The Voices

Kayleigh hated her monthly check-ins. It was always the same blah, blah, blah. The same are you still insane? Do you still hear voices? Well, Doc, I don’t hear voices thanks to your handy dandy prescription of medication you've pumped me up with. She probably would hear those voices in her head if she stopped taking her medication. She was quite certain she would and she was getting that itch again to do just that. It would be nice to hear a different stream of conversation that didn’t center around her prestigious doc. Sure, she would get some nice conversations at her bookshop that would always somehow manage to stray to the fact she was a nutcase and how she was doing managing it.

It was okay, people! If she having an impulsive (not so impulsive) desire to have a psychotic break, it wouldn’t be from the voices in her head. No, it would be for the ridiculousness of overly fake concerned people worried they’d be her next victim. Needless to say, she stopped trying to have meaningful conversations with customers or anyone. If customers came in, beyond the normal polite “if you need any help” banter, she would just leave them to their own devices. She didn’t go into town much or even go to her favorite cafe to get her drinks. She was just so sick of the locals. She was totally in love with her Keurig. Totally romantic of course. She had intimate talks with it and the cups of coffee and tea she drank.

She was the local nutcase... and it was something that would never rest in this small town. She couldn’t leave. She put all of her savings into this sorry little bookshop. It used to be her dream to own a bookshop. She grew up in this town. She knew everyone here… yet they seemed to forget that.

It was alright. Fine by her. She had her books to keep her company. The Keurig too.

And the voices when she felt like being a rebel.

Maybe she stopped her medication once awhile to see if those voices were even around still. It wasn’t like they were being a nuisance like everyone else. It was basically random voices talking as if she was getting a front row seat listening to a private discussion. Sometimes, they tried talking to her directly, but she’d rather sit back and listen to the show like her own personal podcast or audiobook.

This was what her life amounted to.

Grandma would be so proud.

“What was that?” Dr. Sigfried asked.

Kayleigh blinked, realizing was still in this 30 minute hellish appointment. She eyed the clock and sighed. Ten more minutes to go. Pity. She gave her psychiatrist a weak smile.

“Was thinking of my grandma,” she muttered.

Dr. Sigfried nodded. A rare smile crossed her face at the mention. Of course everyone loved her grandma. “Lydia was an amazing lady,” she told her. For a moment, there was genuineness to the lady in front her until that professional mask quickly washed over her. “Has that been bothering you? The death of your grandma? Her death hasn’t be solved.”

No, her grandma’s death hadn’t been solved. She had died around the times these voices started appearing on her eighteenth birthday. Her grandma had actually told her those voices she was hearing were special and that she was lucky to hear them except Kayleigh didn’t feel lucky at all. Her grandma told her to keep it to herself — the voices. She told her that they wouldn’t understand… and she was right.

They didn’t. They crucified her. Many people thought she actually killed her grandma on a psychotic break, but they couldn’t prove it. Her murder had remained unsolved. Her grandma’s death was the reason she decided to see a professional and get medicated, because what if what they were saying was true, what if she was a danger? What if she had been the one to attack her grandma?

That night had been so fuzzy. She couldn’t remember it. She wished did, because maybe she wouldn’t feel like there was something deep down wrong with her. She looked up at Dr. Sigfried and sighed before nodding her head.

“Yes, the anniversary of her death is coming up tomorrow,” she finally confessed. There was no use in denying it. If she did, she was certain the lady would give her one of her owlish judgy looks. “It’s a hard time, because I don’t know what happened.”

Dr. Sigfried started writing on her notepad. She nodded her head. “It looks like our time is up, Ms. Yale.” You’re such a great psychiatrist. “I think it’s best if we up your medication.”

Of course she did. Sometimes, Kayleigh wanted to resort to violence. Only sometimes. Like now, now was definitely was one of those times. Instead, she just nodded her head like a trained leashed little puppy. Did she honestly think she would get any therapy here?

Everything was dealt with medication.

That was it.

A quick fix to covering the actual problem.

She was insane and they medicated her to keep her sane.

Simple as that. Right? But everything wasn’t as simple as that. Far from it. She wanted someone to actually care. Tomorrow was going to be difficult to deal with and go it alone. Instead the one person that had the professional ability to help her cope just gave her a med slip and dismissed her to go on her merry way.

No, it wasn’t a surprise when she stood at the pharmacy to get her crazy pills and the pharmacist took one look at her before promising they would have it for her pronto. The looks and whispers she was receiving from the other customers and workers in the pharmacy were grating on her nerves. This was why she hated to go out in public. The gossip. The looks. The whispers like she couldn’t hear them. They might as well shout or speak normally. She already knew what they were saying. She couldn’t wait to feel the comfort of her home — her safe haven. She shut the door to her bookshop and locked it up.

Numbly, she walked through the bookshop to get to the staircase in the back. The staircase led up to her place above her shop. She didn’t even bother turning on any lights as she went. She knew it like the back of her hand. As she made it upstairs, she opened the door and walked inside. She was able to breathe in and out finally, letting the emotions finally overtake her. She glanced down at the plastic bag with her medication in it and she shook her head before throwing it down the hallway.

No more.

She’d rather have the voices.

It had been five years since her grandma died. It had been five years of taking medication. This would be the first time she wouldn’t be on medication when the anniversary of her grandma’s death. Maybe she’d get the truth. Maybe she’d finally be able to put it all to rest on what happened. She was going to talk to the voices. Her grandma trusted them. She said they were special. She said they would help her understand. The one person she trusted above all else was her grandma. It was time she started listening.