Is This Really Belongs To Me ?
Don't left me behind. Please don't escape from me , I beg you, stoooop.
Ah, why I can't do be able to do the math . What's the deal with me , what's wrong with . Common brain help me . helpppp meeeee . I say help me , don't you understand what I want ?[He gabbed his pencil and screamed ] .
[He is the Olympiad student , next week he have his final competition in his high school life]
Hey mom , give me some food , I say give me some food . Don't you just hear what I WAS saying. [His mom] Shut your mouth Nick , what's wrong with you. Why are you scramming?[Nick shocked and go in his room.]
[Nick] ugh . What is this ? okay , so now , do this math . This math , oh yeah , know , I did this moth . so EASY . [Nick , start doing this math]. What 's going on , I can't remember . Okay that is fine , I know that is fine . Let's do another math . another , another , another . uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
What's going on ? I know , I practiced everything . so , what's going on ? [ Nick , crying on his performance ]. Math rejected me . Am I not be chosen to do math . Or it could be that that I, I , I don't have the ability to do math , Is this all for my dad , not for me ? Please don't rejected me , please don't . I was alone , all by myself , you're the only one to talk with me .[ Nick , crying and screaming].I don't have any friends , people call me the mad genius , if you left I have nothing. Don't do that.
[Nick's mom knock his door ] What's going on Nick , are you sick ? I am out . [ His mother going in her school ] Cook rice with chicken and curry okay , Nick . are you listening , take care , bye .
Bye , mom . Mom , aren't you go India for you deal ? oh , Nick , for that schedule is tomorrow . oh . [Nick ] .
[Nick lay down in his bed ] I couldn't do a single math problem . Fail in competition . that's for sure. When it started ? Math doesn't belongs to me anymore. Guess what , I have no skill .
[Nick is so depressed and for his Olympiad he doesn't practice a single math problem , day passed . And the day come when the competition occurred ]
[Nick ] Everyone in there seems pretty excited . I've got nothing to show them , when math itself refuse me . [ Nick , and the competition room , and didn't solve a single problem, frustrated Nick exit the room and so depressed that in his eyes there was not a single ashes of emotion ]
[Now day passed by his school math , from that day , he couldn't do math anymore , and eventually he failed every single math exam . Teacher attended a meeting and called his parents , to know what's going on with Nick , they discussed with his parents , and the description was clear . He sleep well , don't waste his time , study overtime a day , nothing changed that much about his , according to his parents description . Because , they don't even no what's wrong with their beloved child . so polite , productive, in a word , he was every parents dreamed son , teachers favorite student , friends . so perfect , beyond human .]
[No one knows what's going on with him . Firstly they concern about him , but soon , they forget ] [Nick] please help me god , let me do this math , I beg you , please . please . okay this is going to this equation , yep , I get it , yes , no its wrong , its wrong . Hey come back , beg you . Please , aren't you my only friend , please , come back . [ Nick crying ]
About the Creator
sharlya
I am high school student . I am very passionate about my writing . I want to learn everything that make me curious .
When Your Thoughts Become Your Enemy
I've never been physically harmed by another person. But for thirty years, I've carried an abuser with me everywhere I go—a voice in my head that knows exactly how to destroy me, that never sleeps, never relents, never runs out of ammunition. The cruelest part? That voice is mine. I'm staring at a text I've rewritten seventeen times. It's just a simple message to a friend—casual, friendly, nothing important. But my mind has turned it into a minefield. Each version gets scrutinized, dissected, rejected. Too enthusiastic. She'll think you're desperate. Too casual. She'll think you don't care. That emoji is childish. She'll think you're immature. No emoji looks cold. She'll think you're mad at her. An hour passes. The text remains unsent. I give up, delete the entire thread, and spend the next three hours convinced I'm a social failure who can't even send a normal text message like a functioning adult. This is what it's like when your thoughts become your enemy. Every moment is a battle you can't win, because the opponent knows every weakness, every insecurity, every past failure. The opponent is you. The Voice That Never Stops I can't remember when the voice started. It feels like it's always been there, a constant narrator providing running commentary on everything I do, say, think, or feel. But it's not a kind narrator. It's a critic. A judge. A prosecutor building a case for why I'm fundamentally defective. You're so awkward. Everyone noticed. That was a stupid thing to say. They're all judging you. You'll never be good enough. Why do you even try? Look at everyone else succeeding while you struggle. What's wrong with you? The voice sounds like me—my tone, my vocabulary, my speech patterns. But it says things I would never say to another person. Things so cruel, so cutting, so relentlessly negative that if someone else spoke to me that way, I'd recognize it as abuse. But because the voice is mine, because it lives inside my own head, I accepted it as truth. For decades, I believed that this constant stream of self-criticism was just realistic self-assessment. I thought everyone's internal dialogue was this harsh. I didn't realize I was being psychologically tortured by my own mind. The Architecture of Self-Hatred The voice didn't appear randomly. It had architects. My father, who responded to every mistake with disappointment and disdain. "Is that really the best you can do?" he'd ask, even when I'd tried my hardest. Nothing was ever good enough. My mother, who loved me but constantly compared me to others. "Why can't you be more like your sister? She never has these problems." The kids at school who found my differences—my quietness, my sensitivity, my interests—worthy of mockery. "You're so weird. No wonder no one wants to hang out with you." Each voice, each message, each moment of criticism got internalized. They became the foundation of my inner dialogue. By the time I was twelve, I'd built an entire internal system dedicated to constant self-surveillance and judgment. I thought this was normal. I thought everyone had a voice telling them they weren't enough, weren't right, weren't acceptable. I didn't realize I'd essentially installed an abuser inside my own head. The Daily Assault Living with a hostile internal voice is exhausting in ways that are hard to explain to people who don't experience it. Every action gets evaluated and found wanting. Making breakfast: You're eating too much. You have no self-control. Going to work: Everyone there knows you're incompetent. You're fooling no one. Talking to colleagues: They're just being polite. They don't actually like you. Every interaction gets replayed obsessively, dissected for evidence of failure. A conversation that seemed fine in the moment becomes, under the voice's scrutiny, proof of my social inadequacy. A work presentation that went well becomes evidence that I'm a fraud who somehow tricked people into thinking I'm competent. The voice excels at worst-case scenarios. A friend doesn't text back immediately? They're done with you. You said something wrong. You always do. A minor mistake at work? You're going to get fired. Everyone will know you're a failure. It's like having a terrorist living in your brain, constantly threatening catastrophe, constantly predicting doom, constantly ensuring you never feel safe or secure or good enough. The Isolation of Internal War The cruelest aspect of this kind of suffering is how invisible it is. People would tell me I seemed confident, capable, successful. They had no idea that inside, I was being shredded by my own thoughts every moment of every day. They couldn't hear the voice telling me I was worthless even as I smiled and nodded in conversation. I couldn't explain it. How do you tell someone, "I'm being abused by my own mind"? How do you articulate that you're in constant psychological pain from a source no one else can see or hear? I tried once, to explain to my partner why I'd been quiet and withdrawn. "My thoughts are really mean to me," I said, and immediately felt ridiculous. It sounded childish, trivial. He looked confused. "So... just think different thoughts?" he suggested, genuinely trying to help. If only it were that simple. You can't just "think different thoughts" when your entire neural architecture is wired for self-attack. It's like telling someone with a broken leg to "just walk normally." The system itself is damaged. So I stopped trying to explain. I suffered alone, in my head, where the voice could continue its assault without witnesses, without intervention, without mercy. The Breaking Point The crisis came on an ordinary Tuesday morning. I was getting ready for work, and the voice was particularly vicious. Criticizing my appearance, my clothes, my body, my hair, my face. Nothing was right. Everything was wrong. I looked in the mirror and heard: You're disgusting. No wonder no one could ever really love you. You're fundamentally unlovable. You should just give up. And something in me broke. Not dramatically—there was no sudden decision or moment of clarity. I just... couldn't anymore. I couldn't carry this voice one more day. I couldn't live in a head that hated me. I couldn't survive this internal war. I called in sick to work, made an emergency appointment with a therapist, and said the words I'd never said out loud before: "I think my thoughts are trying to kill me." Understanding the Enemy My therapist didn't look surprised. She'd heard this before. She had a name for it: "toxic internal critic" or what some call the "inner critic gone rogue." "It's a part of you that developed to protect you," she explained. "When you were young and facing criticism or rejection, this voice internalized those messages to help you avoid future pain. If it criticized you first, you'd be prepared for others' criticism. If it kept you small and controlled, you'd avoid rejection." The voice had started as a misguided protector. But over decades, it had become a tyrant. She taught me about cognitive distortions—the ways anxious and depressed brains systematically distort reality to confirm negative beliefs. My internal voice used all of them: All-or-nothing thinking: "If you're not perfect, you're a complete failure." Catastrophizing: "One mistake means everything will fall apart." Mind reading: "Everyone is judging you negatively." Personalization: "Everything bad that happens is your fault." Understanding these patterns didn't make the voice stop. But it helped me recognize that the voice wasn't telling truth—it was filtering reality through the lens of trauma, fear, and distorted thinking.
By Ameer Moavia7 days ago in Psyche
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