The Voice.

*Knock Knock*

“Who’s there?” I asked as I opened my eyes from a sense of happiness and joy I had not felt in days.

“It’s me again,” said the voice, almost sounding like a witch who cooked up a new potion, as malefic as ever.

“Not today. I’m happy. I want to be,” I said as I tried to cover my ears with a pillow to avoid the familiar voice I dread.

I often forget that the voice lives within me, and anything I do will not help me get rid of it. I groaned and let the voice in. I neither had the energy nor the will to fight it.

The voice came in and took a seat like it’s been living here for years. Similar to a childhood friend who has been visiting home for decades.

I shut the door and went about my work, an overflow of thoughts, and reminiscing the good bits of my day. Smiling and cringing at the happy and the embarrassing parts. All in a good sense of joy and contentment. Up until then, I did a good job avoiding the uninvited guest. But as the guest, let’s call it, The Voice, lurked around, I could not overlook its presence anymore. I put a door stopper to my flow of thoughts to question The Voice. “Why are you here today? I’m happy. Let me be.” I said, and the voice grinned. It was a celebratory grin. It didn’t wait, nor did it create a whole scene before getting into the conversation I dreaded to have. It went straight to the point. “Do you really deserve happiness?” It asked, and that’s it. That’s all I needed for the satisfaction of my day to flicker and fade away, like the bulb of my study lamp when the connection is loose. The voice.

“Not today,” I said. “Please.” But that didn’t matter, not one bit. It was just the beginning, the inauguration of more thoughts to ebb and flow. This is my Halloween, my horror film. The one I don’t just watch but live. In my head, this plays out like the scene in The Shining. When the boy is riding his cycle in the hotel lobby and encounters the twins. Twins that look oh so innocent and sweet. Like they wouldn’t harm even a hair on your head. That’s how The Voice feels to me throughout my narration. Like an innocent person, a familiar face.

More questions follow. “What makes you think you deserve the things you have gotten in life?”

I give in.

No point trying to run away from it.

I grab the hand the voice extended and enter into a room of self-doubt and all its synonyms.

The room is like any other but different. I look around. The walls are filled with all sorts of self- interrogative questions and graffiti.

“Who are you?” “Do you deserve the people you love?” “Are you happy?” All are on the wall as neon signs. Definitely not the ones I’d like to take a snap of or story.

“You suck.” “You don’t deserve this.” And yada yada yada.

The voice takes the liberty to narrate all the things written on those walls and more. I listen. I keep listening. I don’t want to justify myself anymore. So, I choose to remain passive. Let the words hit my ears. Let the voice say it all out. It’s bound to get tired at some point, I think to myself.

I sit down, feet crossed, almost as I’ll meditate. I close my eyes. The Voice gets louder. I listen, process, and think. I almost want it to talk more, say more things that hurt.

The things it can do. The Voice. I don’t need an enemy or a troll. The Voice does the job. And does it so well.

My eyes are still shut, and my feet are still crossed. The Voice eventually fades away. Just like the satisfaction of my day. I gather that it’s done. It has said all it has to.

I open my eyes. I’m anxious, overthinking, and dwelling over the things it said. Almost convincing myself that all that it said was true when I’m actually trying to convince myself the opposite.

Soon my self-confidence vanishes. *Puff*.

All that stays with me are anxiety and a big suitcase of thoughts that I want to keep in the attic, at the extreme end where all the boxes go.

The things the voice can do.

The Voice.

The Voice.

The Voice.