The Voices That Never Stop.

There are voices in my head. Not the kind that whisper secrets or offer wisdom, but the kind that claw at me with criticism, anger, and relentless judgment. They don’t pause. They don’t soften. They don’t let me breathe.

It’s like living with a radio that only plays static and insults, 24/7. I try to turn the volume down, to block it out with tenderness, sweetness, or humor. I try to be gentle with myself, to speak kindly, to offer the world something softer than what I hear inside. But the noise doesn’t care. It keeps humming, keeps shouting, keeps reminding me of every flaw, every failure, every imagined mistake.

And then, inevitably, it boils over. Not in the moments that make sense, not when the anger would be justified, but in the quiet, inappropriate circumstances. A conversation with someone I love. A moment that should have been tender. A space that should have been safe. The noise leaks out, and suddenly I’m not the person I want to be. I’m the echo of those voices, spilling their venom into places that deserve gentleness.

I want it to stop. I want silence. I want peace. But there’s no clean way to end the noise. No off switch. No tidy solution. Just me, caught between the desire to be tender and the reality of being haunted.

It’s maddening. It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely. Some days… it pushes me to think about things I’d never truly act on…but those thoughts… They're. So. Damn. Loud.

But maybe writing it down is one way to fight back. To name the noise, to drag it into the light, to say: “I hear you, but you don’t get the last word.”