Speaking through my fingers
I don't know why I find this so strange, but this is my brain:
During these post-ictal severe pain states, I tend to be quite verbose and effusive in writing much more than I am in verbal speech.
Talking with my voice becomes mildly improbable, weak, abstract, and inept as I stumble. But in writing, my brain can move quickly, pause to check itself, and encourage my fingers to pull forth just the right words.
Naturally, my parents frown upon my constant use of the internet's social media to communicate, including email, because they want to hear my voice, which they call mellifluous. But there is no dulcet fluidity in a voice whose owner has been struck with temporary neurological damage.
However, sometimes communicating via writing, typing, and online social media really is just that much more powerful. And it gives my mouth and throat ample time to rest while those complex speech areas of my brain that had been momentarily damaged can gather themselves and become once more coherent.
It really is very embarrassing to speak out loud and find my words too jumbled, my tongue tripping up, my emotions spilling over until my voice cracks because I cannot convey what I need beyond the simplest of words in the manner of a fairly intellectual toddler.
Even when I have been hit by those neuron storms, words are very easy to find. Making sure others hear those words in the context I need can be so difficult that I bring myself to tears.
I am certain you know what I mean, friend's list.
During these post-ictal severe pain states, I tend to be quite verbose and effusive in writing much more than I am in verbal speech.
Talking with my voice becomes mildly improbable, weak, abstract, and inept as I stumble. But in writing, my brain can move quickly, pause to check itself, and encourage my fingers to pull forth just the right words.
Naturally, my parents frown upon my constant use of the internet's social media to communicate, including email, because they want to hear my voice, which they call mellifluous. But there is no dulcet fluidity in a voice whose owner has been struck with temporary neurological damage.
However, sometimes communicating via writing, typing, and online social media really is just that much more powerful. And it gives my mouth and throat ample time to rest while those complex speech areas of my brain that had been momentarily damaged can gather themselves and become once more coherent.
It really is very embarrassing to speak out loud and find my words too jumbled, my tongue tripping up, my emotions spilling over until my voice cracks because I cannot convey what I need beyond the simplest of words in the manner of a fairly intellectual toddler.
Even when I have been hit by those neuron storms, words are very easy to find. Making sure others hear those words in the context I need can be so difficult that I bring myself to tears.
I am certain you know what I mean, friend's list.