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I haven’t been sleeping well. The voices of my mom and step-dad are in my head late into the night. Always talking about me. Always determining my fate.
“She knows Donna!”
“She doesn’t know Bob!”
What I do or do not know is always up to question in my mind. My most common delusion being that some kind of draining entity is attatched to me that brings everyone down from a state of happiness I’d call Heaven. The whispers never go away. When I hear “She doesn’t know” it meant that I was unaware of being this life sucking montster and therefore was unguilty. I was always listening for hidden meanings. Based on my religious theories I’d read in many books that we are all interconnected, the phrase “I don’t know” took on the same meaning. Hearing someone say “I don’t know” whether in a nearby conversation or later to become the voices in my head, meant also, that I did not know, and was innocent out of ignorance. These nights in my mother’s house I couldn’t escape the paranoia. Was it good to know? No surely not. The voices were constantly in my head charaterized my their tones. I don’t dare ask them about these arguments between them because I am not supposed to hear them. I am not supposed to hear these voices. To me, these voices are mine and thier greatest secret. If they knew I knew, my life could be in danger. I’d had the voice in my head telling me I was the lowest of the low for a long time. I thought that I could be put down like a rabid dog was not foriegn to me these days. I kept my mouth shut.
I named myself the “It”.
“It looks good today.”
“I don’t like it.”
Everything was about me. And I was an “it”.
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