Subject File 3 “Something Missing”

“I suppose I have known this for some time now, but didn't want to admit it to anyone. I want to die. There is something inside of the me that wants terribly to be heard. But it has been so long since I let him speak. The last time I did it nearly destroyed me, destroyed all that I knew. He is beyond any real sense of reason, and does not care what damage he will make. I have tried many times to simply ignore him, and after a while I have become quite good at it. But I feel much weaker than before. I am not sure I am ready to face what he wishes for me to face. All it would take would be for me to lose focus, and then within moments I will find him once again in control.

I first became aware of his presence when I was quite young. I would sit in bed, staring at the ceiling, and then without warning I heard another voice whispering to me. I am not a fool. I know that many of us do self-talk, and that if we truly want we can “play” with the idea of having someone talk back. But when it happened to me, it was so much more insistent. So much meaner and crueler. He did not just want to talk to me. From the very first there was only ever one thing he wanted to talk about, no matter what I would say to him.

“Let...me...be...free!”

I never really liked his voice. It was too high, too monotone. And though he was in my head my ears would ache whenever he would try to speak. I didn't like him, but at the time I had few friends, and even those who I did know would never understand what I was going through. They would think I was crazy, much in the same way you think I am crazy. But please do not dismiss what I am saying as just ramblings. Because I know I am insane, but the problem is that he doesn't seem to care.

I went to a doctor after I told my parents about him. They were surprisingly understanding. For that I was thankful. I know that some parents aren't like that. They brought me to a local doctor. He had done work before with depressives, but had not had good results. His credibility had been tarnished, but my family didn't have a lot of money. So even if they weren't sure he was the best, there was really no choice in the matter.

The first couple of weeks were spent talking about the voice. He asked me when I first started hearing him, and what he would say. I told him it was always the same, and I was shocked when he told me that I would not be given any medicine. He said that he felt that I was a special sort of case. Normally, he said, people like me have a voice that tries to make them harm others or themselves. The fact that his request was always so passive, so without any attempt for manipulation, seemed strange to him.

In the weeks that followed, he told me that he was going to teach me how to shut him out for good. I was relieved when he said he didn't think I had made it up, but he made it clear that he was not going to try and use traditional methods. He said that in order for it to work, I had to accept that he was a real aspect of my mind. More importantly than that, I had to understand that the only reason he exists is because I let him. So over the course of another couple of weeks he began to make plans with me as to how we were going to make him go away.

We made the plans in secret. He had taught me to imagine a sound proof bubble within my own mind, one that would distance me from him. It took some time, but soon I was able to master it. I could still hear the voice, but he couldn't hear me. And so we were able to talk, and soon we had a plan.

My parents pulled me out of school that day. I was given an ample meal, and was instructed to make sure I was well rested. The doctor said I had to be as strong as possible if it was going to work. And so at around noon I sat down again in his cold office on the red leather couch, my parents sitting nearby. They were told not to speak however, and so as soon as everyone was in place the doctor began.

I was told to focus on the sound of the doctor’s voice, and to try and push out all other noises. I was able to do so, though as I tried I could hear the voice in my mind growing louder and louder. Instead of hearing the doctor in my head, I tried to focus on hearing him alone, to keep my mind adjusted to taking in sound and not processing it. After a few minutes I began to become more aware of the doctor’s voice, though I could not understand what he was saying. This was okay. This had been planned for.

I began to feel drained, as the exertion began to take its toll. My parents were telling him that he was not helping me, that I looked ill. He didn't pay attention to them. Time began to feel as if it had slowed down. Moments of deep silence would filter in between the words of the doctor. But soon I was with him again, and could hear him and only him. This was all part of the plan, to learn how to focus on the world around me and to get outside of my head.

Then the plan changed, and I have never been right since.

He said that the voice in my head was not actually a separate voice. He said that what I had been doing all this time was actually a defense mechanism, that I was protecting myself. He told me that I was aware that things had not been normal for some time, and that I had been reluctant to comply. He told me...he told me that I had been under the care of the state for a long time. I had been allowed to go to public school, and more or less had been allowed to have a normal life because my psychosis was so focused.

My parents, he said, were not alive. They hadn't been for some time. I had created them, so I could deal with the loss. The mind can tell when something isn't right though. Deep down I knew that there was no way I would be able to face the problem directly, and so I had constructed the voice that told me it wanted to be free. It was my own fear that kept me from asking why.

The doctor said that by the time we were done talking, my parents would be gone. They may try to come back, but my mind was stronger than before. I was ready to face the truth. I was ready to move forward, and he promised that he would not give up on me. I wanted to give up then and there, but I couldn't. It all made sense. So I followed his instructions, and began to try and remember the night they had died...

It has been years since then, and the voices, all of them, have stopped. It has been hard, dealing with life without my parents, but I have managed somehow. But lately...without warning, he has begun to talk to me again.

“Let...me...be...free.”

I want to die, and I think I know why. I look at the world around me, and it feels so real, so warm. But I know that something is wrong. I try to identify what seems out of place, what I was missing. But deep down I don't ever want to know.”

The boy, now thirteen, is under constant suicide watch. He continues to go to school, but it followed by a case worker. He does well in school, specifically in the sciences. The doctor has been seeing him on a regular basis, but due to patient confidentiality, he has been unwilling to share information. He commented on me however, stating that I looked tired and worn out. He even offered to see me. However, I quickly made up an excuse and left.