"And life is a waiting game
Don't you know that,
peace must be nurtured
And all the money in the world
can buy you nothing"
- Corinne Bailey Rae
Book was previously titled Wait For You
DESCRIPTION INSIDE
Cover made by @YUNGMIAMI
"Can you tell me a secret? Can you tell me what's wrong with me? I know I should be angry But I can barely feel a fucking thing" - Bea Miller
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* 4 Years Earlier *
"We all have voices in our head, babe. It's called a conscious. There's nothing wrong with you." My boyfriend explained while downing the remainder of his pint of Jack Daniels. This is what happens every single time I call myself opening up to someone. They dismiss my mental health until I do something off the edge and then I'm crazy all of a sudden.
How many times have I told you that he isn't the one for you? You keep making the same stupid decisions when it comes to men. You're so embarrassing, Nia.
The voice in my head isn't my conscious. She doesn't even sound like me. I know it's another person, but it's hard trying to explain that to people. The last time I laid out full details about the person living inside of me my mother had me committed. That's one experience that I don't ever want to go through again, so I try to be as brief as possible when trying to explain to people why I am the way I am.
Me suffering from schizophrenia is only the tip of the ice berg. It doesn't affect me as much as the other issues do. I've learned to tolerate the voice in my head, to an extent. I don't agree with majority of the things she says. It's as if she purposely disagrees with me at times just to pick an argument with me. I've learned the hard way not to respond to her; at least not out loud. It always cues the stares when people assume I'm arguing with myself. I know that the person in my head isn't me, even if no one else believes it.
My anxiety doesn't allow me to be in large crowds. My claustrophobia doesn't allow me to be in small spaces, regardless of the amount of people present. My bipolar disorder doesn't allow me to be around friends and family for long periods of time, because they don't know how to adjust to my many moves. My depression refuses to think positive about anything, especially myself. My dissociative identity disorder is secretly my escape from all of those issues. It allows me to give the other person that lives inside of me full control of my mind and body, and I'm allowed to disappear when things become too overwhelming.
"Well how do you control the voices in your head? Like how do you shut them up?" I asked him, hoping he didn't say alcohol. I take a number of medications throughout the day to balance myself out, and alcohol will not be helpful in the least.
"With this." He held up a zip lock bag full of weed and what looked to be dried up mushrooms. "This makes everything go away. Eat one of these while I break down this bud." He handed me one of the mushrooms and I eyed it suspiciously before putting the entire thing in my mouth. It can't hurt to try. I chewed the mushroom and swallowed it quickly, not giving myself time to process the taste. I looked over at Eric, watching as he broke down the bud between his fingers.
