Oh Baby Let Me In

December 12th, 1999
Friday;afternoon

shes mad at me again. i really dont know why, i mean, this happens all the time. nothing new. i suppose she just figures that, because shes my mom that ill talk to her about everything. and sometimes, when i just cannot talk, she freaks out on me. its not my fault. does she think that i want to be like this? constantly getting asked to answer questions or just hold down a single conversation, and nothing comes out? i dont want to be like this! but no matter how much i bitch and complain, nothing is going to change. i want so badly for it to change, but i know it wont. ugh. i need to see mikey.
frank

I closed my 'diary', as my mom calls it and tucked it between the two mattresses on my bed. She thinks I need to get all my emotions out in this stupid book, because I can't any other way.

I have Selective Mutism.

From all the articles I've read in books up at the library, and the articles on the internet, this disorder only seems to effect small kids, you know. Seven, eight year olds.

Selective Mutism is characterized by a child's inability to speak in one or more types of social situation, although the child is developmentally advanced to the point that speech is possible. The child speaks proficiently in at least one setting, most often at home with one or both parents, and sometimes with siblings or extended family members. Some children also speak to certain friends or to adults that are not related to them, but this variant of selective Mutism is somewhat less common.

To put it short, I can't talk to anyone. Anyone that I'm not very close too, like teachers or the mail man. I try. I really do. I want to be able to talk to people, to hold a conversation, but I just can't. Nothing comes out of my mouth, no matter how hard I try.

I'm eighteen years old now, and have had this disorder since I can remember. The doctors always said that it would 'go away eventually.' That I would 'be normal' eventually.

To 'just give it time.'

They don't know what's wrong with me. Or better yet, they don't know what to do with me. We've tried everything imaginable to treat my 'disorder', and yet nothing has worked. The medicine, the therapists. Nothing.

I've tried to put two and two together, and from what I've been reading on the internet lately, my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder connects to my mutism.

Selective Mutism is frequently attributed at present to high levels of social anxiety in children and not to traumatic events in their early years. Children with selective mutism have been found to be more timid and shy than most children in social situations, and to exhibit signs of depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and anxiety disorders.

Every little thing in my house is perfect; in my eyes at least. I am constantly cleaning everything and anything, moving objects here and there, putting them where they are supposed to be.

Mom just thinks that I enjoy cleaning and has never even let the doctors know about it. I don't talk to the doctors, and they never ask what's going on with me. I'm not slow by any means, but they think that just because I don't talk to them that it means that I can't communicate at all. It's called a pen and paper.

Did you notice I seem to have a lot of things wrong with me? So did I.

My mom, when I was little, used to treat me like a princess. Yes, a princess, you heard me correctly. She would do whatever I wanted or needed on the spot and would never ask questions. She was one of the only people I spoke to, and I figured she felt special because of that.

When you grow up, you stray away from your parents, you know, becoming a snot nosed teenager like the rest of 'em. I'll admit, I was a bit of a brat, but that only started when I was about ten; when my dad left. She paid more attention to her situation then mine, and it hurt. I would lay on the guilt trip of me being 'special' and not having any friends besides her.

I was basically the reason my folks split in the first place; me and my problems. But I suppose that's not too important. He's gone and not around to bother me and my mom anymore, and that's all the matters now.

I pushed myself off of my small, twin sized bed. I really needed a new one. I am quite short, but not short enough for this bed, mind you.

Quickly spinning around, I straightened out the stripped comforter, lining up the vertical lines on the bed spread to the vertical ones on my wall.

I made my way around the end of my bed, straightening out the rug that was stationed in front of my door before sitting myself down in front of my computer.

It was already on, as it always is. I clicked on the MSN messenger button and waited for it to load up and sign me in. Damn dial-up.

I straightened the few papers that lay on the desk, mostly school papers. Or at least the half way decent ones. Everything I wrote down needed to be perfect; the size of my words, the neatness. Everything. It stressed me out beyond belief most of the time, and that was the only way I could communicate with people. By writing things down. My mom thought that writing in a journal would help my stress level some, but I think it made it worse. More than half the pages in that damn book were missing because of varies reasons, and it had only been about two weeks since I had gotten my new book.

Sometimes I just want to rip my hair out.

My buddy list finally popped up, the only person that was actually on the list was currently online.

Well, it was Friday, and he knows we always do stuff on Fridays.

I smiled as I double clicked on his name, bringing up a box, and I began typing.

frank-ayIERO: mikeyyy... i need to get out of this house, NOW.
thatsMR.waytoyou!: frankkkk...whats up now?
frank-ayIERO: ugh. moms mad at me again.
thatsMR.waytoyou!: well i figured that. i meant why is she mad now?
frank-ayIERO: mr. hunters sub sent me out today. she wrote me up saying i was 'unresponsive' when spoken to--err something to that matter.
frank-ayIERO: and principal anderson was all 'i dont want to go through with this--blahblahblah' but she said because ive been sent out more that five times in the last two months that i should actually get in trouble this time.
thatsMR.waytoyou!: thats fucking stupid. she knows that you cant help it! i mean--
thatsMR.waytoyou!: this is just--retarted.
frank-ayIERO: mhhm. i know. he called my mom and she grounded me from going to my art classes for a month. it sucks so bad..
thatsMR.waytoyou!: what the fuck? she grounded you for not talking--even when she, of all people know that you cant?!
thatsMR.waytoyou!: well that just upset me greatly
frank-ayIERO: im sorry mikey..
thatsMR.waytoyou!: no dude, dont. its all good. come over now, and then my life will be complete once again!
frank-ayIERO: sometimes mikey, i believe you are a woman.
thatsMR.waytoyou!: shut it princess frankie.
frank-ayIERO: your an ass.
frank-ayIERO signed off at 3:46p.m.

Mikey has been my best friend since the end of our sophomore year. I'd never had any friends before him; I did happen to be the weird kid that sat in the back of the class room, never talking to any of the other kids.

All Mikey did was corner me one day, in our English class, I remember, but the way he did was what made him special to me. He didn’t come and begin questioning me about why I never spoke or why I didn’t have any friends, no. He came over, pulled out his notebook and wrote one simple line.

Hey. I'm Mikey. Movie marathon tonight, you in?

That Friday night tradition of movies, candy and junk food has been going on ever since that day for almost two years, and that is why he is one of the two people in this whole fucking world that I can actually talk to.