I’d heard voices before. When I had my breakdown in college, I reported two kinds of auditory hallucinations, although the doctors reassured me that it was a good sign my “reality testing” was intact—that I knew I wasn’t hearing what I heard. (Sanity often requires the disavowal of the senses.) The first voice was my own, if a little deeper than when I actually spoke: on more than one occasion, my thoughts escaped from my head into audibility, into space, usually seeming to come from a few feet away, always to my right. There was nothing unusual about the internal monologue itself—the thoughts might even be encouraging, “Here’s what you do: take four deep, deliberate breaths,” etc.—but the externalization, the leakage, was horrifying. It happened only a handful of times, but I will always worry that too strong, too loud, a thought might break out of its silent casing into sound.
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