#004

 

The voices in my head are like a voice-over description of my life as I live it. 

There’s a famous quote from The Sixth Sense – I see dead people. Some of us where awestruck and completely twisted by the remark; others, like my ex-wife, could see it coming a mile off. That’s not the reason we divorced by the way. It threw audiences into a stupor back in 1999 and raised the expectation of every M. Night Shyalaman movie ever since. I don’t see dead people. But I hear voices in my head.

The story goes like this. Cue the Marlowe voiceover:

(The next voice you will hear is that of Humphrey Bogart in his portrayal of Philip Marlowe in The Big Sleep. Please try to stay awake)

When I was very young, I created people. Sort of like imaginary friends but I knew they weren’t there. I didn’t see them; I didn’t play on the swings talking to someone invisible. I had internal conversations that would sometimes pour out into the real world. These people were perhaps masks I wore, definitely alternate personalities of me that I had created and based on popular figures in culture at the time. For instance, I had an internal Luke Skywalker; a Bruce Willis; and a Marty McFly. I dressed like them and at times mimicked their behaviour to try and be cool. Sometimes it worked.

I guess I was trying so hard to not be me because I felt at odds with the world that I was travelling through.

BACKSTORY - Being sensitive in a world that is most acutely built for the success of the aggressor is damaging to confidence and self-belief. It may sound too generalist, but our world in the West primarily is the domain of the aggressive form of behaviour. Look at world leaders; Kings; Head of States. Successful business leaders and it trickles into sports. Being strong mentally is equalled with physical strength and toughness; not emotional intelligence and compassion. Therefore, the more sensitive people amongst us tend to be moderators, artists and tutors.

RETURN TO THE SCENE = With this realisation when I was young, and that I felt deeply emotional for no apparent reason at times, I created my own internal utopia; of course, that place had to be populated. So, who better than with people that had large personalities and talent that I admired and wanted to emulate? I loved films, I mainly went for film actors or characters.

The internal dialogue was born, like an invisible Meta-verse, which is probably why I loved Tron so much as a kid. I created, lived in, and spent most of my time in, my own world. Within that world I had conversations and those conversations became a part of my every day life. I laughed when something funny shot into my head; I felt fear, or anger, or sadness. I enjoyed my own company because I wasn’t alone. I was with friends, and there were times I longed to be released from the clutches of real people and return to my idea of paradise.

I hear voices. I am one now. (Who said that?) As my internal world grew the population increased, which is a natural occurrence. As family and friends died so they remained in my world. Their memories giving me strength and purpose, as well as the fear and pain. There were bad people, like bullies or negative ones who had hurt me; there were heroes, like John McClane in a vest; and there were those that loved me and I loved them. I’m over forty now, I’ve been building for years. There’s a lot of noise.

CUT TO A TALE OF SADNESS AND DESPAIR.

Years ago, I was in a desperately sad place and close to suicide. My children were young; I was living with my partner in a flat and I saw my kids once a week. I was not working; I was too mentally “ill” to work. I cleaned most of the time and was grateful that Netflix had just become a thing. My partner worked full-time and I would spend days alone, watching the hours tick by. It was one winter day and the kids had stayed overnight, which was the norm. I would then take them to school and return home to an empty flat. I was alone. I would make breakfast, maybe put the radio on, read a bit or tidy up and by the time midday had come their presence seemed like a lifetime ago. It was then that one of the voices piped up an idea that would come to haunt me to this day: what if your children were a figment of your imagination?

What if you had made them up?

I was floored. In my emotional state I struggled with reality and memory anyway and this was something huge that had potential to tip me over the edge. It didn’t stop there, once that seed was sown the voice grew in confidence and began to question the existence of my partner, of others that had been in my life. The reasoning was that I was a writer, I created people all of the time, so how difficult would it be to create and believe that I had children, or a partner, or an ex-wife or anyone.

I spent the rest of the day in emotional agony until my partner returned home to find me in a mess. I created a mess.

After that the question was ever present. When the kids stayed over, I would leave the aftermath of their presence for days. Pyjamas lying around; dinner plates on the side. Games we had enjoyed. I would take photos as evidence; I would leave their bed unmade.

I had history with this. Years before when I lived with a girl she went on holiday and so I didn’t feel alone I kept her plate of food on the floor where she had placed it the night before she left.

This was the norm for me. I even asked my kids to write something in a book, a message in their handwriting, in their own words, to prove to myself that I had not created the empty plates and the pyjamas on the floor. It was a complete question about the reality of life. I was mad; unhinged, like Martin Riggs in Lethal Weapon, I was a lethal weapon of madness.

TO PRESENT DAY

I still am. The truth is that question remains, and when I feel low it lures its ugly head up again. It took years for me to find a balance with this. However, I still keep evidence, everything they have done or given me is kept in a box. I continue to fight with this voice over what is real, and what is not. But, what is real, really?

The voices in my head are like a voice-over description of my life as I live it. This story will continue.  

Zac Thraves is a performer and speaker on his struggles with mental health. He's alive, like Gordon.

Check out my PODCAST - The Outsiders...on Spotify right HERE Welcome to The Outsiders. A beautiful Podcast about exploring how it feels to be someone who has never felt a part of this big picture. I’m an HSP, this is our world…