voices-by Gen

voices...

Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were young?

I spent a lot of time by myself when I was a little girl, mostly because of school; the bus ride was long, the bus stop was far and I usually had a couple of hours to myself before my Mom arrived home from work. I can’t remember how old I was but at one point in time, my Mom and I moved to a newer neighborhood in London and our home was still surrounded by wide open spaces that hadn’t yet been developed. I used to have to walk through a large field to get from my bus stop to our house and the walk was about a kilometer in distance – not far as an adult but certainly a hike for a little kid, especially through an empty field and with a vivid imagination!

It was during this time that I met Penelope. She was my imaginary friend. She was older and wiser and made the time by myself a little less lonely. At first, she was only around during my walks to and from the bus stops. Then she would appear on nights when I would lie awake in my bed unable to sleep. Eventually, she was always just kind of there…lingering by my side. She would talk me out of being scared or help me to mentally prepare myself when I knew I was about to get in trouble for something. She tried to help me with my math homework too but we both knew that was a lost cause!

In grade six, just after my Grandmother died, I started talking to her instead. I would spend countless hours conversing with her and asking for her advice. I missed her immensely and needed someone to listen to me. I needed someone who understood the people around me better than I did and someone who could guide me through the endless web of adolescence. Her absence was difficult for me and talking to her as though she was right next to me made the pain seem more bearable.

It wasn’t until a desperate night in grade eleven that I spoke to the God for the first time. I was tired, in mind and body, and desperately needed my life to be different. The last couple of years had been tumultuous for my Mother and I and few things seemed like they offered any stability anymore. I remember lying in my bed that night sobbing and begging God to make things different. After crying myself to sleep, I awoke the next morning feeling more peaceful than I had in a long time. Life proceeded to get even harder for the next few years but I continued to talk to God and every now and then, I think that He even talked back.

As you can see, I have a long history of hearing voices! Some people call this mental illness and in a mad attempt to convince myself that I’m not a schizophrenic, I prefer to call it the angels assigned to my case! We do a lot of things to ensure that we don’t feel alone in this world and why shouldn’t we? The love that surrounds us isn’t always so obvious and in some ways, these people…these voices, are merely our calmer and more comforting selves stepping in to take over the reigns; Our alter ego, our divine creation, our higher being…the self we long to be but can’t dig ourselves out of our doubt, our fear and our sorrow long enough to uncover them. We often need to hear things from somewhere else in order to truly listen.

I spoke to God a lot this past weekend. I pleaded in desperation for words…any words. I longed for words that weren’t my own and words that could somehow make this better. While I concede that I may be completely delusional, I’m also willing to testify that when I calmed down long enough to be still, I truly felt someone hold my face gently in their hands and whisper in my ear, “This too shall pass.”

Even more miraculous still were the many voices that followed; the very real voices of the people we love, the people who reached out to us in our sorrow and who asked to carry the weight for us. The people who cried with us and the people cried for us. I am overwhelmed at the amount of love that comes from grief and because of that, I am also forced to wonder if part of the reason such things happen at all is to simply remind us that whether we hear voices or not…we are never alone in this world. Never…