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The Voices In My Head

In A Way of Writing William Stafford talks about sitting down and just writing out all your thoughts and letting out all the poisons inside you onto paper where you can make sense of them. I consider myself a writer, because when I do write, I can’t stop, just as Stafford describes. I love to write, but it’s so hard to write. What do I want to say? Who am I? Is this even important enough to say? Does anyone even care to hear about any of this? Nine times out of ten, the answers are: Nothing, No one, No, and No. So I watch comedy central and get stoned.  Silencing the many voices in my head is probably the first thing that hinders my writing. Those distractions are what keep me from writing. The child, the bitter old man, the artist, the teenage girl; they are all hidden inside me, fighting for my mouth.

                The Child is exactly that, A Child. She needs constant attention. She says “I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m tired. Are we there yet? When WILL we be there? This is boring. Let’s watch Jon Stewart.” That’s a fraction of all I hear all the time. I’m a big baby. I get bored easily, that’s why my hair is blue! I got bored, went crazy, chopped it all off and dyed it BLUE! I need to be constantly entertained. And writing isn’t always entertaining. As a matter of fact, often it’s too honest and looks deeper inside myself than I feel comfortable with.

                This next guy, his name is Marc Maron. He’s the bitter man. He’s a comedian, and he lives in my brain. He’s an angry Jewish man. He’s bitter and dark, and he shows up at 3 serious moments:

  • When making a decision that is important to my personal life, he shows up to play devil’s advocate. He whispers in my ear, “Come on, screw it up, Hailee. Come on, let’s screw it up! Let’s burn some bridges! Let’s destroy some relationships! Come on, it’ll be fun!”
  • When I need to be writing or doing homework young Maron says, “I know where you could score some coke.” I don’t even do coke, Maron. “Yeah, but it would be fun. Come on, all the best guys did it: Kinison, Belushi, Farley. Come on.” NO, MARON, GO AWAY!
  • When I’m excited about an upcoming event, “It’s gonna suck. No one likes you, you look like shit in that outfit. Why are you even trying? We all die in the end anyway. Just stay home. There’s a full pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer.”

He’s not a great supporter of what’s good and right in this world.

                The artist is next on the list. Now this one is sneaky in how they get me to procrastinate. They say, “How is this helping your creative mind? Is this beneficial to your art? Why aren’t you painting right now? Why aren’t you singing? Why aren’t you dancing? DANCE, Hailee! DANCE!” I hate to dance. Somehow, this jerk talks me into it.

                And finally, the Teenage Girl. Technically, I’m still a teenage girl. At least for another 2 months. But I’ve never once felt like a teenage girl. I hate to shop for clothes. Unless it’s tshirts. I get all sweaty, and nervous. And I assume everything looks bad and nothing fits and I can’t be helped. But the Teenage Girl says, “Homework stinks. Let’s go to the mall!” I hate to shop, I don’t have money, or a common enough pant size to find anything. “But it’ll be fun. We can flirt with boys.” I’ve never once flirted with a boy, T.G. I’m not going. “We can wear sunglasses and quote Clueless.” Alright, let’s go to the mall.

                See how easily distracted I am? I have several people of different ages and genders inside my brain! Those aren’t even the tip of the iceberg. I didn’t even mention the gay man, the slut, the mother, the punk, or the hopeless romantic. Sometimes I think my brain is the Titanic. Despite all of these people, I just sat down and wrote this paper. I sat down on my living room floor, wrapped in a blanket, with a pile of markers and a large sheet of paper, and I wrote out that word cluster you talked about in class. And I’m not entirely disappointed with the outcome. The voices are able to be silenced momentarily. And, if I’m being honest, I like them. They keep things interesting. And it’s nice to have a council to help decide on personal decisions. 

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