Can I trust my own voice? If I can recognize my own voice. There are too many voices bouncing around in my head. I have a hard time distinguishing one voice from another within the cacophony. I’m so used to the voices telling me how stupid I am, how my opinion is not valued, how my presence is not wanted. I still experience the rejection viscerally regardless of what any particular voice is actually saying. Muscle memory tenses my body. Neurological memory flares, and my immune system goes on the attack, searching mercilessly for foreign invaders. My past is like the agony of a phantom limb. An amputation might prevent the disease from spreading farther into the body, but nothing can stop the brain from continuing to process the embedded pain. I have to fight back. The only other option is to enclose myself within a cocoon of apathy, which results in severe depression, and I’ve already wasted too much time in this self-imposed solitary confinement. So, instead, I talk to myself. I tell myself that it’s all going to be okay. I tell myself that my presence is appreciated and that my contributions are valued. I tell myself. I hear my voice. It’s not enough. There’s too much noise.