DO YOU AVOID INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS -OR- DO YOU ENTERTAIN THEM?

Let’s talk about something most people will deny until their dying breath: the quiet, constant voice in your head—your own voice—talking to you about you. Not out loud. Just… in there. A whisper. A narrator. A critic. A commentator. A version of you that watches every move you make and never shuts up. So, here’s the question that should make your skin crawl: At what point are we willing to admit that none of us are entirely “okay”? Furthermore, are we talking or are we listening???

We all walk around pretending we’re balanced, stable, properly calibrated—yet every single one of us is living inside a private echo chamber only we can hear. We know it. We feel it. But God forbid you confess it to the wrong authority figure… because the second you say, “I hear myself talking in my mind a lot,” suddenly you’re being sized up like you're “not all there.”

Some of us live with spouses, partners, or family who literally have the legal power to drop us into a facility if they decide our “inner commentary” is a little too loud. Imagine that. Imagine how quickly trust evaporates when you realize the wrong confession could cost you your freedom. So who do we talk to when the only person we can talk to is… ourselves?
And why does that feel like a crime?

BUT LET'S ENTERTAIN SOMETHING UNCOMFORTABLE…

What if this thing we call “inner speech” isn’t as normal as we pretend? What if hearing your own voice narrating your day, mocking your mistakes, replaying your fears—what if that’s not the universal human baseline we assume? What are we supposed to think about when we’re idle? When the shower water hits our skin or when we lie in bed before sleep? Are we expected to sit there with an empty, silent void? Hum kumbaya?
Close our eyes and become monks?

Fuck. No.

The truth is darker: Some people play music or leave the TV on because the silence is too damn loud. Because the voice inside their head starts wandering into places that hurt. Our regrets and memories nibble away at us. Or worse—ideas that shouldn’t be entertained in the first place. People don’t fall asleep to noise because they love noise. They do it because their own thoughts are a haunted house.

FACT:
Your thoughts can drive you insane. If they loop enough. And especially if they cling to the wrong mood.

I talk to myself constantly. So do you. So does everyone—even the people who will swear up and down that they don’t. So, they came up with a term for it: Intrapersonal communication. Your inner monologue. Self-talk. Internal discourse. That shadow-version of you narrating your existence. It comes from the same root as the word "soliloquy ". In my opinion,
we’ve built entire lives around it. We answer ourselves. We question ourselves. We rehearse arguments that haven't happened yet and we replay ones that we did have. Somehow, we pretend all this is fine.

But peel back one more layer—and things get uneasy. . .

WHEN TALKING TO YOURSELF CROSSES A LINE

Because for all the normalcy, there are edges—places where the floor starts to feel unstable.

If you find yourself actually arguing with yourself…
If you pause in real life to “listen”…
If you glance to the side like someone is physically standing there…
If your inner voice feels separate from you…

Then the situation changes. That’s no longer typical internal speech. And here's the fuckery: Most people don’t know where that line is even after they cross it.

SO WHAT DOES ALL THIS REALLY MEAN FOR US? HOW DOES ANY OF THIS BENEFIT YOU?

Welp. Our whole species is walking around slightly off-kilter, functioning just well enough to survive, but never quite balanced. Ponder this: The mind was never meant to be quiet. DURING A CONVERSATION, NO MATTER THE TOPIC, IF THE SUBJECT DISCUSSED IS ENGAGING, OUR ELECTRODES SPARK, IGNITE AND COMBUST WITH OTHERS AS ELECTRIC WAVES FROM OUR PIQUED BRAINS AND HEARTS INTERTWINE AND GIVE OFF HEALTHY FIELDS OF PLEASANT VIBRATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE TO THE IMMEDIATE SURROUNDINGS. This is why Pagans rejoice(d)....outside. Our original ritualistic beliefs did not have us hindering ourselves. And everyone the world over was Pagan. From Slavic to Indigenous, Pagans practiced outdoors, allowing them to be in direct contact with the natural world.

Pagans rarely suffered from mental disorders. They sang, Hummed, Chanted - call it whatever you want, their sheer barbery was 100% sane and thought out. Fast-forward to society today; riddled with insipid laws, restrictions and surveillance. Where Pagans were not shunned nor exiled, here we are ready to slap "crazy" labels on people that merely exercise their human right to be free. Americans should suffer the least from being muzzled, but to truly have freedom of speech means there aren't repercussions for it. Yet here we are.

We've been diminished to always be caught in thought, calcified and programmed to not speak or live freely. And here’s the part that gives goosebumps:

If everyone hears their voice… how do we know which of us are actually stable? Who’s “normal”? Who’s weird or just stressed, or exhausted, or traumatized, whatever? Who AMONG US is spiraling silently while looking perfectly fine on the outside? The deepest, most private parts of our minds—the whispered conversations we have with ourselves—are privatized. No one knows what’s happening inside anyone else’s head. We can re-train ourselves but it takes a certain discipline that not many possess.

You think our ancient ancestors hid their true selves from each other? Those people were so in sync, it is believed they spoke without speaking. And when they spoke to themselves, they spoke aloud because there was no need to have secretive thoughts, nor did they have "intrapersonal communication". Their soliloquy was candid and a healing factor. It's no wonder why Christian crusaders took a special interest in establishing rule over heathens the world over. Because, you know, Christ is "lord", obey or die.

Yep, that kind of violent, oppressive suppression would eat away at the minds of those going through it. And like it or not, Christianity not only paved the way, it still continues to bulldoze the meek. And those of us who live outside of the margins are crazy/ sinners/ evil / weird. . . Well, I for one, don't see an end to it. And I don't think I want it to ever stop. I like talking to myself, I'm a funny ass bitch.

I mean, we all like to believe we’re fundamentally good. Even people who do terrible things rarely see themselves as villains— they rationalize, justify, excuse… and that part alone should terrify you. Because that means everyone has a self-defense attorney living in their head, ready to defend even the worst impulses.

The “good” you wants peace. Wants calm. Wants to stay balanced. But the other you? The one built from instincts, fear, desire, rage? The one that existed long before society, laws, or morality? That one doesn’t care. It will whisper things you’d never admit aloud. It will imagine scenarios that would land you in a padded room if you spoke them. It will push you toward things you’d swear you’d never do. And the most chilling part? It talks like you. It sounds like you because it's you. Just not the you that gets to walk around in the daylight.

THE SHADOW DIALOGUE YOU’VE BEEN CALLING “SELF-TALK”

Think about every moment you felt torn:

• “Say something.” / “Stay quiet.”

• “Don’t let them disrespect you.” / “It’s not worth it.”

• “Walk away.” / “No—turn around.”
  

We call this “conflict,” “stress,” “overthinking.” But what if it’s exactly what it feels like— a debate between two internal forces sharing one skull? One that edits your behavior and one that unleashes your rawest self. When you really sit with that idea, it gets unsettling:

What if the voice you think is “you” is actually the referee? The facade. And the real voices are the ones arguing behind the curtain —arguing about you.

THE DAY THE DARKER VOICE WINS

Every horrifying news story of a “quiet, harmless person who suddenly snapped” has a pattern:
Neighbors say they were docile, calm, stable, “the last person you’d expect.”

But nobody is the last person you’d expect. Because everybody is capable, so nobody is exempt. Breaking points aren’t predictable. They’re never one big event—it’s a thousand tiny ones, whispered about internally, back and forth, the polite self wrestles with the primal one. And all it takes is for the scales to tip one day.

One moment of weakness, or rage, or numbness when the darker voice finally says: “Let me handle this.” And you allow it.

WHAT IF THAT’S WHAT WE’RE REALLY AFRAID OF? Not the inner dialogue but the possibility that:
The dark voice is just as real as the good one. And someday, it might speak louder. Because at the end of the day, the voice inside your head isn’t some phantom or a figment. It’s the other you. And the scariest truth is you don’t get to choose which one wakes up tomorrow.