I had no intention of posting on Substack, being quite comfortable as a reader of the excellent writing on the platform, until this free write left me with lucid instructions at the end. So here goes.
I started writing again in a period of crisis, during which I lost my ability to speak. This event made me realise just how much we take for granted, and before you think “ok not another fucking post on the internet about gratitude”, hear me out.
I believe what I experienced was essentially a nervous breakdown, and no, I didn’t see a doctor, so this isn’t a medical diagnosis, but I have learnt that if we sit quietly and pay attention to our bodies, everything we need to know is, well, quite literally, within us.
I wasn’t traditionally sick in the sense of a fever or flu; my body was able, my mind conscious, as far as I’m aware. Fatigued, but otherwise well enough. I say “as far as I’m aware” because really, to this day I’m not sure. Parts of this story are still too difficult for me to put into words, so I will try to at least communicate the point I wanted to make.
When we think of speech, we think of words spoken. This is as far as it should go. The reason it felt like a nervous breakdown is because it was like the impulses, the mechanics involved in making speech happen, were out of alignment, like exposed cables — connected, but tangled and frayed. A healthy, abled person should be able to communicate with speech. If they were sick, they would visit a doctor, describe how they feel, receive a prescription, then return home and rest.
But I couldn’t speak, and as you can imagine this caused a great deal of anxiety, so much that I did not seek out a doctor, or anyone for that matter, and chose instead to cocoon away, genuinely worried I had lost my mind.
My brain, my thoughts, my sight, my hearing, the muscles which move my chest and hold my vocal cords together, the “wires” which keep all of these processes seamless and automatic (I believe we call them “nerves”) became disjointed, as if my body could not coordinate these functions to make speech happen.
I would think a thought, or rather the impulse of a thought would arise, and then the intention to speak, which creates the subtle breath required to draw air, pushed from the lungs, in tandem with the oesophagus, then up the throat as the tongue, a muscle itself, shapes and forms in anticipation of what is to be spoken. The mouth and lips follow suit, then the spirit, which animates all of this, commits to the intention, together with the body and the mind, and utters what we call a word.
For some reason, that was too much for my body to handle. My chest and throat seized when I attempted to speak, and I would stumble over my first words. My mind, registering this, would recoil in shock, then emotions would rise, and I would feel a mix of sadness, anger, pain, frustration and confusion, then try to speak again, thus creating a vicious cycle that quickly exhausted me. I wondered why this was happening, but my spirit knew, and the spirit does not think in words. In fact, the spirit does not think at all. It is simply there, whether we care to acknowledge it.
This event revealed to me just how much is happening in our bodies at any given time. If we don’t develop the sensitivity to perceive this, we remain ignorant our whole lives. I do not wish this upon anyone, for such a crisis to happen in order to awaken to the miracle that is our body and mind, but this was how it happened to me, and because of this, I realised that if we broke down the process of speech, it might look something like this.
If your eyes are open, then sight.
If you are able to perceive shapes, then forms.
If you are sentient, then these forms may or may not hold meaning, depending on whether you recognise them, either from instinct, or memory.
If there is meaning, then a feeling arises.
If a feeling arises, then a thought may emerge.
If a thought emerges, then a decision is made: do I stay silent, or should I utter words?
If one chooses to utter words, then the mind triggers the body to activate the jaw, the mouth, the throat, the oesophagus, the chest, the lungs, and all the muscles associated, in preparation for the spirit to exert force.
This force is then concentrated, willed from the abdomen, up the chest, right at the bottom of the neck, up to the lips, before the muscles in this region vibrate to create the force required to match our intention, our thoughts, and our feelings, which then affects the field around us accordingly with sound.
This phenomenon we call speech, which ordinarily happens spontaneously without thought, required too much of me in crisis, so I began to write again, what I could not speak.
I have amassed over two years’ worth of written material on my phone. Not all of it makes sense, but it would be a waste not to try and monetise some of it, and I see no other platform more suited for this than Substack, which I have found to be the only social network I can embrace.
I have put this down to its unique barrier to entry: to enjoy Substack means you enjoy reading and writing. If you enjoy reading and writing then chances are, you are literate, and if you are literate, then I am interested; whatever your views, however tame or extreme.
Over the next 52 weeks, I will publish one piece of writing each week, perhaps two if inspiration strikes, for no reason other than to entertain you, my reader. If you enjoy the piece, tip me; imagine it a date between you and I, and because you enjoyed my company, you offer to buy me coffee, and surprise, I say yes, and thank you, with grace and humility.
If you find yourself enjoying my company rather often, then gift me a subscription, or tell a friend, and in exchange I hope to offer something a little more intimate than an OnlyFans: a raw, honest, uncensored look into the mind of an insignificant man — sometimes serious, sometimes not, other times downright stupid, which honestly, I quite enjoy.
Taking into account that I am a man, I’d like to think of this as more valuable than pictures of my cock, or me fucking on camera, as much as that can be arranged (I believe that’s what the “Founding Member” subscription is for?).
The writing will be a variety of poetry, fiction, free writes, satire, essays, or the odd recipe, along with photographs, music, video, film or product recommendations – essentially things I enjoy – or a response to things I see on the Internet, including Substack. In fact this piece was written in response to a prompt I saw on my feed (“Why do I write?”). So watch out, because no one’s safe, not even the Nazis, I really don’t give a fuck.
I am naming this newsletter sancho* after the squire of Miguel Cervantes’ legendary Don Quixote. This, despite not having completed the novel, which I think is a rather cheeky Quixotic thing to do, so I hope to permeate this newsletter with the better wisdom of his squire, Sancho Panza.
Check back next week. I hope to see you.
Till then.
x
