Sometimes, you wonder where those whispers in your mind originate from.
These are not strange voices that I hear, nor do they frighten me. They are perhaps a hybrid between my thoughts and subconscious. But they are there. Not loud, but not so soft to just dismiss as thoughts. They are intrusive, and some days, relentless. The whispers sound… Familiar. Maybe they take on my own voice… Or at least what I think I sound like in my head.
Some days they are silly, commenting on little quirks throughout the day. I do not think of much them during such times. Other days, when I have fallen into an unbearable low, they are draining. Tiresome. During those days when I have to use every last bit of energy to perform daily tasks, the whispers are as clear as day:
Why do you even bother?They hate you. You’re making a fool of yourself.
Is this really going to lead to anything in your life?
Why do you even try?
Just sleep. Just go home. There’s no use trying.
You. Are. Worthless. Absolutely, worthless as a human being.
You should just die already.
I know it is only in my head. I am well aware that my mood is low and this is a result of my depression. But the whispers are there. And I can not make them go away.
I continue to work. My hands are a little shakier. I find trouble concentrating, but I try anyways. I repeat the numbers of my task in my head to try and ignore the whispers.
Worthless. Don’t even try.
Some days the whispers get so bad that tears well up in my eyes. My chest hurts, my heart pounds rapidly, my hands shake. I should run to the bathroom, before anyone sees me. On these days, I feel there is no way I can survive another day.
No one cares. They see right past you.
The whispers are right. At least, it feels like they are right. That is the world I have always known. Everything now just feels like a lie. It is as if the whispers are trying to send me this message.
I bite my lip and continue to work. I avoid eye contact with everyone around me. Just work. Pretty soon it is the end of the day, I pack up, say my goodbyes to fellow co-workers and walk briskly home. The moment I step through the door, I fall onto my couch and the whispers begin.
Why are you even trying?
– Why indeed?
No one likes you. You’re all alone.
– But that is the way it has always been…
You’re pathetic. Absolutely worthless.
– I know… I know.
Just kill yourself already.
– I have tried. It is never as easy as it seems.
– But why? Maybe tomorrow will be better…
— You know it won’t be.
— But maybe…
I grow exhausted and my eyelids grow heavy each evening after this ritualistic argument between myself and… Myself. But the next day, a new, clearer voice begins repeating:
Help me, I’ve shattered.