• Chitkale

The Whisperer

I met Her when I was 6, when I was on the swing waiting for my mom to pick me up from the babysitter’s. I didn’t know of Her true nature then and would never have guessed it. With Her sweet, soothing voice and Her never absent presence, She had to be my guardian angel, right?


She didn’t speak to me often back then. Just a few whispers when I was alone on the bus with the driver or when my 1st grade friend stole my pencil.


She never made me do things I didn’t want. Just guided me with hints of instant gratification. So, I did. It was nothing harmful then. Just a small chocolate stolen or a few coins nicked from my mother’s purse.


As the years rolled by with the speed of a falling star, Her voice got stronger. Did I feed Her by listening to Her? Or did She draw it from the fear that lurked behind my ever-confident façade?


Whatever it was, She was stronger. Her words harsher, no longer a gentle urge but a demand.

Her cruel words I uttered. To Her sickly-sweet voice I listened. Now the backwash wasn’t so meager.


And I wondered. Do others I see have a Beast; a Demon coiled around their hearts? Do they hear slick whispers every time they trip and fall?


To my shock and cold comfort, I found it true. Behind every answer spoken loud in class is a fear of ridicule. Under the layers of fabric draped around a person is the fear of their physical ‘flaws’.


And these ‘flaws’ or the fears that we hold so close are just rooted on the idea of what we see as perfection. But when you try to seek perfection in a broken, imperfect world, all you find is pain and the inability to accept who you are.


The beast only spoke to me when I was alone. So, I found friends who became family; bonded with my mother. She whispered when I made a mistake or when the world wasn’t so kind. So, I learned to accept the things as they were and take control.


It was an uphill battle. And it isn’t completely over. But I’ve found my ground. I’ve found my strength from those around me, from those who’ve left and those who will come. From the fire raging in me to do what I think is right. Not her.


The beast always whispers, but I found (to my astonishment) that I don’t have to listen to her. she whispers as she has no form. she whispers as all she has is a voice. she doesn’t control me. she is not me.


she is NOT me.

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