I have a voice.
One that only I can hear.
It’s there all the time, nagging and niggling about anything and everything. Constantly reminding me of all the jobs I have to do, planning days ahead what we are going to have for dinner, or totally random thoughts that just seem to pop out of nowhere. Usually, they are things I have no control over, like the weather or how the car is going to behave over a long journey.
It’s always been there, the voice. Loudest at time of stress, like when my job was disappearing due to a restructure, or when my father died. The voice would start, usually in the middle of the night, waking me up with its bitter accusations of guilt and stoking the fires of my worries. It would not let me sleep again, as it constantly reminded me of my regrets. Things I could have done better. Things I could have said. Things I no longer had any influence over, or the ability to change. Nevertheless, this voice would always bring to the fore my feelings of self doubt and inadequacy.
Most of the time, I can push it into the background, so I can’t really hear what it’s saying without actually making an effort to listen. It becomes the occasional reminder that I am not perfect.