There was a voice that lived inside my head. Although it now lies dormant, I remember the times it would find its way into my heart, cause confusion, and then disturb all the things I hold dear. This voice was inherited, rooted in fear, and heavily influenced by my mother and society. Her lived experience had tainted and shifted my perception of community before I even had the chance to experience the true joys of connection. As I leaned heavily into superstition, which would eventually transform into paranoia, I lost my grasp on reality. I know I am not alone. As a capitalist society steeped in blood, America conditions us to prioritize self and fear the unseen. 

My mother is not a natural-born citizen of the United States. She was born and raised in Accra, Ghana. In her early thirties, she immigrated to America, the land of the so-called free and the home of the so-called brave. Like many immigrants, my mother dreamed of creating a better life for herself and her family. She did not bring much besides a few clothes, photos, and her unwavering connection to spirituality. She saw this opportunity as a blessing from God. Unbeknownst to my mother, America was far from the idealized version of endless possibility that numerous people fantasize about. America is a land without promise; it takes without offering anything in exchange. Leaving home and starting over in a foreign country is not easy. As my mother attempted to forge a new life for herself, hardships, rejection, and religious psychosis forced her away from the beauty of community.

America’s rebrand as the cornucopia of prosperity and acceptance denies the true nature of this country, which is deeply rooted in exploitation and alienation. From racial violence to eugenics, America thrives on defining the “other” and denying marginalized communities access to the benefits of society. Our current economic system fixates on class structures and the denial of forward mobility. In a capitalist society, the well-being of its citizens always comes after the accumulation of wealth and the maintenance of the dominant power structure. Capitalism can not thrive in a well-connected community, so we are indoctrinated to lean on ourselves rather than each other. Community can give way to upheaval of outdated operations rooted in greed, which would mean the end of capitalism. Therefore, we are taught to see each other as a danger to independence. Once my mother experienced the isolating nature of hyper-individualism, out of misguided kindness, she sought to kill her children’s need for companionship. 

I remember the constant reminders that my friends were never really my friends. They were people with hidden agendas, or in other words, “monitoring spirits” preying on my downfall. All my missteps were at the fault of the company I keep, and I needed to be mindful of the thoughts I chose to share. I believed in keeping my cards close, not revealing my passions, ideas, or accomplishments until everything was set in stone. My superstition began to take an ugly shape: paranoia. My mother’s conscious bias seemed to seep into the deepest depths of my psyche, and I was filled with distrust. I was unable to form friendships beyond the surface level. I struggled to open up; someone would get too close, and I would push them away. There was always this wall between me and people. I felt so unbelievably alone. I was stuck with such heavy emotions, with no one to turn to.

More and more, there is a societal push for isolation, especially through social media; phrases eager to monopolize dissension infiltrate our screens. “Moving in silence,” for instance, encourages individuals to privatize their goals and personal growth without external validation. Although there is an element of protection, social media has twisted the concept into superstitious propaganda. We are prompted to hide our ambitions and achievements until everything is finalized. However, during those moments of hiding, we miss those small words of encouragement from our friends and family that help us stay focused. We miss those sweet moments of affection that sometimes are the only thing holding us together. It’s easy to forget the warmth of community when we’re too busy obsessing over the unseen. And while we try to protect ourselves, we deny ourselves the pleasure of intimate connections. The people or “spirits” stalking my pages have no power over me or you. When we lose ourselves to paranoia, reality drifts further away, and these imaginary forces win. 

When we pursue alienation, we cut ourselves off from genuine celebration. Some people love us, want to celebrate our highs, and pick us up when we are low. They desire the best for us. At times, I’m even overcome with guilt over the walls I used to build. I can only imagine the heart-aching whiplash my friends got from my emotional retreat. I am still mourning over lost connections and experiences; I am still grieving over the what-ifs. I know the loneliness I felt could have been alleviated if I had allowed my community to pour into me, like I had always yearned for.

Through trusting each other, we find identity, support, and belonging. There is no hidden enemy or nefarious plot—it is all in our heads. Silence will never be for me. I choose to move in noise, and I prefer to love my people loudly.