There is another voice in my mind.
I don’t recall the first time I heard it. I suppose I mistook it for my own, for they’re so convincing, aren’t they? The other voice that manages to needle their way into your mind.
What I do remember, with painful clarity, is the moment it became louder than me.
I was in a remote, joyless job. My partner commuted four hours a day. I was alone with my thoughts for most of mine. The moment it occurred, I guess, was after a particularly nasty bout of food poisoning whilst out far from home and public toilet refuge. Now reader, you may ask yourself, “Did she poop her pants?” and, thankfully, you’ve found a writer who will not skirt around that question.
No, I did not.
But my brain disagreed.
It’s like the moment of a horrific accident where, for months afterwards, you keep replaying it over and over again, seeking the source—the reason for it. Rationally, it was just bad service-station food.
My voice, the one that isn’t my own, chose that moment, that incident, to spawn a festering, spiraling array of anxiety-driven thoughts that would ensnare my world for years to come.
It started with worrying. Where is the nearest bathroom? What if I don’t have time to get there? Why leave home if I don’t know? I monitored my body’s every sensation like it was an investigation. The constant checking, checking, and checking again to see how my stomach felt—Had I had caffeine? Dairy? Anything I could later blame myself for? Maybe I have a stomach bug and don’t know it yet, but it’ll hit right when I can’t get to a bathroom?
It wasn’t quietly needling anymore; it was rage—shouting, screaming at me whenever I entertained the idea of even considering leaving the sanctuary that was my two-bed house with a safe, accessible toilet (Or, even the bin I’d put in my bedroom when a guest was staying over. You know, just in case).
Sadly, this wasn’t something that stayed on this topic—something I could harness and manage with coping strategies and rational thinking—or even Imodium.
Pain. Any pain at all, from a twinge in my stomach to an ache between my shoulder blades, was sinister. Hours spent googling ‘Symptoms of appendicitis’ or ‘Would I know if I was having a pulmonary embolism’ and even ‘Silent heart attack signs.’ I knew, having scoured Reddit, that I wasn’t the only one struggling with this voice. And I knew what it was. But, for me at least, putting a name to this voice didn’t diminish it, so it kept growing.
When one foe was bested, another grew in its place. It was a seemingly never-ending battle that I was convinced I needed to win all on my own. I internalized the worry, the pain, the constant checking and re-checking of symptoms to the point that I was alienating everyone around me, convincing myself it was the best course of action until I got ‘better.’ I kept them at arm’s length, telling myself it was only until I knew I wouldn’t be a problem.
There was an unspoken agreement between the voice and me. They, for all their difficulties, were trying to help me. Without the voice highlighting every pain point, what if I missed something crucial? The voice was looking out for me. If I didn’t check, then recheck, then the next thing could be the one to get me—a heart attack, cancer, some mysterious illness I found online that only twenty people have been diagnosed with ever.
In my mind, with the voice alongside me, I felt that if I didn’t keep on top of this, I was a careless person—it would be my fault when something went wrong.
It came to a point, after many hours spent with this voice dictating my every move, that I knew something must change.
So, after years of battling this voice that’d taken residence in my head, I finally found some relief. It wasn’t quick, and I don’t purport to know the answers. But a combination of medication, therapy, CBT, and time—all worked to get me to a place where the voice is there, but instead of uninhibited trust, I met it with acceptance. Telling it, ‘Thank you. I’ve got it from here.’ I have realized that anxiety, OCD, whatever plagues my brain, doesn’t need to sound like authority and it won’t rule my world.
Anxiety, like authority, doesn’t require mindless obedience.
Elvie is a UK-based romantasy and urban fantasy author who loves writing emotionally rich, character-driven stories with grit, magic, and heart. She also dabbles in short stories, pop culture essays and writes about whatever has made her ‘feel’ something that week. When she’s not crafting worlds where fae and mortals clash or vampires stalk the streets, she’s busy rallying a dog, three cats and a fish she inherited with her house. She’s proudly neurodivergent, and passionate about creating stories where outsiders find belonging, power, and love—often in the most unexpected places.
Featured image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.
