One day several years ago, I went to lunch with an older woman that I had worked with for a time. I’m not sure how the conversation got to this point but I mentioned something about hearing voices and she got really concerned and did that nervous laugh people do to take the edge off.
“Be careful who you tell that to.”
And I changed the subject after an awkward silence. I remember trying to process why it would be bad to be honest about something I’ve lived with my entire life. A very natural part of me. Why something like hearing voices marked me as “not ok” or “dangerous” when I am a person who cried when I ran over a turtle once on accident while driving. I’m sure she was just concerned because she knew, having worked in the county attorney’s office, that the system does not care what you’re like. She knew, better than me at that point, that certain things, when admitted, is usually a one way ticket to involuntary admission to somewhere away from your life. For everyone’s protection.
That fear of “being crazy” runs deep. For good reason. I visited an old asylum once. They had built a new facility on the grounds at some point but the old buildings still stood, spanning the massive Kansas grounds, winding around the property. The buildings looked as abandoned buildings look. Haunted. As someone who feels energy, I was terrified. And I’m not usually terrified easily. Having had hallucinations most of my life, visual and auditory, very little phases me. Mostly humans and their capacity for harm. The fear of losing everything due to my mental illness and no support. Fear of not having money for basic needs. Those are my terrors. But this was the terror of people who had existed here, in these buildings, forgotten, labeled as useless, unsupported, except to keep them alive and numb. And during the time I was there, I was facing my own psychosis that came out as a result of being abused. So the terror for me was also personal. Because already, my mental illness was being weaponized against me and I didn’t know it. Some part of me did. I’ve always known when I was being lied to, I’ve just not always trusted it.
I’ve learned that the voices, the beings that I hear and sense have my best interests at heart. The only time the voices have become mean and told me to harm myself, or run in front of a car, which I did get close to once, were those times I was in relationship with someone who was abusing me. There were other times I wanted to cease to exist and the energy became very heavy for me, but the bully voices, as I call them, only came in those particular circumstances. And even as I walked outside and clung to a tree in front of the road in front of my house, there was a war inside me. The bully voices telling me to just end it and some other force, the ones I’ve heard since I was a child, telling me to just keep holding on to that tree. To not take one more step.
I’ve spent a lot of my life masking, as I’ve spoken about due to the autism I didn’t know I had. But I’ve also spent a lot of time trying to appear “sane”. Responsible. Trustworthy. Dependable. I had to be that as a child to survive violence and take care of my younger siblings. I could see how people reacted to others who weren’t like them. And I didn’t want that rejection. As my own children have really only had me to depend on, it has been especially important that I hide anything inside me that could get them taken away. It’s a primal fear. One that has kept me from getting support many, many times. When this one Dr diagnosed me with schizoaffective bipolar, I went into shock, then disassociated, then rejected it entirely after the meds he gave me made me worse, yet again. All I know was that his diagnosis in the wrong hands could’ve taken everything I loved away from me. I do not know what label they would give me now if I were completely honest. I’ve had so many. At this point, it doesn’t matter so much. I have used these abilities to help so many. So I know there is something there that this world doesn’t want to accept. The elite have always tried to silence the truly powerful but the meek shall inherit the earth. I think it’s time we started listening to all those voices who’ve been silenced for far too long.
There’s so much more to share about this, as I’m feeling less afraid to. But I have to go deliver pizzas now and do the lord’s work.
I would be honored if you could check out my shop and see if anything tickles your interest. Or share my shop with others. xo