My experience with stuttering
17/05/2026
Sunday
Dear Diary,
I wish to confess, to come clean, and to finally talk about something.
I stutter. I know exactly what I want to say.
I have repeated the same words to myself several times.
The people in front of me are eagerly waiting, their faces displaying a mix of emotions. Most are understanding and patient, some are impatient and eager to move on, and a few are laughing.
When I see those few, I feel scared and angry—not at them, but at myself, at my unruly tongue and mind.
This has happened countless times. After each instance, my urge to speak, to tell my friends about my day, or even to answer a question I know the answer to, runs far away, to hide in the distant forest. I sometimes feel like one of the stranger creations of the one above.
I think a lot, almost all the time, but I often choose not to give in to those cruel words.
Maybe that's why I like writing, on paper, on a screen, with my own comfort, no one in my head just shouting at me to speak clearly or quickly.
And recently, I've started to look towards the people who were patient, who were understanding, who were with me through those weird pauses, who didn't run away or make fun of me just because I spoke with a short delay.
And I know that I would be stuttering in the future too, but maybe I will always choose the ones who stayed, waited, and were kind enough to listen.
Thank you for being one of the few who stayed.