How do you feel when you are mad? Or should I rephrase—how does it feel to be mad, how do you even figure out you're mad?
Growing up, I've always had this voice talking to me, telling me what to do and what not to do. I mean, don't get me wrong, this voice mostly tells me what to do. In fact, it stops me from not doing things, that it knows would make me look sane . But I guess this is my life, I have to live it. Do I love being mad? Maybe, it has its perks, I would have never been adventurous or bold enough to try new things if I don't have the voice constantly controlling and forcing me to do wild and over the top things. Do I love being called a mad person? Hell no! I get really mad when people do that. Funny, right? Yup! That's my life.
I've had this voice dictating my life from a pretty young age. For almost 15 years of my life, I've been stuck with this voice. From one church to another, I've been delivered more times than I can count. My even apathetic-to-quality-healthcare parents had to take me to a psychiatrist. I was even put into a psych ward one time for attempting to burn the house while trying to follow one of those trends online.
If I'm being honest, low key and somewhere in me, all I want to do is sleep all day, read manga, watch kdrama, and stalk their male leads online. But this voice keeps taunting me. Most times, I have fun. I mean, it's fun to do most of the things I do, but I really hate the look on my parents' faces when I disappoint them. It's like an addiction . I'm up and doing the same thing all over again.
I'm currently waiting for admission into the university I applied to, so I have a year to put myself together and get ready for the big world. This voice seems to hate me doing good things because secondary school was so tough for me. This voice would fill my head making loud and confusing noises whenever a teacher was in class or whenever I tried to read my book. I knew for a fact that I was not a dullard because in the moments outside of class, I shined on activities I played with my friends or when it came to things like school debates and other activities, but during tests or exams when it matters the most, the voice comes. I'm unable to think, write, do, or say anything. It sucks! Everyone thinks I'm dumb. Fun but dumb.
My younger brother however is completely different, smart, straight A's student, and just well put together.
I should have been starting university last year, but I failed my exams miserably, so I had to retake them. This time around, I was determined to succeed. It felt like I was locked in a fierce battle with myself, but I was ready to face the challenge head-on. Despite the internal turmoil, I believed I had a fighting chance.One of the strangest aspects of grappling with madness is the constant feeling of being observed, as if unseen eyes are constantly tracking my every move. Even the cold air takes on an strange quality, as if it carries whispers of an unseen presence. It's unsettling to entertain the notion that my own imagination could manifest into something tangible, but even in the uncertainty, one thing remains undeniably real—the voice.
No one else seems to believe me, but I know the truth deep in my bones. That voice, with its undertones of jealousy, anger, and masculinity, is all too real. It speaks with a venomous edge, as if harboring a deep-seated resentment towards me, as if it longs to seize control and unleash its pent-up anger.