When I talk about the voices, people look at me like I’m crazy. I don’t have multiple personalities. The voices aren’t telling me what to do. There are no demons whispering and demanding I commit homicide. Still, when I try to explain the dialogues that go on in my head, people still look at me funny.
The picture I’ve gotten is that I am the only one who deals with constant dialogues. Sometimes the dialogues are real. I confess to eavesdropping on conversations people have in public places.
Like the guy at the bus stop who spent the 20 minutes trying to make conversation with a young woman who showed zero interest. He then got on and sat beside her, continuing to talk and ask questions while she stared straight ahead.
Finally, she asked if he had ambitions.
He sat there for a moment and then asked her what ambition meant.
Bye. Bye. Bye.
That turned into a note on Facebook discussing ambition.
Then there was the guy – at the bus stop – another day – I was introduced to by his friend with whom I was sharing small talk. His friend had just gotten out of prison after 40 years. He was let out when they found that he hadn’t committed the crime. Either he is getting millions for it, or he was trying to interest me. Hmmm. That turned into a post about injustice and then another about the things people might do to convince a person to sleep with them. That turned into a short story.
Late last night I awoke to severe pain in my lower back and lower pelvic area — you know — just above my hoohah.. The last time I had felt anything similar was when I had an ectopic pregnancy. I spent a couple of hours “listening” to my doctor tell me that I was having a baby and the pain was merely the implantation that some women feel and then thinking about baby names. I imagined talking to my husband about them. For those expecting twins and don’t know what to name them, I have some ideas for ya.
I’m almost 45 years old. I had a tubal ligation 20 years ago. Cut, tied, and burned.
Today, I told one of my best friends about the pain. She said it could be an ovarian cyst and I should see my doc. Good point. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.
I had never believed what I was thinking, anyway. I knew it was just a story going on my head. I’ll probably discuss that issue with my psychiatrist later tonight. I don’t really have one, but that won’t stop me from dialoguing.
By the way, I’m enrolled in an Ivy League school and just found out my Creative Writing professor is Simon Le Bon.
Then I made dinner.
Have a good one, everybody. I think I’ll try to sleep, now.