Battling Voices

I hear voices a lot.

Not necessarily the kind that make me turn to look for somebody calling my name, although I hear those voices too.

The voices I hear the most are the kind that are inside my head and tell me about how bad I am, how ugly or fat I am, or just how big a failure I am. They're the voices that tell me I will never make enough money to feel comfortable, that my wife really hates me, that I'm going to fulfil all the major and minor fears I have in my life. And on a good day, I'm pretty adept at battling these voices. I've been in therapy for some years and some of my therapists have been fairly decent and helped me develop skills to deal with these voices.

Recently, though, the voices have changed tactics. Used to be they would just talk to me. I would ignore or talk back, and then they would shut up. It was a fight, but it seemed winnable. Recently they haven't shut up. When they can't get me on the normal aspects of me they attack, they go after little things: song lyrics I can't stand, musical phrases or passes that irritate me, names of fucking radio personalities that they repeat in my head without stop. Imagine a child-- 4 or 5 years old-- sitting in the back of your car. You're driving. And the child in the seat behind you starts saying the name "Ofeibea Quist-Arcton". Of course, you recognize the name as the news reporter from NPR that you've listened to sometimes. You're remarked to yourself that she has an unusual name. That's as far as your Ofeibea Quist-Arcton actions have taken you. But suddenly, there's a small child's voice repeating the name.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And it's not a normal voice. It's a child's voice.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
That voice that comes from a fresh body in the world. Not yet a smoker. Not yet a drinker.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Not yet somebody who has developed laryngitis from going to a Poison concert and yelling his head off.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Brand new throat with brand new vocal cords. Healthy. Stong. And just high enough in pitch to really annoy you when used repeatedly. Like a fork sliding along a porcelain plate and giving a little metal-to-plate squeak. That, but contained in a voice, and housed in a body with a face that is cute and cherubic, so you feel like an absolute asshole for being beyond annoyed by the voice. But you're going crazy.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
You're losing your ever-lovin'-mind!
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
So you give yourself some tasks to help your mind overcome this hurdle.
You start the thought processes that are supposed to take up most of your brain power, focusing it on what you want it to be focused on and taking it's focus away from that which is slowly driving you mad: Is it Oh-FAY-bee-ah or Oh-FEH-bee-ah? And where is that name from do you think? Africa? Egypt? What's the geography there? You can find Egypt ok, but where are the rest of the African countries?
And about this time, you remember that you have to ask yourself questions that you can actually answer, because if you get overwhelmed by your own questions you lose control over the focus and your brain goes back to paying attention to the crazy thing.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Yeah. So there's Africa. And a lot of black people come from Africa. You know a lot of black people, too. Who are some black people? Quincy Jones. Denzel Washington. George Washington Carver. A lot of people don't know that. He invented peanut butter. And Whoopie Goldberg who dated Ted Danson until it became public, and then Ted married that other chick. Or was it the other way around? What's her name? And was he cheating on her with Whoopie?
And you're back to asking questions that you can't answer, so you lose your focus, and The Voice comes back.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And this time, just to remind you that he's in charge of your sanity on this meaningless road-trip to nowhere, he starts kicking the back of your imaginary seat as if he was sitting behind you on a plane, intent on ripping your soul out of your body through your asshole.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And now you're having a hard time remembering where you stopped. Something about dancing. Wasn't it dancing? Who Wants To Dance With The Stars and Be a Survivor? Some reality show. Or are they game shows? There's a difference between reality TV and game shows, and I think all these reality TV shows are really game shows. What the fuck was the thing about Dancing with Whoopie?
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Fuck.
The Voice takes control.
And you're out of steam to think of anything else.
Your coccix is bruised. Your psyche has left your head. You remember how to drive the car because you're used to doing that while drunk or asleep or both. But you're not really there. And The Voice knows you're down like Rocky's first fight with Mr. T. You're not getting up. And The Voice takes **fulll** advantage of you being down. It's not happy that It has defeated you. It doesn't want defeat. It wants destruction. So now that you've been weakened by this meaningless repetition of Ofeibea Quist-Arcton's name, it starts in with the really horrible stuff, except that this time you're powerless against it, as you've been drained to the point of helplessness.
~~~you're fat and stupid and worthless and nobody loves you and your wife is only tolerating your existance because you have money and she can't stand you and you completely understand why, you can't stand yourself, i mean look at you, you can't even keep your composure when you hear somebody's name repeated over and over, you're completely weak and sick and you should be locked up but it's a shame you're so fucking fat becuase they don't have an insane gown for somebody your size, you've flown completely over jerry springer sizes and landed in airplane tarp sizes you fat piece of shit, your father hates you and you won't ever make a movie or be in another show becuase you're scared and nobody wants to work with you because you suck and are difficult to work with...~~~
And you know that a lot of this isn't true.
But your strength is gone.

And then you start to realize that life has been going along without you while you've been dealing with your Head and The Voice and The Road Trip.

And how do you tell somebody about all this?

They're going to lock you up.

You're certifiable.

And now, The Voice has actually moved from your head and put his words into your conciousness and now you're thinking what The Voice was saying. Even though you know it's not right.

Which makes you even more tired and even more crazy.

But somehow, you gather yourself off the floor.
Like sweeping broken tiles into a dust... thing. Pan? Basket? I think it's "pan". Dust pan. Sounds ok. And you try to put one foot in front of the other. And you head over to the waste basket and throw away your dust pan contents. And you start again.
Bejewled is a quality game. Moving gems. Creating different patterns. How many patterns have you experienced?...

And this is what I go through on a daily basis.
I probably could use some therapy.
I probably should do that.
Because this thing, Battling Voices, is just overwhelming some days.
Tidal wave over my head and I need to breathe but I gotta make my way to the surface of the water. But the tide just keeps pushing me down. Dragging Me Down. And my body is aching to breath. To release the pressure. The aching.

Fucking.
Shit.

I said something funny last night.
I don't remember what it was.
My wife laughed.
I live for those moments.
They're the best.
Wife laugh.
That's the best.