Imagine, if you can, sitting alone in your house and hearing someone call your name. Not loudly, but softly, right next to your left ear. You’d jump, right? Turn around and look. There’s nobody there. It happens again. What do you do? Get up, look behind the sofa. Check you haven’t sat on your phone. Nothing. It happens again. You’re out your seat, checking the door is locked, searching the house. Nothing. By the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh time you’re more than a little on edge, yes? That’s how I heard my first voice. I’m used to it now, every new voice, every new part, has started the same way. But the first one scared the life out of me.
The noise in my head is currently increasing day by day and I still have forever to wait til my next appointment with, well, anyone – nine days til I see my CPN, twelve til I see my psychologist. On Monday K goes with himself for two nights. Two blissful nights when I won’t have to pretend everything is fine. When I won’t have to function.
It’s always noisy in my head, but this is louder than normal. I put my fingers in my ears but it is still there, as loud as ever. There is no way to shut it out and no way to shut the voices up. My destructive part is the most vocal at the moment, a loud, grating voice that goes on and on and on while I do my best not to listen. Because listening to that part is dangerous.
That’s a disturbing picture, but it does feel as if someone is trying to see through my eyes, to speak with my voice, to climb out of my head. But I’m still in control. For now. There is no way to stop the voices, the small dose of Diazepam I have isn’t enough to have more than a sedative effect and any other medications would, apparently, interfere with the work I’m doing with my psychologist. So, for now, I must cope with the voices as best I can.