The Voice is a popular show on TV currently getting tweets on Sundays, and also a presence in my head. A lot of the time it stays in the shadows, hidden, but the moment there’s an opening it’s there, whispering seductively to my thoughts.
She’d be better off without you, the voice says softly. This is all your fault. She wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you and your physical problems. You must have done something wrong.
You’re wrong, I say to the voice. I’m going to ignore you. I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work.
But that’s bravado. Secretly – not so secretly – I’m afraid that the voice is right. Why wouldn’t it be? It says all the things I don’t want to hear and which make me uncomfortable. That’s a sign that the voice is onto something.
This voice comes with a red flag. If it’s whispering to me, I know something is up. After the weird sporadic elation of the past ten days or so – something, I suspect, to do with the Eglonyl – I’m beginning to wobble. I have not taken my antidepressants since I was admitted to hospital. Could the effects of the Eglonyl be wearing off? Will I be found out? Is this the beginning of postpartum depression? I was afraid of this from the moment I found out I was pregnant; I just never imagined experiencing it in this particular set of circumstances.
What to do? Now is not a good time to be falling apart. I can try and talk myself out of it. I can take my pills again. I can carry on with writing and hope that it helps. But the voice is out, and enjoying its freedom, and it won’t be easy to persuade it to slink back to the shadows from which it came.