Inner Voice

February 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

“Internal monologue, also known as inner voice, internal speech, or verbal stream of consciousness is thinking in words. It also refers to the semi-constant internal monologue one has with oneself at a conscious or semi-conscious level.” – Not Wikipedia.

  Basically, when you’ve done so much Xanax that your thoughts are stuck in the elevator between your brain and mouth, they stay in there going up and down randomly waiting for the doors to open. They keep bumping into each other, because they all want to go out in the same time but, your tongue is just not hearing any of that shit; that’s inner voice.

I’ve discovered my inner voice is a very loud one these last days seen as my outer one is currently unavailable. I’m experiencing a hopefully temporary loss of speaking abilities. Google diagnoses it as a psychogenic dysphonia, which I will qualify as temporary in order not to jump off a cliff. My shrink diagnoses it as fucking nothing; because shrinks are cunts and they would never ever give you a clear diagnosis. The circumstances of this unfortunate fuckery will not be revealed due to their remarkably uninteresting nature. You would think something incredible should happen for a bitch to shut up but, really, no.

I’m going to need you to take the following metaphor as seriously as humanly possible. It’s 3am, you’re in bed at your parents’ house. They slept couple of hours ago and you assume they assumed you’re asleep. You’re watching very good porn starring Asa Akira and a moderately big cock. You’re not necessarily masturbating, you’re just enjoying it quite fairly. However, you need to pee. As you head to the bathroom, you make as little noise as you can, you turn on no light and you try to reduce the distance between the toilet and the piece of anatomy responsible for releasing your pee you dearly possess. However, there comes a part you gave no thought to until this moment: the flushing. The action of flushing symbolizes no danger in the morning, when everyone is up. It’s not heard, and even if it is, it’s not that bothering. Now though, it’s catastrophically threatening. It terrifies you. The sound of its start suppresses completely the safety your bed and Asa’s asshole were providing so well. Your world is shattering and you wish you had not put yourself in this whole situation for starters.

That illustrates perfectly my feeling towards my inner voice at the moment. When I could translate and filtrate my thoughts into words, my inner voice took little time of my daily concerns. Currently, it represents my main way to communicate since most of my communication do not leave my head. It’s scary to hear yourself so loudly, to discover your person so deeply. I get in touch with myself way more than I used to. I took the habit of burying my head into chit chat and dialogues to ignore myself in fear that I wouldn’t get my full appreciation. All I can do now is stare audibly at a mirror. The staring part valuates the filtering. The more I hear myself the more I wonder if what I’m hearing is really worth being written down for the person talking to me to acknowledge. The answer is rarely positive.

Therefor, I realize now that I am an objectively useless person to talk to, I’d say 65% of the time. I’m good at talking, I’m fun at talking. I do a lot of funny metaphors and cursing and inappropriate references, I articulate too much on words that don’t deserve it and interlocutors seem to enjoy that enough to buy me drinks, take me home, call me the day after. But importantly, deeply and seriously, I own very little to say. I own very little to write. Yet, I still do and don’t think I could ever stop.

Ghizlane Radi

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