Dear Voices in my head,
I should probably start with hello. But I am not. You are talking to me right now, questioning me. Like you always do.
You made your first entry into my life when I was 7 years old. I was asked to sing in front of my friends. You told me I wasn’t good enough. You told me I am horrible. And, although I might offend you, I didn’t like you. I hated you.
Ever since you have been prominent in my life. I refuse to wear the dress everyone told me looks good because of you.”‘Look how ugly your arms are.” you told me. Whenever I believed that there was something I could do to make myself a better person, you told me “No. you can’t do it.” Whenever I felt happy and content, you asked me, always ”Do you even deserve happiness?”
You don’t let me sleep. You are the most active at 1.04 AM when everyone is asleep. Only you and me. Together, weaving fantasies with that boy, reminiscing every single embarrassing moment that has happened to me and also getting very, very sad. Sadness does a great thing to you, my friend. Rumi has no competition with you.
You, you absolute bastard. You have been my greatest enemy. And my greatest friend.
Undoubtedly, you know everything about me. You knew my highest and lowest points. You knew what was important for me and what was not. I have to thank you for the numerous amount of times your scrutinizing saved me.
Today, I am doing everything that you told me I couldn’t. And guess what, I am not ‘horrible’. I am pretty good.
You stand like an uninvited guest, alone, petrified bystander on the sidewalk. I don’t mind you speaking anymore. Although I hate to admit, you are pretty good.
Thank you, for everything. For being the absolute worst. For me telling me I can’t.
Thank you, for not losing yourself among the screaming of other voices.
Thank you, for letting me know I am not alone.