or worse: Kill yourself.

I can no longer hear my voices, so i am a little lost. My suspicion is they would know far better how to tell this story. At least they would have opinions andsuggestions and definite ideas as to what should go first and what should go last and what what should go in the middle. They would inform me when to add detail, when to omit extraneous information, what was important and what was trivial. After so much time slipping past, I am not particularly good at remembering these things myself and could certinly use their help. A great many events took place, and it is hard for me to know precisely where to put what. And sometimes i'm unsure that incidents that i clearly remember actually did happen. A memory that seems one instant to be as solid as stone, the next seems as vaporous as a mist above the river. That's one of the major problems with being crazy; you're just naturally uncertain about things.
It was easier by far when all i had to do was listen to the voices. They weren't even all that bad, most of the time. Usually, they were faint, like fading echos across a valley, or maybe like whispers you would hear between children sharing secrets in the back of a playroom, although when things grew tense, their volume increased rapidly. And generally, my voices weren't all that demanding. They were more, well, suggestions. Advice. Probing questions. A littl3e nagging, sometimes, like a spinster great-aunt who no one knows precisely what to do with at a holiday dinner, but is nevertheless inculded in festivities and occasionally blurts out something rude or nonsensical or politically incorrect, but is mostly ignored.