Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore


I wake up ready for the day, albeit sluggish from the previous night’s dose of antidepressant, and try to hit the ground running. The moment I am alone with myself in the shower (this is a benefit of having a dog: I’m virtually never actually physically alone), the battle with the intrusive thoughts begins.

I don’t hear voices in my head, let me make that clear. I hear a particular voice, one that keeps track of every slight, every injustice, every emotionally traumatic experience I’ve had in my 37 years. When we are alone, it seizes that opportunity. It sounds like my mother, but it isn’t her.

“No one stood up for you to her,” it reminds me.

“He does the best he can,” I insist.

“But he didn’t stand up for you this time, either. Remember? It’s easier for your family to place all of their blame on you because they want to keep the peace. Remember?”

The issue with the monster voice is that it does remember. It remembers well, and, at a moment’s notice, will call to mind historical evidence to support what it is telling me. It was built upon volumes of incidents involving abuse, a narcissistic mother, and familial gaslighting – and it knows exactly what buttons to push.

“They blame you more than they blame her, you know.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Well, too bad. And do you really think others feel differently? You’re fundamentally flawed.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“But I’m right. And that’s more important. Everyone grows tired of you, and so will he, eventually. I mean, you didn’t even give him grandkids like your brothers did. You didn’t give him anything. You are just a burden.”

“I guess you’re right.”

The monster offers an embrace, reminding me, “I’ll always be here.”


August 19, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | Leave a comment