Dear Voice,

My therapist once suggested that I give you a name, but since I refuse to acknowledge that I have a therapist, and since I don’t want to forever taint something as arbitrary as a name, you just get to be “Voice.”

The same therapist also urged me to keep in mind that you're not a part of me – you're just a parasite, targeting my fear and poisoning a brain that is distinctly unhealthy and no longer entirely “me." I wish I believed that. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to myself. Then this wouldn’t be weird. As it is, it’s hard to accept that you're not inherently me when we're so intertwined. Bound together deep within where no one else can see. In essence, for now at least, you feel like me. So this is weird, but I don’t care.

Every day I wish that you didn’t want to hurt me. I try to fight back – to seize control of what was mine. Because I remember what it was like before you joined me, crowding my brain to the point where I wished it would just explode. And yet, every day I succumb, squeezing my eyes shut and letting you take over. The funny thing is, if you're me and I'm you, I should feel your triumph in overcoming those feeble efforts. But I don’t. Because all that you give me is negative.

I wish I could say that I'd do anything to rid myself of you. If that were true, then I would've done it already. The problem is that you blur my reality to the point where I no longer know which thoughts are yours and which thoughts are mine. I can’t decide which thoughts I “should” be having, which considerations make me a decent, moral human being and which make me a lunatic. I’m terrified of what happens if I decide wrong. So I let you convince me that your games are the only way forward. Which only makes you stronger.

Why must you torture me? Why must you make every assignment, every task, every simple walk in the park, an arduous chore? Why is it that even in just writing a simple letter, consisting of just my thoughts, you fill me with doubt? Why do you lead me to hate myself and make me feel undeserving of recognition or good things? Why do you convince me that I bring pain and misfortune to others? Why do you make me feel dread everywhere I go?

Living with you in my head is exhausting. Constantly having to placate you, to ensure that I’m not hurting anyone or gaining any rewards that I don’t deserve. It’s hard to live life when escaping from you is so tiring that all I want to do when it’s done is sleep. Knowing that I have to mentally validate any reward in a drawn-out mental struggle makes it far easier to settle for mediocrity. I really miss being more than mediocre. I hate you. I really do.

Now that I’ve expressed just how much I hate you, I must also express my gratitude. Because even though every emotion that you plant inside my head would be considered “negative,” there are, surprisingly, some positive outcomes from this surge of unwanted misery. Compassion being one of the most poignant. Resilience being another. So thank you for helping me to have more compassion for people like me – people also under siege, people who also have trouble simply living. Thank you for forcing me to be strong. I hate how you make me feel constantly weak, but one day when I make peace with you, I will realize that I survived, and I will finally get to feel strong. At least I hope that this is true.

Another therapist that I saw several times – look what you’ve done to me – once vocalized, with great curiosity in his eyes, that he wondered what would happen if I tried to show you compassion. In essence, he was suggesting that I try cooperating with you, soothing you. Which is basically asking me to show you the understanding and well-wishing that I strive to show others. This relationship is confusing, because I hate you and because you are me, it makes it hard to show myself any kind of compassion or love. Why do I get the feeling that you wouldn’t cooperate with me anyway?

I watched the movie "The Host" (based on Stephanie Meyer’s book) last Friday night with my roommate. We marveled at how, in many ways, the beings implanted into the human race in the movie share many characteristics with you, our mental illnesses. In fact, I’m sure that watching "The Host" inspired elements of this letter. Perhaps what struck me the most was that the parasites in the movie could only be removed with love and positivity. Melanie and Wanderer ended up having a good relationship in the end. Can we have one too?

I realize that anyone else who reads this will probably think that I am insane. Except for the people who understand, who have their own personal Voices in their heads. To all of those people, I'm sincerely sorry. To anyone who thinks that this is crazy, it’s meant to be. I know that I don’t actually have a parasite in my brain that whispers in my ear. This is all just an analogy for what it’s like to suffer from a mental illness. So please just remember that some of us feel like our brain is being constantly tampered with. Some of us hate a part of ourselves that is integral to our self-image and functionality.

And to you, Voice, the intended recipient of this letter, that annoying part of my brain that I can’t escape, please stop hurting me. Help me to love you. Because you are me, and I am you. I want nothing more than to love myself in the way that I should.

Many thanks,

Me