I talk to myself

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I have conversations with myself.

Is it insane? probably, should I be admitted? unlikely, but does it work? you bet your crazy behind it does.

It’s not an everyday thing, I don’t find myself wandering the streets, randomly talking to myself for no reason, that would be crazy. It’s often within a controlled environment, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off, just kidding, but it works best when I’m in an environment without prying eyes.

A stroll through the garden, a canter about my room (canter…makes me sound like a horse), more like a pace about my room, however small it may be, helps open up the channels and allows for a cathartic experience. Sure I make it sound like some kind of drug, a hallucigenic of some sort, but truth is it does wonders for the frayed, cluttered mind.

As an accounting student, I have quite a bit of information I need to retain and use (the income tax act, International Financial Reporting standards, international auditing standards and the sort), so talking to myself helps me engage with the mess that is often associated with case laws, acts and principles I would have otherwise forgotten and left to the deepest, darkest recesses of my subconscious, only to be resuscitated days, nay hours, before an important test or exam.

But studying aside, talking to myself helps flesh out ideas and thoughts I may have and would like to bring to life somehow. Whether through my writing, music or any other appropriate medium, it really works for me.

But the craziest part of this entire talking to myself thing is that I use it as a form of therapy. To many I might be passed over as your average joe, nothing extraordinary enough to need, but nothing basic enough to not notice, so it comes as no surprise when I tell people that I don’t have very many friends.

So to ease the silence, I talk to myself; that way I don’t forget the importance of language, I don’t forget the sound of my own voice and I guess part of me reminds myself that I’m still here. I pretend as though I’m being interviewed for achieving a great feat, I pretend as though I’m a lecturer, a nurturer or anybody really, it’s cathartic. Sometimes I ask myself how I’m feeling. It sounds sad and pathetic, but if nobody’s willing to ask, I figure being my own best friend, I should ask myself.

I know for a fact that I’m not alone. Keeping it closer to home, I’ve caught a glimpse or two of my sister doing the same whilst in the comfort of her own company. There’s no shame in it.

To be clear, I don’t have an imaginary friend, I don’t think I ever had one. Nor am I mad, although we’re all a little crazy, some are just better at hiding it.

I’m just a guy with a lot to say but not very many people to say it to. So I say it to myself.

I can be the keeper of my own secrets, I can hold my dreams and aspirations up high and I can give myself the praise I feel I deserve sometimes.

So I talk to myself, big deal, if you can’t love yourself enough to trust your own voice, then how can you learn to trust another’s?

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