stammerheadshark * blog about living with an acquired neurogenic stammer

It occured to me that I hadn’t updated my blog with what life has thrown at me over the past year or so as I stopped writing it when I moved back home and life became a lot bleaker. I really thought that nobody would want to read anything so depressing, so I plodded on. Turns out that I’d forgotten how therapeutic it can be to write all the chaos out of your head.

This afternoon I spent writing up my experiences of a form of therapy that really has helped me come to terms with my speech as requested by the therapist for her to use as a case study, and I thought it was appropriate to share it here too.

So if you’re interested in what happened next to stammerheadshark, read on: Read the rest of this entry »

Or so I keep being told.

The interview I had on Thursday couldn’t have gone better. Short of having normal speech again, it was pretty much a textbook example of how an interview ought to go. I was engaging and informed, and they were enthusiastic and impressed; but somewhere it all went wrong. I got a phone call later that day to “regrettably inform me that on this occasion I was unsuccessful”. Great.

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I’ve literally been blown away by this morning’s events.

After getting in to work this morning, I noticed that my speech was slowing down and there were considerably more repetitions interjecting themselves in front of words I was trying to say.

The next time I opened my mouth to speak the normal stammer had disappeared to present only grunty sounds again. This is exactly what I’d been terrified of happening in advance of my interview this week.

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After spending evenings avoiding the internet thanks to the abundant exposure I receive during the day working for a web development company, the weekend seems as good a time to catch up with life online as any…

An odd thing happened this weekend, and upon reflection it’s something I’ve begun to notice others doing also. It appears, and I could be completely wrong about this, that people find it far easier to understand my stutter when they can see my facial expressions also.

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I’ve been particularly bothered the past few days by a couple of discrete incidents which upon reflection are part and parcel of the same issue.

The issue being a leech; a succinct definition ascribed by a friend when I rather inadequately tried to explain how I’ve been feeling about my stammer becoming part of my identity without my consent. It’s pretty accurate actually.

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I’ve been lax.

Moreover, I’ve been lacking; in motivation primarily, although in unity with a lack of connection to the internet (thanks must go BT broadband for continually disappointing me), without which I would have had to take full responsibility for have not written sooner.

And I feel bad about it. Writing has taken on almost a form of therapy (cue the violins…) in the absence of obtaining physical support from the medical profession.

There’s only so many times you can get discharged from clinics without starting to think that perhaps you might smell a bit. Well, if only that was the reason.

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I’ve had a frenetic few days really, and not the time nor space to really make any sound decisions.

Often it feels as though life carries you along like a tide, while you drift further away from your destination without the control to bring yourself back on course.

After a fabulous family wedding back home and a zippy catchup with my sister and her children this weekend, we were back on the road winging our way back to ordinary life to churn out job applications and amended CVs for imposed deadlines.

It’s so odd that visiting home in Southport feels such worlds apart from our life in Leicester, but a relief in some respects that it’s a world we’re to return to imminently.

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