The Little Voices

Depression sitting at the left corner. Ana sitting beside depression. Binging-Mia at the fridge. Anxiety crying at left (down) corner. Self-harm/cutting whispering to me, persuading me.

The Universe is an Egg

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off trust me.

And that's when you met me.

"What... what happened?" You asked. "Where am I?"

"You died," I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

"There was a... a truck and it was skidding..."

"Yup," I said.

"I... I died?"

"Yup. But don't feel bad about it. Everyone dies," I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. "What is this place?" You asked. "Is this the afterlife?"

"More  or less," I said.

"Are you god?" You asked.

"Yup," I replied. "I'm God."

"My kids... my wife." you said,

"What about them?"

"Will they be all right?"

"That's what I like to see," I said. "You just died and your main concern is for your family. That's good stuff right there."

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn't look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

"Don't worry," I said. "They'll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn't have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it's any consolations, she'll feel very guilty for feeling relieved."

"Oh," you said. "So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?"

"Neither," I said. "You'll be reincarnated."

"Ah," you said. "So the Hindus were right,"

"All religions are right in their own way," I said. "Walk with me."

You followed along as we strode through the void. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular," I said. "It's just nice to walk while we talk."

"So what's the point, then?" You asked. "When I get reborn, I'll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won't matter."

"Not so!" I said. "You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don't remember them right now."

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. "Your sole is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It's like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it's hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you've gained all the experiences it had.

"You've been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven't stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you'd start remembering everything. But there's no point to doing that between each life."

"How many times have I been reincarnated, then?"

"Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives." I said. "This time around, you'll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD."

"Wait, what?" You stammered. "You're sending me back in time?"

"Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from."

"Where you come from?" You said.

"Oh sure," I explained. "I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you'll want to know what it's like there, but honestly you wouldn't understand."

"Oh," you said, a little let down. "But wait, if I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point."

"Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don't even know it's happening."

"So what's the point of it all?"

"Seriously?" I asked. "Seriously? You're asking me for the meaning of life? Isn't that a little stereotypical?"

"Well it's a reasonable question," you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. "The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature."

"You mean mankind? You want us to mature?"

"No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect."

"Just me? What about everyone else?"

"There is no one else," I said. "In this universe, there's just you and me."

You stared blankly at me. "But all the people on earth..."

"All you. Different incarnations of you."

"Wait. I'm everyone!?"

"Now you're getting it," I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

"I'm every human being who ever lived?"

"Or who will ever live, yes."

"I'm Abraham Lincoln?"

"And you're John Wilkes Booth, too." I added.

"I'm Hitler?" You said, appalled.

"And you're the millions he killed."

"I'm Jesus?"

"And you're everyone who followed him."

You fell silent.

"Every time you victimized someone," I said, "you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you've done, you've done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you."

You thought for a long time.

"Why?" You asked me. "Why do all this?"

"Because someday, you will become like me. Because that's what you are. You're on of my kind. You're my child."

"Whoa," you said, incredulous. "You mean I'm a god?"

"No. Not yet. You're a fetus, "You're still growing. Once you've lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born."

"So the whole universe," you said, "it's just..."

"An egg." I answered. "Now it's time for you to move on to your next life."

And I sent you on your way.

Do you want to do it now?

"Fat." The word sputters out of the head cheerleaders mouth as she trips you. You fall to the floor pain shooting up your right leg. "Oh I'm sorry." She laughs. "Is your fatness weighing you down?" No one bothers to help you up. They pass by with a straight face heading to their next case, like you didn't exist. With teary eyes, you limp from your spot. You're so done. All you want to do is die. You walk home knowing that no one would be home when you'd get there. You were like a zombie stumbling into your house and falling to the floor. Sobbing. Crying. That feeling of hopelessness filling every part of your body like it does most days. But today is different. You're so sick of everyone's bullshit. The tears stop and you slowly walk to the garage, getting some rope. You walk to your bedroom tying the rope to the ceiling fan. You grab a camera and turn it on. You apologize to everyone you can think of. Even if you hate them. "Goodbye." You mutter getting up on top of the chair and wrapping the rope around your neck. You put one foot off the chair and turn the camera off. As soon as you know it's off, you close your eyes and jump.
Your sisters open the door of the house. It's too quiet. After school you're usually listening to music. She calls out your name looking around the downstairs portion of your house. She walks upstairs seeing your door cracked open. She carefully calls your name heading into your room. She stops dead in her tracks seeing your lifeless body hanging there. She screams your name, pounding on your bodu praying that you'll wake up. But you don't. You're dead. It's too late. She manages to pull out her phone and call the ambulance. "Hello. My sister commit suicide."
Your best friend, sister, and your parents are in the waiting room of the hospital waiting for the news they knew was coming. The doctor walks out and says. "I'm sorry. Your daughter is dead." Your dad is crying. He never cries. Your mom and sister don't know what to do. They're shocked. You're best friend passes out. Two weeks have gone by. Your funeral was sad. Everyone at your high school went thinking about what they could've done to save you. Everyone who was in the hallway that day know they should've helped you up. The head cheerleader knows everything was her fault. She was the bully. Your dad has to go back to work even though he's hit rock bottom and is so depressed. Your mom cries every day. All she does is stare out the window wondering if her baby girl will ever come back. Your sister has began to cut herself. Just like you, she has no one to talk to. She feels it was her fault you died. The head cheerleader is starving herself to feel the pain you felt everyday. She knows it was her fault. Oh. And your best friend? She killed herself too. You were her only friend and once she died. She had no one. Now do you still want to kill yourself?

Human Barbie

If Barbie was an actual woman, she would be 5'9" tall, have a 39" bust, an 18" waist, 33" hips and a size 3 shoe.

          ● Barbie calls this a "full figure" and likes her weight at 110 lbs.

          ● At 5'9" tall and weighing 110 lbs, Barbie would have a BMI of 16.24 and fit the weight
            criteria for anorexia. She likely would not menstruate.

          ● If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on all fours due to her proportions.

          ● Slumber Party Barbie was introduced in 1965 and came with a bathroom scale permanently set
            at 110 lbs with a book entitled "How to Lose Wight" with directions inside stating simply
            "Don't eat."

Why People Cut?

You know why people cut? Because it's a distraction. For one moment you don't feel all the pain, the loss, the hurt. All you feel is that razor going into your skin, the blood dripping down your arm, leg, stomach. You don't think about how alone you are or how fat and ugly you are. You don't think about the way people talk about you behind your back. You don't think about how your family is fighting or your friends hate you. All you think about is the blood. And the addicting part? Well that's when all the hurt and pain comes back. When the cut isn't fresh and you can feel all the build up of sadness and loneliness inside of you. So you have to do it again, but a little deeper so the numbness will last longer. The pain inside will be delayed longer. And as the pain inside gets worse and worse you have to make the pain outside worse and worse. It's all about control. You have it. You can't control the pain on the inside so you get to control it on the outside.

Relationship With Ana

I've seen this girl named Ana

She's pretty thin and tall

She has the smallest frame I've ever seen

And not one single flaw

I met this girl named Ana

She introduced herself today

She seems so very nice and kind

She says she wants to stay

I know this girl named Ana

She's so perfect and it's true

I'm so fat compared to her

But she'll make me skinny too

I'm friends with this girl named Ana

I've started eating less 

Hating the person in the mirror

My life's becoming a mess

My best friend is this girl named Ana

I want her to always stay

All my other friends have left

But she will never stray

The only one I listen to is Ana

She's so smart and full of advice

I'm starting to get smaller

My health is the only sacrifice

I'm scared of this girl named Ana

She makes my life a living hell

Someone please hear my silent screams

Cause she won't let me tell

My worst enemy is this girl named Ana

She's a demon in my head

She seems so very nice at first

But I was so mislead

I'm prisoner to this girl named Ana

I'm captive to her will

I can't help but do what she says

How can I be so fat still

My murderer is this girl named Ana

She starved me to my grave

My heart finally stopped beating

I just couldn't continue being brave