One of the things that I’ve noticed recently in this new sober life of mine is that the voices in my head seem to have changed a bit. They’re getting quieter.
I’m assuming here that EVERYONE has voices in their head!
I named mine several years ago-Dr. Doom and Gloom-The Worry Wart-The Nazi-well you get the idea.
I also have a visual on them-
Dr. Doom and Gloom is always in a white lab coat, very serious telling me how EVERYTHING is going to be detrimental to my health. If I stub my toe, he tells me it will probably have to be amputated. If I have a headache, he tells me it’s probably a brain tumor. Of course he’s run rampant on the topic of liver disease, cancer and every other real and imagined disease under the sun.
The Worry Wart is always in the background-in a dark corner wringing his hands.
The Nazi! Well, he’s always telling me to push harder and that no matter what, it’s never good enough. I’m never good enough!
While each negative voice certainly has its’ own agenda, they also work in tandem. I swear I’ve had days when that’s all I’ve heard. Causing me to spend my entire day coming from a place of total fear. Fear based stress.
These voices have been with me for YEARS! Did they start when I started drinking? I don’t know. I really can’t remember when they started. But, I do believe that drinking made them worse. Enabled them to take control. Fed them. Gave them more and more power.
As I write this I realize that the strongest voice, the one behind all of them was the one propelling me to drink.
I suppose in my younger years, she was a fun-loving party girl. The “cool” one. Cute.
Then as I got older she was sophisticated and somewhat glamorous.
And now? Now I see her as someone well past her prime-always arriving drunk, getting drunker and sloppier and more obnoxious as the time goes on. Her face and body marred by years of drinking. Totally oblivious that people cringe when they see her coming and breathe a sigh of relief when she’s leaving.
An old, drunk crone.
Fortunately, I didn’t get to this last phase. But, this is what comes to mind and is in fact based on an actual person.
Totally freaks me out!
I’ve not named this voice. Some call this voice Wolfie. Some call it the Wine Bitch. I understand naming it, but then again, naming it almost seems like it’s giving it some power at a time when its’ power seems to be waning.
I think I prefer to say, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” when she rears her head and tries to speak to me in her very seductive voice.
The longer I’m sober, the quieter these voices have become. And, when they do start to open their ugly mouths, it’s much easier for me to silence them. To recognize them for what they are and not get caught up in fear based turmoil.
To deal more clearly and logically with a situation-if there really IS a situation.
It’s been so subtle that it’s taken me a while to even realize that they have weakened.
One more aspect of the freedom that comes with sobriety.