Being a teenager sucks, school sucks, and teenagers around me suck but the voices are always the most unkind. They always seem to catch me at my worst. They latch onto my anger like a leech and ride it all the way to the end of my thinking capacity. They always plant ideas of hatred and loathing in my head and before I know it, I have lost all control and the anger has engulfed me. I have yet to find a way to manage with the voices but the only thing I know to do is hold on tight and prepare for a bumpy ride.
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I remember when I was in the second grade, I liked this boy named Robbie. He was the cutest boy in my class and he seemed to make the voices quiet down. One day, I came to school wearing my favorite yellow sundress and right as I got to class, Robbie scoffed and announced,
"Ha! Janey looks like a big lemon!"
Everyone giggled and pointed. I was humiliated.
Later that day, at lunchtime, I sat on the swings outside
"Look! There’s lover boy now!" The voice sneers.
I look up to find Robbie walking towards me at a fast pace.
"Trip him so that he falls and skins his knee!" Spits another voice
"No, no, no!" Yelps another
"Push him off of the tall slide!" Says the voice clearly excited about its new idea.
"Yes, yes!" Agrees countless others as if they're chanting to me.
Needless to say, Robbie went home with a broken arm that day.
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The voices continued throughout the years telling me to clip the cables to my mom’s car when she wouldn't let me go out or to trash my brothers room when he took the remote. They eventually got more frequent and violent as I grew older.
At the age of seventeen, when i got my first job, my boss fired me due to my "lack of motivation/skill." I felt the sudden urge to take a clothes rack from the back of the store and hit him with it repeatedly. I took several deep breaths trying to imagine cool, calm air filling my lungs and the warm, angry air leaving but it seemed as if there was a never ending supply of warm, angry air. It came out in hot, sharp bursts and before I could gain any self-control, I felt my hand reach for his neck. His eyes became wide the second he turned in my direction. I made the conscious decision to reach and grasp the collar of his shirt rather than strangle him to death. As soon as I caught a good grip on him, store security had to pull me off of him and force me to evacuate the premises. I don't remember a lot after that. Just the white hot anger I was feeling deep inside of my chest. I got in my car and found the softball bat I had left in the backseat from practice earlier that day. I remember feeling the cold metal in my hands and the mangled voices cheering me on, and then, I was home. I don't remember the drive home or how I got in my bed. I remember feeling a deep, empty sorrow in the pit of my stomach and then darkness.
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Later that week, the police came to my house explaining to my distraught mother that her seventeen year old daughter had to be pulled off of her boss in a public setting and later on, took her softball bat (with her name clearly written on it with a Sharpie) and vandalized her bosses car. The worst part is, I left the bat on the ground next to the car for the police to find. It was like a little "screw you" from my own self.
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Finally, we have made it to my nineteenth birthday. We are having a small get-together with my family. It will be the first day that my mom, dad, and brother will be in the same room since the divorce/custody battle. I haven't seen my brother or dad since last year when my dad had his second heart attack. The worst thing, I think, is that I didn't care much. I just came to drop off some cheap flowers and my best smile. I stayed for no longer than five minutes and never came back, I can't even blame that one on the voices. I think they were aware that I was causing my own internal torture by hating myself for the lack of pity I knew I felt deep inside of my own brain.
