Inner Speech

When Cory told me she was hearing voices, we were watching a movie at home.  We were cozied into our usual spots on the couch, sharing a throw, alone in the house.  The character in the movie we were watching was having some internal dialogue as he struggled to make a decision.  Cory paused the movie, which was no big deal as we often did just that to share a side story or comment on the plot.  This time, she asked,
"Hey mom, do you hear voices like that?"

"Like what?"  I said, thinking she must mean that internal dialogue we all develop after early childhood.

"Voices that tell you what to do, and you know, say stuff about you."  she answered.

"You mean like that voice that tells you if something is a good idea or not?  Like your conscious?"  I asked.

"No, more like a voice that tells you to do something and you know if you don't, something bad will happen.  And voices that say bad stuff about you."  she answered.

It was that moment that the chill went up my spine.  Cory had already shared that she had been seeing shadowy figures moving around the house.  She had also seen some images of desecrated animals that weren't really there.  What was happening now?

"What kind of bad stuff?"  I asked gently.

"You know, that I'm stupid and bad and ugly...don't you hear voices that say that?"  she asked, a look of hopefulness on her face.

"Umm, well sometimes if I drop something, or forget something, I'll think to myself, 'geez, that was stupid.'  Do you mean like that?"  I asked.

"No, I mean like voices that yell at me.  One time this man was cussing me out so bad at the bus stop, I thought someone was behind me, but when I turned around, no one was there.  It's started to happen more and more."

I asked her to share some examples, which she did, and my dismay deepened with every story.  Cory was hearing anything from one voice that demanded that she do things to multiple voices that had negative conversations about her, to what sounded like a football stadium full of people all talking at once, none of which she could understand, but was horribly distracting.

She said the scariest were the whispering ones because she could only make out snatches of what was said, which made her constantly anxious.  What were they saying about her?  What were they planning?  What would happen next? 

She shared that sometimes the voices simply narrated her every move from the time she woke up to the time she went to bed, like an announcer was seated in her head.  Other times, the voices talked directly to her, calling her names and telling her she should kill herself.  When asked for examples of what they said, she said some of it was too horrible to even repeat.

When I asked her how long this had been going on, she said off and on since the beginning of ninth grade, but more often during the last school year.  I asked her why she hadn't said something sooner.  She said at first she thought maybe everyone heard these voices.
 But most of all, she said,
"I don't want to be crazy."

"You are not crazy."  I assured her, and drew her into my arms, where she rested her head against my shoulder.

"Are you sure, Mom?  Are you sure?  Do you still love me?  Do you think I'm weird?  Do you wish you had a daughter that didn't have all these problems?" 

I pulled back to take her face between my hands.  "I am positive, and you listen to me, I wouldn't trade you for anyone.  I will always love you.  Just because you hear things other people don't doesn't make you crazy.  The question for you is, do these voices bother you?"

"Yes!  I hate that I can't make them go away."  she said.

"Okay, then we will find ways to make them stop."  I held her tight to my chest, hoping there would be a way to do just that.