“You have to paint yourself.”

What? Who said that?

“Your profile. You have to paint your profile. Eyes closed. Black background.”

I stop what I’m doing. I sigh. Here we go again.

It’s… cue the scary music… that voice again.

The one that appears out of absolute nowhere, demanding I paint or do something RIGHT NOW. She starts out quietly enough, but give her a minute and she becomes a full-blown lunatic, hell-bent on pestering me until I give in.

I can already hear my husband saying, “You do that to me all the time.”

And my younger sister chiming in, “You used to do that to me when we were little.”

It’s not me, guys. It’s the voice.

How do you think I feel having to listen to her day after day, night after night? You only get the occasional visit. I get the whole residency. She’s constantly talking, explaining why I should do something and how I should do it.

The only way to silence her is to just…DO IT.

“Fine. I’ll paint my profile.”

I stop whatever painting I was working on, and I paint that self-portrait she wanted. And, of course, it goes well. I really like it actually. It’s peaceful, simple, beautiful. Finally, I can get back to my life in peace and quiet.

Months later…

“You have to turn that self-portrait into an abstract.”

At that moment, I’m peacefully doing something other than destroying a painting.

“No,” I say. “Absolutely not.”

But the voice begins her hellish campaign of badgering. I hold my ground.

Until I don’t.

Next thing I know, I’m blacking out parts of the portrait and adding all kinds of abstract lines and shapes. The voice grows quieter, more agreeable.

“Yes, just like that,” she purrs. “Perfect.”

See below.

At last, she’s quiet. For now.

This is a true story. There is a voice inside me that does exactly what I just described. Over and over again. The only way to shut her up is to do what she says.

Sometimes I feel bad for my sister for having to deal with it when we were kids. Sometimes I feel bad for my husband when my “great ideas” strike out of nowhere at 10 p.m. And sometimes I feel bad for myself, for having to listen to her every single day.

Especially when she convinces me to ruin a perfectly good painting.

In reality though, the voice has helped me more than not. She’s pushed me in directions I never would’ve tried. She’s relentless, but she gets things done.

I’d credit her for at least a thousand failed paintings.

But I’d also credit her for every success.