Wh..Wh..Wh..Why?      Y..Y…Y….You didn’t understand.
R..R..R..Reading out loud was death to me. The la..la..laughter. The Humiliation. “Wh..Wh..Why must I endure this ri..ri..r..ridicule?”, I prayed. Y..Y..y’all thought it was a joke. I am not a joke. Every word that I mis-spoke became another m..m..m..miniscule hole in my psyche – a scar  yo..yo..yo…you will never see. But I feel that hole —
those holes slowly leaving the air out of my self-esteem. Wh..wh..why do I avoid people from my past? I c..c..continue to feel un-worthy. I hated th..th..that I stuttered – I didn’t hate myself. I just wished m..m..my brain and my mouth wouldn’t   beeee..tray me.  I wi..wi..wished  I could tell a j…joke. Who w..w..wants to h..h..hear a joke with a staccato pu..pu..punch line.  I still have the ticks, the ph..physical manifestations  of the stress I felt inside. Y..Y..Y..You learn painfully wh..wh..who  y..y..y..your friends were – the few.    They could see past……………………………the st..st..st…stutterer….