Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had it. My mom told me everyone had one, the small voice that makes you feel bad about yourself. That tells you you’re not good, pretty, or smart enough. The problem is, I think she was talking about an internal voice. My voice comes out of a small mouth on the back of my right hand. I realized pretty early on that no one else could see it, I didn’t like the looks I got when I tried to bring it up to my family, so I got really good at pretending it wasn’t there.
Winter has always been my favourite season, bulky sweaters and gloves muffled the voice. As I grew older, alcohol in the evening helped dull the voice enough to sleep. Unfortunately that just meant it screamed in the morning. I managed well enough, I suppose, but it was exhausting.
When I spoke in front of a group, you sound like an idiot, they’re all just pretending to like you
When I dressed up to go out, Look at how fat you look, you’re so ugly
When I began writing, You’re terrible at this, give up.
It quieted down a bit when I met my husband, or maybe it was just drowned out by the way he looked at me, like he saw all of me and loved every bit. Unfortunately It came back full force in the months after the birth of our daughter.
He won’t love you if you don’t lose that baby weight
You better hope this baby is nothing like you
You’re a terrible mother.
On and on it went, as if it was rubbing my vulnerabilities raw with a wire brush.
I became pregnant again not long after, and sadly, we lost the baby. The mouth didn’t say anything then, it just began to cackle, a hideous, haunting cackle, day and night.
Finally, I’d had enough. When my husband and daughter were sleeping I went down to the shop adjacent to our garage. I wrapped a tourniquet around my arm, dialled 911 to give our address and the situation, and sliced my hand off at the wrist.
I told them it was an accident of course, but no one really believed me. I was in the hospital for a long time, but the pain, the separation from my family, all of it was worth it for the blessed silence.
I got out, and finally became myself. My relationship with my husband re-blossomed, and for the first time I could remember, I felt peace.
The years passed quickly, as they do when you’re happy. I watched my daughter grow, she’s four now, but last night something happened that shattered my peace.
I was brushing my teeth as she played in the tub, when I heard her say, “why would you say something so mean?” and start to cry. I turned around and she wasn’t staring at me, but at the back of her right hand.