Doctors want to give me drugs to stop the voices, but I would miss my voices if they left me. They are with me all the time except when I go to the bathroom. That's when they temporarily leave me because they have a keen sense of smell.
My voices have been with me since I was in my mother's womb. (Why did I use mother's womb? Could I have just used womb? Whose womb would I have been in? My father's?) I remember that it was dark and wet, and wet and dark. My voices first words to me were, "Kick! Kick! Give your parents a thrill and kick!"
My voices were right because I would hear my mother shouting to my father, "Quick! Come here quick! He's kicking!" Then my father would come and put his hand on my mother's belly and say, "Yeah! Wow! I can feel him kicking!" It did not take much to amuse my parents.
(Photo from National Geographic's In The Womb)
I remember the day I was born. It just happened to work out as the same day as my birthday. I was sleeping when the voices shouted,
"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to go."
"Go where?" I asked.
"Out into the world."
"The world?"
"You'll understand once you're out."
"How do I get out?"
"Over there."
"There? I'll never fit through there."
"Yes you will."
Suddenly I was moving. I could not control it. Sometimes I moved fast. Sometimes I moved slow. The voices were right. I did fit through the hole . . .
"We're back!"
"Oh! You startled me."
"Startled? That's part of what we feel when you bang your head."
