Voices in My Head

Chapter 2: Hidden

'Why don't you die?'

'You will be doing everyone a favor. What's stopping you?'

'No one will like a worthless freak like you. Just die already!'

I rubbed my left wrist. It was a habit of mine whenever I get nervous or I'm uncomfortable. I close my eyes, really wishing I had my earphones on. I'm haunted by these voices in my head. I can't escape them. I can't fight them.

'No one wants you here.'

I was vaguely paying attention to the counselor from behind her big, wooden desk, as she made remarks here and there as she typed on her computer.

'Why are you still here?'

"Allan Barnett, are you even listening to me?" An accusing, exasperated voice. There was no longer the sound of keys clacking.

That's not my name, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. I glanced up at the counselor's framed glasses, at her critical eyes. They won't understand. Won't get how I don't consider myself a part of the Barnett family.

When she got the idea I was not going to say anything, she just sighed and rub the bridge of her nose.

"I was looking through your record. You have missed classes quite a few times. Why is that?"

Because of a guy who stays out longer than needed because he wants to make enemies by picking fights with a number of people.

But of course, I say nothing and shrugged. I stopped talking a long time ago.

The counselor shook her head, her blond locks swinging from side to side, too used to this kind of behavior from me. This wasn't the first time I got called to her office.

"Allan, you are a bright and intelligent student. Your grades could be straight A's instead of straight B's if you just apply yourself and participate in class."

I looked away, not knowing what to say. I don't particularly care about being the best. I just wanted to pass ---however average that is.

She sighed out of tiredness. "I just hate seeing great potential go to waste."

She sighed a final time knowing I won't say anything --it was like this every time I'm here--- before dismissing me.

I stood up from where I was sitting in a plastic chair for a long 30 minutes, picked up my backpack lying limply on the floor, and headed out the door.

Mentally sighed in relief when I plugged in my earbuds and let the music enveloped me. The overlapping noises of talking from everywhere ---all those words mixing together--- in the hallway got irritating quickly. I let out a long breath to calm my nerves as I increased the volume.

I find comfort in the music blaring through my ears. It was a short relief from hearing those venomous noises in my head.

I was just another face in the crowd. Just that quiet boy in a black hoodie who never speaks, who's...just there.

That's why I'm known as the mute freak.

It's not like I can't talk. It's that I choose not to. But because I tend to blend in the background and I don't talk, I'm often forgotten. I'm like a ghost.

And hardly anyone notices I'm there. Too busy with their own lives. I've always been left out. I've never been good with people.

But that's fine with me. I don't need them anyway.

As I walked to my next class, my music unfortunately couldn't block out the snide comments from every direction.

Comments that were about me.

"There's the mute freak."

"I heard that he skipped school all last week."

"How is he still getting good grades? He must be cheating."

Cheat? Like I would ever do that and draw more attention to myself.

"Better question is why didn't he get suspended yet or expelled?"

I kept my head down and tried to ignore them. But I could feel the stares of my classmates staring down at me, watching my every move, watching me to make a mistake, waiting for a chance to criticize me.

'Pathetic. Not even having the courage to stand up for yourself. How can you even live?'

I felt anxiety build up in me and I clenched my fists to calm myself.

'Useless. Absolutely useless.'

'No wonder they died. They wanted to get away from you.'

'You're nothing good. What's the point of being here?'

Multiple voices overlapped, hurling insults at me, taunting and mocking me. I felt a pain rip in my head. I clenched my fists harder. I felt blood on my palms, but the small burst of pain helped clear my head.

I bit my bottom lip as I pushed down all their criticism and jeers. When I arrived at art class, I saw the disappointed look on the teacher's face.

She had her arms crossed as she stood next to the open door.

"Next of you to finally join us for class, Mr. Barnett." I took off my earbuds, knowing that if I didn't, she would blow a fuse at how I was disrespecting her.

She continued talking. "You skipped all those classes and still arrive to class late? I thought you, a senior wanting to pass high school, would know better."

She shook her head in frustration at the lack of response and just gestured for me to go in the class.

I didn't say anything as I walked past her.

She is probably thinking that I was the typical bad boy, the troublemaker who loves disobeying teachers.

I ignored all the curious stares directed at me.

People are always judging others based on appearance. I hate that. But I do the same thing. I'm a hypocrite. But I'm also human.

I sat at my desk in the back and plugged my earbuds back in, vaguely aware of the teacher walking in and starting the lesson for the day.

I unclenched my hands and looked at them. Small bloody indentations were in a row from where I dug my fingers into my palms.

It hurts. But it is also comforting.

This kind of pain is tolerable. This kind of pain helps clear my head. This kind of pain lets me feel in control.

Something that I don't get most of the time. Can you believe me if I said that I don't even have full control of my body?

Doctors call it "Dissociate Identity Disorder", or DID.

I call it a hidden monster inside me. For when he comes out everything around him turns into a bloodbath.