Most kids go through a phase where they have an imaginary friend that they talk to and play with. I had one too except she wasn’t imaginary.
I never had the kind of imaginary friend that I could see and no one else could she lived inside my head. I could hear her talk but I couldn’t see her. She was always there, at home, in school, at the park. She always had something to say about everything. The things she had to say weren’t always nice either. She seemed bottled up and angry like me.
It wasn’t just her voice I could hear though. I could feel her feelings. Her happy her sad and most of all her anger. I can recall many nights laying in bed just listening to her go on and on about all the things that she didn’t care for and how she would do things differently.
For a while I was afraid of myself. I didn’t understand why had this voice and these feelings that weren’t mine. The feelings confused me more than the voice did. I understood that we all have that little voice inside of us that make us question our choices and situations but this wasn’t that. This was not my conscience. That I knew for sure.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone about her. I didn’t want anyone to know just how crazy I was. That was a secret I wanted locked away. I was already such a problem for those around me I didn’t need to add anything else to it.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Khalil Gibran
