Home » Martin Pistorius: My Way Back to Words at TEDxKC (Transcript)

Martin Pistorius: My Way Back to Words at TEDxKC (Transcript)

Here is the full transcript of web developer Martin Pistorius’ TEDx Talk: My Way Back to Words at TEDxKC conference.   

Martin Pistorius – Web developer

Imagine being unable to say, “I am hungry”, “I am in pain” “Thank you”, or “I love you”.

Being trapped inside your body, a body that doesn’t respond to commands. Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone. Wishing you could reach out, to connect, to comfort, to participate.

For 13 long years, that was my reality. Most of us never think twice about talking, about communicating. I thought a lot about it, I’ve had a lot of time to think.

For the first 12 years of my life, I was a normal, happy, healthy little boy. Then everything changed. I contracted a brain infection. The doctors weren’t sure what it was, but they treated me the best they could. However, I progressively got worse.

Eventually, I lost my ability to control my movements, make eye contact, and finally, my ability to speak. While in hospital, I desperately wanted to go home. I said to my mother, “When home?” Those were the last words I ever spoke with my own voice.

I would eventually fail every test for mental awareness. My parents were told I was as good as not there. A vegetable, having the intelligence of a three-month-old baby. They were told to take me home and try to keep me comfortable until I died.

My parents, in fact my entire family’s lives, became consumed by taking care of me the best they knew how. Their friends drifted away. One year turned to two, two turned to three. It seemed like the person I once was began to disappear. The Lego blocks and electronic circuits I’d loved as a boy were put away.

I had been moved out of my bedroom into another more practical one. I had become a ghost, a faded memory of a boy people once knew and loved. Meanwhile, my mind began knitting itself back together. Gradually, my awareness started to return. But no one realized that I had come back to life. I was aware of everything, just like any normal person. I could see and understand everything, but I couldn’t find a way to let anybody know.

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My personality was entombed within a seemingly silent body, a vibrant mind hidden in plain sight within a chrysalis. The stark reality hit me that I was going to spend the rest of my life locked inside myself, totally alone. I was trapped with only my thoughts for company I would never be rescued.

No one would ever show me tenderness. I would never talk to a friend. No one would ever love me. I had no dreams, no hope, nothing to look forward to. Well, nothing pleasant. I lived in fear, and, to put it bluntly, was waiting for death to finally release me, expecting to die all alone in a care home. I don’t know if it’s truly possible to express in words what it’s like not to be able to communicate.

Your personality appears to vanish into a heavy fog and all of your emotions and desires are constricted, stifled and muted within you. For me, the worst was the feeling of utter powerlessness. I simply existed. It’s a very dark place to find yourself because in a sense, you have vanished.

Other people controlled every aspect of my life. They decided what I ate and when. Whether I was laid on my side or strapped into my wheelchair, I often spent my days positioned in front of the TV watching Barney reruns. I think because Barney is so happy and jolly, and I absolutely wasn’t, it made it so much worse. I was completely powerless to change anything in my life or people’s perceptions of me. I was a silent, invisible observer of how people behaved when they thought no one was watching.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t only an observer. With no way to communicate, I became the perfect victim: A defenseless object, seemingly devoid of feelings that people used to play out their darkest desires. For more than 10 years, people who were charged with my care abused me physically, verbally and sexually. Despite what they thought, I did feel.

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The first time it happened, I was shocked and filled with disbelief. How could they do this to me? I was confused. What had I done to deserve this? Part of me wanted to cry and another part wanted to fight. Hurt, sadness and anger flooded through me. I felt worthless.

There was no one to comfort me. But neither of my parents knew this was happening. I lived in terror, knowing it would happen again and again I just never knew when. All I knew was that I would never be the same. I remember once listening to Whitney Houston singing, “No matter what they take from me, they can’t take away my dignity.”

And I thought to myself, “You want to bet?” Perhaps my parents could have found out and could have helped. But the years of constant caretaking, having to wake up every two hours to turn me, combined with them essentially grieving the loss of their son, had taken a toll on my mother and father.

Following yet another heated argument between my parents, in a moment of despair and desperation, my mother turned to me and told me that I should die, I was shocked, but as I thought about what she had said, I was filled with enormous compassion and love for my mother, yet I could do nothing about it.

There were many moments when I gave up, sinking into a dark abyss. I remember one particularly low moment. My dad left me alone in the car while he quickly went to buy something from the store. A random stranger walked past, looked at me and he smiled. I may never know why, but that simple act, the fleeting moment of human connection, transformed how I was feeling, making me want to keep going.

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