🧠 “Shut Up, Brain!”

I was halfway through a job interview when it happened. The manager leaned in, smiling politely, and said, “So, tell me about your strengths.”

And that’s when my brain spoke up.

“Lie. Say you’re a team player. You hate people, but they don’t need to know that.”

I froze. Not in my head. Out loud.

“What?” I whispered.

“I said lie!” the voice boomed again, echoing between my ears like someone yelling in a tin can.

The manager blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Uh—nothing!” I forced a laugh, trying to recover. “I, uh, thrive in a team environment.”

“Liar,” my brain snorted. “You once faked food poisoning to skip an office potluck.”

“Shut up, Brain!” I muttered under my breath.

“Excuse me?” the manager said again, this time leaning back slowly.

“Sorry, I said—uh, I read up on your company. Very impressed!”

“Oh sure,” Brain said. “So impressed you confused this place with the other company you applied to.”

That was the end of that interview.

---

It started three days ago. I woke up with a headache, took an aspirin, and boom—instant commentary. Like Morgan Freeman narrating my every move, but meaner. Way meaner.

At first, I thought I was just losing it. Stress, caffeine withdrawal, maybe a weird side effect of my multivitamin. But no. It was my actual brain talking. Out loud. And only I could hear it.

“You call that a breakfast?” Brain sneered on day two. “That’s just sugar in a bowl.”

“It’s cereal,” I grumbled.

“It’s dessert. Try a vegetable, ya goblin.”

---

By day four, I was desperate. I tried meditation, white noise, herbal tea—nothing worked. My brain had opinions on everything.

“You’re wearing that shirt to a date? Are we trying to look unemployed on purpose?”

At dinner, I asked for water. My brain shouted, “Be bold! Get wine! You’re not in a monastery!”

I ordered wine.

Then Brain added, “Just don’t drink too much. We both remember Karaoke Night 2022.”

I choked. My date asked if I was okay. I nodded while my brain whispered, “You are not okay. You're a walking anxiety burrito.”

---

Things came to a head at the grocery store.

I was in the frozen food aisle, debating whether to buy pizza or something healthy. Brain wasn’t helpful.

“Get the pizza. Life is short.”

“But vegetables are good for me,” I whispered.

“You are 60% pizza already. What difference will one more make?”

That’s when an old woman nearby slowly edged her cart away from me like I was a deranged zucchini whisperer.

---

I finally went to a neurologist.

“So, your brain is... talking?” he asked.

“Yes,” I groaned. “All the time. It's a full-time critic. I can't do anything without hearing snarky commentary!”

“Fascinating,” he said, scribbling notes. “What does it say now?”

Brain chimed in: “Tell him his tie is stupid.”

“No,” I hissed.

“Excuse me?” the doctor said.

“Sorry! Not you. My brain. He said your tie was—never mind!”

The neurologist leaned in with a smile. “You know, it might not be a problem. Maybe it’s a rare cognitive adaptation.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Your brain isn't roasting your every life choice like a stand-up comic on espresso.”

---

Eventually, I made peace with Brain. Kind of. We struck a deal: I’d stop ignoring it, and it would stop embarrassing me in public.

We even compromised on decisions.

Me: “Should I text my ex?” Brain: “Hard no.” Me: “Should I eat this burrito I dropped on the floor?” Brain: “You already did. Don’t lie to yourself.”

---

These days, things are better. Brain still gives commentary, but I’ve started to appreciate it.

It's like having a brutally honest best friend… living rent-free in my skull.

Though, every now and then, I still forget. Like during yoga class yesterday.

Instructor: “Clear your mind.” Brain: “Fat chance. Also, you’re wobbling like a newborn giraffe.”

I fell over.

Everyone stared.

I smiled and whispered, “Shut up, Brain.”

Brain replied, “You’re welcome.”