🔥 When My Mouth Betrays Me: The Speech Jam Snowball Meltdown

You ever feel like your own brain and mouth suddenly decide they’re not on speaking terms? Because that was me—front row seat to my own mental mutiny.

So I was trying to talk to Miranda and Mikey, right? I had something I needed to say—some guy came in during their lunch break and did something weird. I don’t even remember now what it was because my brain went offline and my mouth went into panic mode.

All I could get out was:

“Uh… uh… om… om… mmm… huh…”

Over. And over. And over.

Five whole minutes of verbal buffering. Five minutes of sounds tumbling out like my voice was glitching in real-time. Miranda kept saying, “Use your words, Caleb.” I wanted to scream—I’m trying. The words were there. My brain was yelling them. But my mouth? Radio silence.

Then Mikey started cracking up. And I cracked up. Because that’s what happens when you’re overwhelmed and can’t fix it—you laugh. You spin out. It’s like a feedback loop of frustration, humor, and internal chaos. The more I laughed, the more stuck I got. The more stuck I got, the funnier it seemed. And the worse it felt underneath it all.

Eventually I just gave up. Let the moment win. Let the words sit in my chest like stuck freight. I finally told them what happened…an hour later.

Here’s the thing most people don’t get: this isn’t just “nerves” or “forgetting.” This is an autistic speech block. A shutdown in real-time. It’s my nervous system short-circuiting under pressure—social, sensory, emotional—you name it. It doesn’t ask permission. It just happens.

I’m not being dramatic. I’m not goofing off. I’m not broken. My brain just doesn’t always run on neurotypical WiFi.

“Use your words” might sound supportive, but in that moment, it feels like someone shouting instructions while you’re drowning. What I need? Patience. Quiet space. Maybe a text box or a notebook. Maybe just someone who won’t laugh while I unravel the knot in my mind.

I’m sharing this not because I’m ashamed—but because I refuse to hide it anymore. These moments don’t make me weak. They make me human. They make me autistic. And they remind me I’m still learning how to ride the waves of my own mind.

Sometimes I speak with fire.

Sometimes I speak with silence.

Either way—I speak.

—Caleb 🐺🔥

Still rising. Still fighting. Still here.