I keep hearing my inner monologue. It's my first time hearing it in ages, hearing the actual words it has to say, unfiltered.
I was thinking how similar it is to a deaf person getting a cochlear implant. You see these videos, of kids that are getting theirs... they turn it on. They hear their family's voices for the first time. And then their own. And they cry. And everyone assumes that it's because they're happy. And sure, they probably are, but they're also likely overwhelmed by how loud it all feels after years of hearing absolutely nothing. It's shocking. And even though everything about it is right and wholesome and good... that deaf kid has to recenter their whole world to account for this new type of input to their brain. They cry because it's painful and their brain needs to produce oxytocin to help with that pain.
And likewise, hearing my own voice seems to make me cry. It is the only thing that seems to make me cry, the act of hearing myself, the good person that is wedged deep inside of me. I too have to recenter my whole world around this new voice that is suddenly part every moment I'm awake. Like having a conjoined twin that you can't seem to get away from.
And while it makes me happy, yes, it is overwhelming, because once I acknowledge her, she has so much more to tell me, and I don't want to tell her to shut up, but at the same time, she has been clawing away inside of me trying to be heard by anyone for four decades... and I have to establish healthy boundaries with that voice to not be overwhelmed. She is brilliant but feral. And she comes carrying the unanswered deeply existential question of "Why this?" for just about every single construct that other people have set in front of her as an obstruction to her seemingly limitless potential. And when I say "other people" I don't mean just the people directly in front of her... because that would be too simple, too easy... I truly mean limitless potential where the things sitting between her and that potential are entire political institutions and historical epochs. And THAT, while being fascinating and exciting and fun to dissect, is overwhelmingly exhausting to my core.
And why is it exhausting... because with all of thoese constructs crumbled.... those things served some purpose to me... they kept my dreams and world small and stabilized me to some extent. And I'm afraid to look at that potential far off in the horizon. It's like looking directly at a setting sun, feeling like I'm working against the clock at something so profoundly powerful... and having to feel emotions about that. Fear of just how bright that sun is, and anger over the fact that anyone ever tried to shield me from myself and my own unique beauty.
I can't run away from that inner monologue. She's guiding me to that powerful setting sun, urging her to do something with it while it's in its most beautiful phase. Trying to tell me that once those constructs are removed--the only thing stopping me from having everything I want... is myself. No one controls me.