When I first woke up with voices in my head other than my own, I thought it was just an odd experience. Now, I’m doing what I can to ensure I don’t hear them anymore.
Sleeping Well or Waking Up in a Crowd
I don’t set my alarm anymore. I wake up at about the same time every day.
For me, a good night’s sleep is about 8.5 hours. A little less than that, and I am still okay. Much less than eight hours, though, and my “bipolar disorder brain” kicks in. Less than seven hours of shut-eye, and my day is wasted.
With eight or more hours of sleep, I often wake up alone, unless my wife is still in bed beside me. I feel rested. I feel good. Not high or low. Just good.
On less than seven hours of sleep, I don’t wake up alone. On these days, as I open my eyes and try to orient myself, my mind is crowded.
Sometimes there are two people in there. Sometimes there is a cacophony.
There Are Other Voices in My Mind
I remember the first time that I realized there are voices in my head: I woke up after six hours of sleep, and I was still very tired. I had that foggy feeling like I would never wake all the way up.
I heard voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could definitely hear them. Two? No, three…. Maybe more. They all seemed to be talking at the same time.
My first thought was that I must have left the TV on.
The overlapping tones with words I couldn’t quite make out really sounded as if I were listening to a television show from another room. So, I opened the door and walked downstairs.
I looked at the black screen of the TV.
And I could still hear the voices.
They were still just a little too far off to understand. So I closed my eyes and listened intently …
It struck me that they were coming from nowhere. Not this room, and not the next. Not the kitchen. Whoa, maybe the garage? But, no. Not the garage, either.
I tried to focus on the sounds. It was a group of people. I could definitely hear them. I could hear the inflections and the tones of their chatter.
I could tell when someone was excited and also when someone lowered their voice.
But I couldn’t hear the words.
They weren’t talking to me. Were they talking about me? How odd.
As I got ready for the day, the voices faded away. Soon, they were gone—replaced by my own thoughts of daily life.
With my mind quiet, I didn’t think about the voices again. I let it go. Chalked it up as just some weird experience.
Tantalizing Frustration from a Dream?
A few months later, the voices came back. After another bad night’s sleep, I could hear people talking.
I did the same things as before: I checked the TV. I listened carefully. There was no question—I could hear voices.
But they were just out of reach.
They were all men. They were talking fast. And, just like last time, they faded into silence as I got ready for the day.
Part of me was frustrated that I couldn’t understand the words. I thought that maybe it was a continuation of a dream, and I wanted to know what it was about. But I never could.
Over time, I learned to ignore the voices. Some days, that worked.
Other days, they were too loud to be ignored.
On those days, I listened carefully. Just let me hear a few words. Let me decipher the code…
When the Voices Became “My” Voices
As I got older, the voices became more of an annoyance. By that point, hearing them had become another step that I had to get through when I woke up after too little sleep. Part of the morning routine:
- Wash my face.
- Brush my teeth.
- Ignore my voices.
- Plan my day.
I am writing about this now because I am not able to just ignore my voices anymore.
They are with me when I wake up in the morning. They are with me when I wake up from a nap. They are with me when I am really tired.
Today, my voices were louder. They were intrusive and took longer to fade away. They are getting harder to dismiss.
When Symptoms of Bipolar Aren’t Friendly
Some of my bipolar experiences feel like old friends. Sinking into depression is like putting on a comfortable old sweater and sitting in front of the fire. Rising in hypomania brings out the fun and talkative me, and it’s like putting on a pair of new clothes.
But the voices never feel like “old friends.” They don’t feel like friends at all. They concern me greatly.
If they were old friends, they would have revealed themselves to me. They would have let me know that they are not there to hurt me. That they are not there to take over my head on some unknown, particularly bad day.
My voices scare me.
Anyone with bipolar disorder knows that we don’t scare easily.
We have faced our demons, and we have survived. We are strong. We are tough. I have been through a lot. I have hit bottom and, somehow, made it back from those depths.
These voices are a different story, though. They are living inside me. They are part of me. Which part, though?
- Is there an evil part of me that is trying to come out?
- Will these voices take over one day?
- Will they become my new mind?
- Is this a progression of bipolar disorder?
Changing My Mind
Tomorrow, when I wake up and I hear my voices, I won’t listen for the words.
I no longer want to understand them.
The voices, the inflection, the tone, that’s all I want.
Because I know that if I understand what the voices are saying, if I start listening to their words, and if I start talking back … then I will have slipped into insanity.
Tonight, I won’t set my alarm.
Tonight, I will get plenty of sleep.
Originally posted March 10, 2021