Voices

Nobody can quiet them. They don’t cease they just scratch, scream, laugh, and whatever other terrible noises they decide to make. I try to fight them, to get them to shut the hell up. Every time I do, I’m reminded that I’m only fighting myself, then I always lose. Doc says I need some pills. Then a few more pills and maybe a couple more at bed time. Dad says I need to pray. Only words mom says to me are in my head, since she died, but nothing she says is helpful. She usually tells me to kill myself. I think she only says that because that’s what she did, though.

Schizo. Great. New nickname from the friends. I’m impressed with their creativity, normally they simply wouldn’t give a shit and keep calling me by my name. But then again all the friends are just me as well, so I guess I’m just calling it like I see it. There’s voices that are better than others. I’ve come to know a couple of them, Ryan, my best friend. He’s a cool guy, but he never stops talking. Eventually all his tones become white noise, and the longer you listen the harder it is to pay attention. There’s Kate, I guess she’s my schizophrenic-brain-created Waifu, because I evidently have a huge crush on her despite her being a figment of my hyperactive brain’s imagination. She’s only around when I feel lonely though, she talks me through it. As soon as I feel better, the others threaten her and then she gets quiet. Sometimes I worry they’ll hurt her. Then I remember they’re not real. She’s not real.

Sometimes I wonder about strange hypotheticals, trying to justify my disability. Maybe, a detailed analysis would show that my brain waves and ears are tuned to an alternate universe? What if I just happen to be tuned in to the wrong place? Every time I do that, Ryan rationalizes, tells me I was just dealt a crappy hand. My brain was made broken, and that’s all there is too it. He’s probably right, I can’t help but wonder though. Maybe I’m some horrible government expiriment and that’s why they want me taking the pills. The voices have told me that before. I’m always a little hesitant to trust them but then I remember I am them. They aren’t real. It becomes really difficult to discern reality from brain-fabrications when the majority of what I hear are the latter. I don’t think the voices want me to keep writing anymore. I know how it’ll be if I don’t stop so... Goodbye. For now.

~A.B.