Mental Health

Preparing for the Great Reveal!

My body shook like it was cold, yet all I felt was the fear.

I said something about it a few days ago, here, on this blog. I was talking about my thoughts on recording my voice and uploading it.

While researching a recording app, I discovered that recording my voice for my blog and doing a podcast are about the same thing.

So, I guess, I’ll just start doing a podcast and see how that goes.

I wanted to give myself plenty of time to learn how to, you know, use the recording stuff and adding the music and yada yada yada.

Then, I felt something weird.

There was a kind of a tickle in my belly.

My mind started running and catching, kind of like a sprinter with the hiccups.

Thoughts, familiar in other areas of my life, came to mind:

  • What if you have an ugly voice?

My mind froze and I lost track of what I was doing.

  • What if nobody listens?

My hands trembled.

  • What if you can’t figure out the recording stuff?

My eyes darted to the page on my phone.

  • What if it won’t upload?

My trembling hand felt around for a good grip on the glass of soda I was drinking.

  • What are you going to talk about?

My eyes widened and I coughed up some of the soda that had slid down my bronchial tube.

  • Why would anyone want to listen to you?

I watched my shaking hand place the glass on the table and push it away from the edge.

  • Should you get voice lessons first?

My eyes darted back to the page on my phone. The app store finally opened. Then, the screen darkened.

  • You don’t know anything well enough to talk about it online!

I looked around my apartment. Noting each of the projects in varying stages of completion.

  • Who do You think You are?

I jumped to my feet, searching the apartment for the owner of the harsh woman’s voice.

  • You can’t just go and record your voice and put it online!

The voice sounded as if the owner were sitting next to me, yet no one was there. Preparing for sudden violence, I moved into the living room in search of the owner of the voice. Adrenaline smoothed out the shaking of my hands and gave each step a sureness I didn’t feel.

  • You haven’t done anything worth talking about.

My eyes moved across every box, paper, and container in the living room and kitchen. I’m alone in the apartment. My knees suddenly pound against each other a couple of times before they give out completely and I crumple to the cement floor.

  • What if you freeze up?

My mind continues it’s unrelenting desire to smother me with fear.

  • What if everybody thinks what you talk about is stupid?

Sobs escape my lips and my body shakes as if very cold, yet I feel only the fear.

The fear of failure. The fear of success. The fear of violence. The fear of being unnoticed. The fear of a ruined reputation. The fear of social sainthood. The fear of ignorance. The fear of stupidity. The fear of neglect. The fear of love.

  • Why waste your time and energy?

The fear of laziness. The fear of being too busy. The fear of efficiency. The fear of waste. The fear of cleanliness. The fear of filth.

  • Don’t you have enough to do?

The harsh woman’s voice again. She seemed to be to my left, but only my faithful puppy was there. Tilting her head at me quizzically.

  • What about blogging?

A punch to the gut.

  • What about writing?

A hit in the solar plexus.

  • What about cleaning your apartment?

A kick to the back.

  • What about your laundry?

A kick to the kidney.

  • What about your plants?

My throat tightened and I braced myself.

  • What about the dogs?

There was only me. There was always only me.

  • How are you going to get your neighbor’s dog to behave while you’re recording?

There was no one else. There was never anyone else. Or, if there was, the price for their help was huge.

  • What if everybody starts coming over again?

I pushed my shoulders off the floor and sat up.

  • How will you record with a house full?

I forced my body to my feet and squared my shoulders.

“Yes, Momma. I know all these things. I’ve always been an idiot. Why stop now?” My voice said.

“I try to teach you how to get along in the world, but you insist on making a fool out of yourself and a mockery of our family.”

“Someone has to do it.” My voice said.

You were a mistake at conception and only gotten worse since.” The poison she spewed at me nearly made me homesick.

It took a while, but I managed to regain a sense of control.

With my mind turning on me in such a manner, I thought it wise to keep the preparation time very short. Otherwise, I might just chicken out and not do it.

By Jen Christopherson

Jenna (Jen) Christopherson is a person of dreams, realistic and extraordinary. Her favorite hobby is to read and her passion for writing is unparalleled. As a child, she read a library and then wrote a library.

"In the heart of what is good there is a storm of sinister proportion." As said by the very same.

Nothing is without balance.

Josh Prugle