Have you met the voice in my head?

 two men sitting in camp chairs watching sunrise

He probably needs an introduction.

You see, he’s not at all like me.

But, still, he’s a part of who I am.

It’s sort of complicated.

The voice in my head, also known as “my thoughts”, is immaterial — immanent even.

But I feel like I know him like a brother.

He spends time with me every day.

Sometimes he says things that are worthwhile.

Other times I wonder if he’s really on my side.

I mean, he has my voice, but, I swear, he’s not using my words.

The words I share with you are polished. The words I give you are well articulated.

The voice in my head? His words are raw. They’re unadulterated.

But enough about words.

Have you met him, the voice in my head?

To be honest, it’s kind of uncomfortable introducing you to him, the voice in my head.

He told me not to do it.

He said that people wouldn’t like me. That they would judge me.

He said that if I talked about him, people would leave me and wouldn’t come back.

The fear of being unlovable was almost too much to bear.

At one point, I almost believed him.

I thought that what he told me I was represented what I really am.

The voice in my head told me lots of things.

He pressured me into complying.

You could say it was an unhealthy relationship.

And now I’m introducing him, the voice in my head, to you.

It makes me uncomfortable because here I am, the real me.

And the voice in my head?

He’s still around, lurking behind us. And above us.

I wouldn’t want him to infiltrate our conversation.

What’s that? You say you have one, too?

Really? What does yours say?

Well, that sounds awfully similar to what mine says!

Who would have thought?

The voice in my head didn’t tell me this would happen.

He didn’t tell me a lot of things.

Why did I even listen to him in the first place?

Was it the familiarity of it? The mistaken notion that having some kind of company was better than being alone?

Was it the false confidence I received in having someone tell me what to do, where to go, and what to be?

Your voice says that, too?

Maybe our voices should get together.

In fact, it sounds like they already got together — and are now conspiring against us.

This is all pretty hilarious.

All this time we had these voices telling us how to be when we were perfectly capable of speaking for ourselves

Why did we do that, anyway?

Well, what should we do now? Is life supposed to feel this unencumbered?

I’m so used to carrying an oppressive weight around that I don’t know how to communicate freely like this.

Maybe I’m coming on too strong? I’m sorry if I am.

People have told me I’m too passionate.

Then, my voice started saying the same thing. Night and day, day and night — he drilled it into me.

So I became less passionate.

Oh, you like that about me?

Who would have known?

I must be keeping the wrong company.