voices

I became a writer so that the voices inside my head would become an acceptable occurrence.

This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

Writers are nothing more than borderline schizophrenics who are able to control the voices.

A Kite in the Wind - with Love , Truth and Honesty - weathered A Wilderness of Voices, Through the Darkness, With Love

It was a voice that you felt you had to listen to__r you ignored at your peril.

You don__ hear what I hear.

Then all the winds of Heaven ran to join hands and bend a shoulder, to bring down to me the sound of a noble hymn that was heavy with the perfume of Time That Has Gone.The glittering multitudes were singing most mightily, and my heart was in blood to hear a Voice that I knew.The Men of the Valley were marching again.My Fathers were singing up there.Loud, triumphant, the anthem rose, and I knew, in some deep place within, that in the royal music was a prayer to lift up my spirit, to be of good cheer, to keep the faith, that Death was only an end to the things that are made of clay, and to fight, without heed of wounds, all that brings death to the Spirit, with Glory to the Eternal Father, forever, Amen.

Although she was a logical, practical person, she believed that in books there existed a kind of magic. Between the aging covers on these shelves, contained in tiny, abstract black marks on sheets of paper, were voices from the past. Voices that reached into the future, into Claire's own heart and mind, to tell her what they knew, what they'd learned, what they'd seen, what they'd felt. Wasn't that magic?

Dare to rise, when all voices behind you say you can__ get there, ignore them and move on_ it__ not about the talents and gifts you have; it__ about how wise you optimize them!

Ceaseless as the interminable voices of the bell-cricket, all night till dawn my tears flow.

Let us also acknowledge that the hearts which suffer the most from our wars are those of mothers. Their vital voices have been left out of the political equation for too long. An Iraqi or American mother cries the same as an Israeli or Afghan mother. The eyes of a mother who has suffered the loss of a child can destroy the soul of anyone who gazes upon them. More souls become casualties of war than physical bodies. War is a soul-shattering experience for the innocent.

The return of the voices would end in a migraine that made my whole body throb. I could do nothing except lie in a blacked-out room waiting for the voices to get infected by the pains in my head and clear off. Knowing I was different with my OCD, anorexia and the voices that no one else seemed to hear made me feel isolated, disconnected. I took everything too seriously. I analysed things to death. I turned every word, and the intonation of every word over in my mind trying to decide exactly what it meant, whether there was a subtext or an implied criticism. I tried to recall the expressions on people__ faces, how those expressions changed, what they meant, whether what they said and the look on their faces matched and were therefore genuine or whether it was a sham, the kind word touched by irony or sarcasm, the smile that means pity. When people looked at me closely could they see the little girl in my head, being abused in those pornographic clips projected behind my eyes? That is what I would often be thinking and such thoughts ate away at the façade of self-confidence I was constantly raising and repairing. (describing dissociative identity disorder/mpd symptoms)

His voice was like soothing melted chocolate. I wanted him to ooze his lovely voice all over my naked body.

His voice, what he said, remains, and it is here, all of those voices are here, in what I am telling you. If in the beginning there was the word, then perhaps, with humility at the smallness of our powers, in words a small part of us can return.

... but I could also write about love. How a hand can silence thousands of voices and how someone__ smell can make you feel at home even though you__e a million miles away fromhomeand have you ever hurt someone you love? Because you__e angry. Because you__e disappointed and sad and you just really wanted to love and be loved in returnbut life got in the way and you both said things that should never be said and you__e angry but don__ know how to. Because you still feel this strange love for him, but you__e also fucking angry and you want to hit him, but then hug him because hurting him is hurting yourself, and then hit him again because you__e angry! and so you fall on your knees because you__e hopeless to yourself and your own emotionsand that__ love, my friend.

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

We are all crazy enough to hear the voices but not strong enough to listen

What daily life is like for __ multiple_ Imagine that you have periods of __ost time._ You may find writings or drawings which you must have done, but do not remember producing. Perhaps you find child-sized clothing or toys in your home but have no children. You might also hear voices or babies crying in your head. Imagine that you can never predict when you will be able to have certain knowledge or social skills, and your emotions and your energy level seem to change at the drop of a hat, and for no apparent reason. You cannot understand why you feel what you feel, and, if you are in therapy, you cannot explore those feelings when asked. Your life feels disjointed and often confusing. It is a frightening experience. It feels out of control, and you probably think you are going crazy. That is what it is like to be multiple, and all of it is experienced by the ANPs. A multiple may also experience very concrete problems, even life-threatening ones.