One Finger At A Time

As I type this, I find myself staring at my right index finger, tapping away at the screen of my iPhone. I’m not one of those people who can glide their fingers effortlessly across the keyboard like David Helfgott or some savant-like pianist. No, I stick mostly to my right index finger, occasionally enlisting my thumb—but only for the letters that make sense to me. A, S, D, F, E, R. Sometimes Z, X, and C. The rest? One finger, one tap at a time.

Why do I bring this up?

Recently, I stumbled across a podcast on Spotify called The Telepathy Tapes. As I listened, I found myself deeply drawn in, captivated by the stories being told. I won’t spoil it for anyone, but the themes hit me in a way that felt very familiar—like they had interviewed a range of people who understood me. People who had lived their lives in silence. Not just external silence, but that kind of internal flatlining that comes from overwhelm and overstimulation—the mental noise so deafening it locks the tongue in place, rendering speech impossible.

While reflecting on this, and taking in some stories from the Telepathy tapes I also found myself reading through comments on one of the episodes—maybe episode six or seven—when I saw someone say, “If you liked The Telepathy Tapes, you need to check out Spellers.”

Being someone who always looks for patterns, I took their advice. And wow. They were right.

From the opening scenes, I was completely hooked. Again, I found myself moved, some parts of it brought me to tears, listening to the stories of these extraordinary people trapped in a mysterious world where they couldn’t communicate with others. Atleast not in the same way as everybody else.

But this time, it was different.

Unlike those in The Telepathy Tapes, the individuals in Spellers had found a way to share their inner worlds. They were able to communicate—sometimes for the first time—with depth, detail, and an eloquence that startled their close family, loved ones and carers.

And nearly all of them did so in the same way I do.

One finger. One letter at a time.

To the uninformed observer, it might have seemed agonisingly slow. But to me, it felt like connection. It was like seeing myself in a mirror.

Troy, look. There you are. Right there.

Sharing my own authentic personal stories has always been one of my greatest challenges. Sure, I didn’t face the same level of difficulty in communicating as those featured in the show, but I sure as hell found it hard. Most of the time, it was impossible.

It always felt like the only way I could truly open up was to become someone else entirely—an actor in a role. One who mimicked others, copying their mannerisms and behaviours. Because that’s how you fit in, right?

For me, this often led to an unhealthy persuits and relationship with substances, relaxants, my vice of choice —alcohol. It started at 15.

As an actor, I learned to make up stories about myself, to hide the truth. I learnt to live life through a persona of someone who appeared be confident and courageous. Someone’ who wasn’t afraid to take risks. Often appeared to be carefree and reckless.

The truth on why would I have done this? Because no one wants to be friends with or hear stories of my own fear and self-loathing. No one wants to hear about the loneliness of being misunderstood. Feeling inadequate in everything you did, feeling like a totally worthless piece of shit, someone who often let people down, would frequently say stupid sh!t and was never good enough.

I had become my own worst enemy!

But what if people didn’t think that way about me at all?

What if we gave ourselves permission to tell those stories—one letter, one tap at a time?