Trigger warning: depression and suicidal thoughts.
Sometimes I slip into it so slowly that I don’t notice I have changed at all. I am aware that I’m not feeling well and that depression has crept up on me but I’m not aware that ‘my voice’ has changed. I am ‘the other’ and I don’t realise because she feels so familiar to me. She’s like an old friend but I am scared of her. I am scared of feeling this way.
I am calling it ‘the other’ because I don’t know what else to call it, though alter ego would also do. I lived as her for years and I’d forgotten that I had an other-self: myself, the ‘actual’ me, though of course, I am both. I suppose it’s as if my inner voice became more than just that; it materialised into what feels like another person, like my shadow, a nearly identical clone. Her voice is so strong that it silenced my own, she questions my existence.
Who am I and what am I doing here? No really, who am I?
Which one is my real inner voice?
I’m not living, I am surviving. I don’t know why I can’t simply give in and let go. It feels like I’d be so much happier that way when everything stops and I don’t have to exist anymore.
I don’t want to exist; I wish I hadn’t touched people’s lives. I don’t want to leave a gap and hurt and traumatise the people around me but what am I doing here? It feels like the universe made a mistake or perhaps it was a sadistic joke. I shouldn’t be here. I should not be here.
I’m just an empty vessel that has been floating around so I’m perfect to turn into whatever slave you might want. If you listen to me, if you really see me, I’ll give you my life. No one has really seen me before.
What do you see when you look at me? I smile like Mona Lisa and people don’t know how to approach me. Am I scared of you? Am I not interested in you? Do I dislike you? Am I too vulnerable? Do you feel like you can’t even swear in front of me?
It becomes clear that I’m actually really kind. I care about you and the other people around me. If you give it a chance and talk to me I really listen to you. You’ve never had someone listen to you like this before. Perhaps I know you so well because I want to be seen but no one ever does.
I shouldn’t be here. I should not be here. I shouldn’t exist. I shouldn’t be here at all.
So when I get home I slide down against my wall until I reach the floor. The rope slides through my hands and calm settles over me. Me, I, the real me is shaking; tears are streaming down my face but I can’t feel that anymore.
I shouldn’t be here. I should not be here at all.
It feels safe inside this vessel where I can feel nothing at all. It’s telling me what to do and all I have to do is listen. It will all go away and I’ll finally find peace.
It’s not real, I know I want to keep on living. I know, hope that it’s going to be better somehow.
I am feeling so cold. So dizzy. My arms can’t push me up so I drag myself; I crawl over to my bed.
I need to sleep. Lock you away.
I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be here.
I know, I know but we have to. We’ll have to make it somehow.
And I close my eyes.
For twenty minutes, I get to disappear in the darkness of a stream of scary dreams and when I wake up, I wish I could go back. Anywhere is better than here.
I always tell my friends that if it happens it won’t have been me, it will have been ‘the other,’ who I sometimes can’t escape. How can I when she is me? There have been several years in which I didn’t want to live. She and her truth are real too. And can you separate the two above in what I just wrote?
Perhaps we should be one. Will that cease this fight? But how can I when I need to protect myself from the reality of her?
I don’t know how to survive this but I know I always have.