Dissociative Identiy Disorder- A disorder characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states.

I haven’t a slight clue who the hell I am anymore? It dawned on me this evening while I was smoking. I looked at my cigarette and just was shocked and ashamed that I involved myself in something I used to despise? It’s whats been making me wake up every single day, handle the next heaping pile of shit I would be presented for that day. I can’t even remember the first time I picked up a cigarette and thought it was even a good idea? I don’t know when it spiraled into a full blown addiction. My mind is clouded with dark clouds of discontempt. I don’t even know when that began? I was not always the happiest kid in the world, I had my issues and needed to resolve them in my own way. But when, in the hell, did this become an acceptable solution?

I dug through the recesses of my mind to consider to options that would have morphed me into whoever the hell this is? I was cheated on before, quite some time ago, by the girl of my dreams and I’m wondering if that was a trigger. But I’m pretty certain it was a habit in formation before we said our goodbyes. So when did I swap? I had an issue in my very first years of college struggling with feelings for a girl I could never be with. Then the rage built and I formed an alternate version of myself. I called him Jackson Cross, I don’t know where that name came from or how it was formulated but I remember writing poetry for the longest time while I was wrestling with his influence on me.

I remember my conversations with him as I carelessly speed down the highway. He was always unkind and really knew how to bring me down. I would consult him often when I was in dire situations of stress. He would make me feel better. Mock me for begging for his help as he wiped away my emotions. Anger would fester inside me. My demeanor would change. I no longer cared about really anything. I wanted so badly for the pain to just go away that I would entrust him with the very essence of my life. I would consult him alone in the bathroom when I shooed him away. He would cackle and laugh saying that he was no longer an option for me.

I would beg daily for him to just take over. Disassemble the very fabrication of my existence. I no longer wanted to be me. I wanted to be him. He could swoon the ladies, end a fist fight, and commit felonies. All without a blink of his eye. I so badly desired his assistance. I just couldn’t stand being me anymore. He would try his hardest sometimes to take over but he was never strong enough, even though I gave him all the power. He could only be triggered. I tried to listen to the track that triggered him literally all night long while I slept. With the very faint hope I would wake up and be no more. Just become him.

They say its not real for me and perhaps they are right, no one goes and creates an alternate version of themselves out of thin air. I somehow managed to pull off such a feat right down to the trigger, the change in posture, personality, attitude, hell even my voice was altered. I do not know if it is possible to have such a case but it got me to wondering rather unexpectedly.

Who is in the front seat now?

I’ve struggled for some time with the notion that this life is no longer mine. I feel like a ghost slipping through time completely unaware of the surrounding tragedies before me. I hate who I am constantly, and wish I was someone else. Did I somehow pull that off? Would I even be aware of such a feat? I am so unexplainably confused I don’t even know what could be fabrication and what could be reality anymore. When did that become a problem? Why is it only this evening the thought even slip through my mind.

Who could it possibly be, from my studies of characterization I crafted several to be a fantastic piece for a story and am now wondering if I am completely crazy? Did I somehow slip away while someone else took my place? Ha. I’m probably a disgrace and very wrong. But I can’t help but feel that something is very wrong with who I am now? I don’t at all feel like myself and maybe I’m making shit up to cover up the real issues but I’m fascinated by the very notion that something is wrong with me.

I can’t explain really anything anymore. I don’t know why I think of the terrible things that I do. I don’t know why I fabricate such treasonous stories in my mind on the simplest of possibilities. I can’t believe the weight in my chest every day I know I have to get up and face the decaying world in all it’s glory. I don’t know why I always feel like I’m constantly a passenger in my own life. Rolling with the punches presented to me with the very (small) possibility that tomorrow could be any different from today.

I guess its not really up to you guys to make conclusions on the facts I present you as I know I am not well known, but I can’t help but wonder. What is really going on with me now?

Who am I??
~Inspired by “Secret Window” by Stephen King

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