It's been just over a week since I started seeing them again.
For years I had tried to convince myself that it had been nothing but the unharnessed free flow of my wild imagination. A childhood delusion, nothing more.
I had blocked them out; seen therapists. Eventually the voices stopped.
School helped - or at least tried to - in every way they could. Despite their efforts, silent judgement weighed me down, as if I were a bridge, and each of the whispers a person. One day I would collapse under the weight, taking them with me.
They would just find another way to cross the stream.
The only light in my dull reality had been him.
Leo.
He had held my hand as we braved the darkness together. His starlight smile brightened my rocky path to sanity.
Now he was gone, and the voices were not.
They got worse each day. What was once nothing but a murmur had become a shriek. A high-pitched cry for help, or attention.
I tried to give it neither, but it would carry on until I realised that the voice in my head had moved to my lips.
People would stare. Not that I could see them with my eyelids scrunched together. I didn't want to see. Especially not them.
