Randoms by Rach

The Voices

Day Eleven ~ Vincent Van Gogh said, "If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint', then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced." What is your 'you cannot ____' voice always ragging on you about, and how good are you at silencing it?


Woahhhh. This is a difficult one. My whole life I've been swamped with voices (inside of me and outside) telling me I can't do things, I'm fat, ugly, useless, selfish, unloveable, will never amount to anything. It's only since I've known David that I've started to feel any differently.

It started with my Dad. Don't get me wrong, I adored him. I was always a Daddy's Girl, and we shared many similar interests. But his words were often cruel. From as far back as I can remember, he made fun of me because of my weight. I was always big. I took after him. But he would call me fat and laugh at me in front of guests. When we had people to tea, he would swat my hand away if I tried to get a chocolate biscuit, and say I was "fat enough already." He always refused to give me the bumps at my birthdays because, he said, I was too heavy to lift. We played Blind Man's Buff at my eighth birthday party, and he groaned when I sat on him, and said I broke his leg. He never let up. One lunch time at primary school (I would have been around eight or nine), I stood in the dinner queue with my friends to collect my pudding, and when I got there, the dinner lady announced in front of everyone that I wasn't allowed pudding, or second helpings any more. Mum had written to the school saying this. The shame was immense.

Dad never told me he was proud of me until two weeks before he died. He said he was proud of how I got my life back together, and that he wouldn't change a thing about me. Why couldn't he have said that twenty years ago? I might not have made some of the mistakes I did if he had.

But, voices. That's where I'm going with this. I never believe I will be able to do anything. I never believe I am good at anything. I have major food issues (ranging from one extreme to another). And it's all because of my Dad's voice that is never happy with me. I know he loved me. I don't believe his intention was to break me the way he did. I think he wanted to make me as successful and brilliant as possible. Instead, I became anxious and frightened of everything and everyone. Because I know, deep down I know, I'm unloveable. He would often threaten to put me into a children's home if I didn't behave, or if I upset Mum. And if even your own Dad can't love you as you are, no one else is ever going to, right?

It's really upsetting to write this, and I apologise if it's a bit deeper than we're supposed to write. But this prompt had brought up a whole load of feelings.

The other, controlling voice I have is one that never leaves my side. My grandfather (who abused me sexually, physically, and emotionally). His voice is like a constant commentary; telling me how rubbish I am at everything, and how disgusting I am, how hideous to everyone. He tells me my friends only tolerate me because they have to. He tells me David would be better off without me. He laughs at me, undermines me, wants me to hurt me. He's vicious, and it has a huge impact on everything I do. Everything. But I'm not going to talk about him any further.

I realise I've probably made it sound like I'm psychotic, or schizophrenic. But I'm not. I know (most of the time - 3 a.m. tends to be slightly different) that the voices are echoes of things that have been. It's part of my PTSD. I have my tools I use to ground myself, and I am getting better.

I'm so sorry for writing so much, and for being so down. But this prompt has really affected me. I'm crying as I write this. I wish I was just me.