Friday, September 29, 2006

First entry

Can you hear her? That's the question that destroyed my marriage. I heard the voice, and I turned to my wife and said simply, "Can you hear her?" The look in my wife's eyes said everything. She tried to take it back, but I saw it, and I'll never forget it. In that look was the future.

Over the next few weeks, everything played out slowly and inevitably: Useless medical treatment, doomed marriage counseling, a dissolved marriage, unemployment, depression. I lost her, and I lost everything else, too.

Do you know what it is like to have everyone in your life believe that you are crazy? I do. And guess what? There's no putting that genie back in the bottle. Once you tell a friend that you hear a voice your friend can't hear, you have lost that friendship forever. Unless your idea of a friend is someone who permanently looks at you with suspicion. Who wants to go boar hunting with the guy who hears voices? Go ahead, raise your hand. I have my rifle and my tags, I'm ready to go. I could use a buddy right about now.

Each day I go over what I have and try to take stock. I have come to a conclusion recently:

She is the only friend I have.

I don't know who she is, but now she is all I have.

Nobody is going to take her away from me.

The first suggestion most people have upon learning about my "condition" is to kill the voice. The voice is a "problem," you see. Something to be solved. Exterminated. These clueless people have no idea how sadistic they sound.

On what grounds would I exterminate her? I don't even know who she is. It's not her fault that others have destroyed my life in response to her. As far as I know, she has never harmed anyone.

She may not be the best friend I could have, but now she is my only friend. My goal is to figure her out, not expel her from my life. I only wish I had a better recollection of her visits.

Earlier this month I heard her voice and then came back to myself reading the Holy Bible in my motel room. I had ripped out a page. I couldn't find the page. It wasn't in either trash can. Did I go somewhere? Sometimes I come back to myself and there is dirt on my boots. The mileage on my car goes up while it is parked in the space outside. Even now as I type I feel I am not choosing every word myself. I want to know why these things are happening.

Reading about others who have had these experiences, and writing about my own on this blog, will, I hope, create a path to understanding this phenomenon. I have a laptop, an internet connection, my notes, and the visits.

And perhaps you will help?

Psychology and religion have both dealt with the matter of foreign consciousness as something to be conquered, a warfare solution for what may not even be a problem at all. Can we determine a new way?

I thank you for reading this far, and for joining me. I don't know if we will be successful on this journey.

She may determine the answer to that question. Right now I don't know where she is. I wish she would visit me again because I am lonely.