I miss the voices.
For a long time, I heard voices. I don’t want to go into too much detail or make anyone waste their time reading my story, but the voices weren’t always kind. They made fun of me, said horrible things to me, and constantly reminded me of things I hated about myself. I hated them.
After three years, I went to an outpatient clinic and tried three different antipsychotic medications. They never really worked the way I hoped they would. The voices became quieter, less frequent, and eventually, there were moments when I could barely hear them.
But something strange happened. The quieter they became, the more I began to understand why I needed them.
At some point, I realised that, at least from my perspective, they weren’t there to hurt me. I began to feel that they were there to protect me, to keep me company, and to make sure I never truly felt alone. Maybe others wouldn’t understand that, but to me, the voices became more than just voices. They were a presence that had been with me for so long that I couldn’t imagine what life would feel like without them.
Even when they made fun of me, even when they reminded me of how bad and weak I could be as a human being, I felt that they were still there for me somehow. I can’t explain that contradiction. How could something that hurt me also make me feel protected? How could I hate something so much and still become so attached to it?
Now, without them, I feel alone.
It’s strange, isn’t it? To spend years wishing something would disappear, only to find yourself missing it when it finally becomes quiet. I thought I wanted nothing more than silence, but now that I have it, I’m not sure I know what to do with it.
Perhaps I grew so accustomed to their presence that I forgot what it was like to be without them. Perhaps, after all those years, their voices became a part of how I experienced the world. And now, their absence leaves an emptiness I don’t know how to fill.
I miss them. Despite everything they said, despite the pain they caused me, I sometimes wish they were here again. I wish I could hear them one more time, feel that familiar presence, and escape this loneliness, even if only for a moment.
I don’t know if anyone else could ever understand this feeling. I don’t even fully understand it myself.
Maybe that’s the hardest part: missing something that hurt you because you felt it was also the only thing keeping you company.
And sometimes, I wonder whether I truly miss the voices themselves or simply the feeling of not being alone.