand me and speak back. According to what I was told and remembered that when we learned that I wasn’t just babbling in some made up language but speak a old dialect of Romanian, which is weird as I’ve never learned Romanian and even though my biological grandfather is of Romanian Jewish heritage (but born in Poland), I never met him in my life nor did I even know about him back then.
Who knows if it’s Romanian, although I’ve also been told I speak Russian when distressed (but that has a logical explanation), or if it’s just babbling. I’ve had several Romanians confirm it but it’s not a current dialect in use. It took a long time though to learn to control it.
Hugs and love Arfie.
Yea, that is common among immigrants of all ages, whatever the first or second language. I've known several Alzheimer's patients who forgot their second language, regardless of how long they had been immersed. In the cases where it has been a very long time, they were unable to grasp the updated dialect of their first language.
I often wonder if that is a sister phenom to Americans, from Canada to Argentina, being so notoriously phobic about linguistics, in general. It's an immigrant syndrome and here in the Americas (plural intended), even the natives woke up and found themselves with a foreign country in their living rooms without ever leaving home.
I wonder if you could untangle your strictly personal snot knot with a formal study of? ? ? Russian? Romanian? ? ? Polish? ? ? If I am remembering rightly, the three are linguistic cousins, but I haven't made it to that family forest yet. So many languages and so little time.