Who Is The Main Character In 'What Is Coprolalia?: A Misunderstood Symptom'?

"Look, chat! The rich guy who lives in this fancy apartment is secretly a pervert who gropes college girls!" As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, my neighbor Yvonne Shaw cornered me at the door. She tugged at her collar while crying to the camera. "Chat, this is where the guy lives! Just now in the elevator, he covered my mouth and groped me all over... If the elevator door hadn't opened in time, he would have dragged me back to his place!" The comments section exploded, the screen filled with curses aimed at my husband. But later, in court, when they saw my husband who had lost both arms saving someone five years ago... They were all dumbfounded.

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.

My new patient, Lydia Baldwin, has called the police 99 times. Her voice trembles with fear as she says, "My son has a mole on his neck, but the one now doesn't! My husband used to throw up at the smell of cilantro. But now, he eats it every day and even enjoys it! "They are impostors! Why won't the police arrest them?" I am deeply shocked. Because just half an hour earlier, I met her son. He had dark circles under his eyes as he handed me Lydia's medical records. "My mom has Alzheimer's disease. She doesn't just forget things now. She talks nonsense too. Please, you have to help her come to her senses." But I specialize in treating Alzheimer's. Lydia's memory is sharp. Her logic is clear and well-supported. She isn't sick at all.

Being a mute used to be simple before all the craziness started. I just can't talk and that's who I am. Mum has learned to accept that and I guess so have I. Everything was just fine in my high school in Shanghai. I had finally made it to year twelve and even though I was in China, I was actually being treated as a human being despite my disability. Things were definitely not perfect but I would give anything to go back to that, like it was before. I heard my first voice that year, right at the beginning of year 12. I didn’t really have any real friends, but I was used to it and before the voices started, I was fine with that. But it all changed when I first heard them. The voices inside their heads started then and my life was never the same. They weren't just thinking about school or they girls or guys they were into, no they were thinking about doing things, doing horrible things to each other and I was the only one that knew how messed up they really were.

Ever since I was little, I have been able to hear what human organs were saying. My sickly roommate was overjoyed when she found out about this. “Lena, you can hear organs talk, and I’ve got gastritis. You must’ve been sent by the heavens to protect me! From now on, I’m putting my health in your hands, okay?” After that, she came up with endless ways to make me wait on her. “Lena, I sent you the pickup code. You know I have gastritis. I can’t walk too much.” “Lena, I want pasta tomorrow. Make sure you hurry back with it. If it gets cold, it’ll hurt my stomach.” Every time, I would simply let out a sigh and agree. It was until one day, when I came back after grabbing something to eat, I accidentally overheard her talking on the phone. “What, organs talking? If Lena could really hear them, wouldn’t she have figured out that I’m faking it by now? If she wants to play along, I’ll play along too. “Some people are born to be the heroine of the story. Others are born to be servants. Perfect timing. I picked out a dress today. Just watch how I get her to pay for it.” I pretended I had not heard a thing, I pushed open the door. The moment she saw me, tears welled up in her eyes. “You’re finally back! Lena, I asked ChatGPT today and it said my gastritis has progressed into a stomach ulcer. I might not have much time left. “There’s this three thousand dollar dress I’ve wanted forever. Consider it compensation for neglecting me. Think of it as granting my final wish!” I let out a sigh and placed the order for her anyway. The instant I checked out the item, I caught the smug look in her eyes. She thought I was stupid. What she did not know was that I really could hear her stomach speaking. It had been telling me that it was turning cancerous.

When I'm seven years old, my dad turns me in to the Court Judgment of the Born Wicked because of my tendency to vomit. If I'm found guilty, my blood ties with my dad will be forcibly severed. Then, I'll be sent to prison. Everyone claims that Dad is just making a fuss over nothing. "Your daughter is still so young, so it's natural for her to fall ill. As a father, you should be more considerate toward her." But when the evidence is shown, everyone clamps up immediately. There was once when Dad drank so much to the point he suffered from gastric bleeding. The business contract that he managed to convince his client to sign was all soiled because I vomited on him as soon as he got home. Thanks to me, the contract was voided. Dad got fired on the spot. During Bryce Fuller, my older brother's birthday, I vomited onto his birthday cake in front of his classmates. Because of that, Bryce was isolated by all of his classmates. He became so depressed that he tried to slit his wrist in an attempt to take his own life. I'll keep vomiting everywhere, be it at the dining table or on my bed. Dad and Bryce have to clean me up more than 30 times every day. They suffer greatly because of me. What angers everyone the most is that after I'm done vomiting, I'll laugh at everyone in a provocative manner. The judge gives his verdict instantly, claiming that I'm wicked by nature. Bryce's eyes redden immediately. As he cries, he tells me that he can't bear to see me leaving him. I never shed any tears, nor do I throw a tantrum. Instead, I accept the judge's verdict calmly, but with a prerequisite condition that the judge finishes watching my memories. The judge is shocked, to say the least. "We'll have to crack your skull open in order to extract your memories. You'll be in a world of pain. Are you sure about that?" I nod in determination. But Bryce, on the other hand, looks alarmed. "I won't agree to that!"