The voice inside my head is so cruel.
She doesn’t match the smile she masquerades behind.
She is nothing like the voice who encourages those around her. She hates me.
She loves hating me in the meanest ways.
She has steered my life so that my home became the prison where she does her work. She has eliminated the chances of me having value to others. Exactly her desire, it makes her dominant.
Her taunts and chatter are exhausting and while my heart aches to know she isn’t speaking my silent truth, she’s become louder than that of my intuition.
Unworthy, unloveable, broken at your core, “there’s no fixing you, you’d need twenty grand to ever come close to being who you were before them.” She scowls and winces at her reflection.
The voice inside does not rest. She berates even in sleep. “You are lazy, there is so much for you to do, get up off your ass, and take care of this now.”
She hates everything that could bring me joy and she sneers disgustingly if I simply want to read a book. I don’t know how to please her, she grows louder every day.
Every day, my heart breaks a little but it’s happening slowly. She is nothing I can’t handle with fakes smiles, small talk, and the completion of one mundane task after another.
I cope with her hatred of me in the silence and I never introduce her to anyone. They know nothing of the torture I take daily and that is as it should be.
“Mommy, I love you,” small hands that I created in love, reach up for me. She flees, and she’s banished… she is not welcome in their presence and she scurries outside, until I’m alone again.
I wonder if others have the constant war raging behind their kind eyes, too? She says they don’t. That this is just broken me doing broken things.
She rebukes on. And she does good work. Some days she silences me into a state of quiet defeat. “SpaghettiO’s for dinner, folks.”
My son rounds the corner and smiles an endless love grin up at me. For a moment, I am someone’s everything. That single moment, my weapon, to battle her another day.
They warned us in Bible-class that from the heart the mouth speaks. They told us to be careful because the influences you allow, become the way you think.
…..His voice became my voice…
….HIS VOICE BECAME MY VOICE…..
SHE———never had a choice, because his voice became MY voice.
Singing Over My Bones 