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“My friend calls them brain weasels. Some refer to it as “the voices in my head”. I call it “The Crazy”. When it is at it’s most devastating I call it “My Crazy”. To be clear, these are not the voices that haunt and torment those with schizophrenia or related disorders. I have no experience with them. The Crazy is my own voice. It’s the voice of the past and that voice repeats all of the messages I ever received about myself.

The Crazy reminds me that it all could end tomorrow. The Crazy reminds me that I could be busting my ass for nothing. The Crazy reminds me that I’ve failed at everything I ever tried. The Crazy loves pointing out how nothing has ever worked out like I had hoped. Not the changes, not the moves, not the marriage, not the meals, not the social occasions. Nothing. Not even the 183,191 words I wrote last year. Few of them are what I needed or wanted.

When My Crazy comes, it reminds me that life isn’t really working out. It comforts me with the idea that being dead is easier and less painful. It strokes my hair and wipes away my tears as it consoles me. It’s not that I want to die. It’s just that I don’t want to live anymore. My Crazy passively suggests that I’ve never been more on-point in my life.

The Crazy keeps me from doing things I want to do. The Crazy keeps me from finding answers to my questions and solutions to my problems. It keeps me from living. It keeps me wanting to die. It keeps me from progress, from change, from following through on any plan or goal I have ever had.”

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