the other me

[prismaticbleed]

There's a song by FROST* with this same title.
The lyrics are obviously about bearing a child, but... well, I was listening to it yesterday morning and it suddenly had an entirely new meaning for me.
Here's the explanation.


"I got the news today
Elsewhere I am dividing
Feels like my world is ending
I've made another me."

Who said individuals form solely from birth? I'm one of the unfortunate few that periodically find new faces in their mind.
Yes, I got the news; apparently I've fragmented some aspect of myself again. The last time this happened my entire world flipped upside down... I have, quite literally, made another me.

"Warm, red, barely dead
Thoughts running through my other head
Fingers twitching, muscle building
I've made me obsolete"

This holds a very, very unusual meaning for me.
The 'warm, red, barely dead' part actually refers to me... after Laurie finishes her work, that is. The 'other head' in this case is therefore (obviously) hers. She's absolutely, entirely alive up there, whether or not her fingers and muscle are physical.
My sense of 'self,' my perception of 'me,' is indeed obsolete. How many 'selves' do I have now, mind?

"Relive my life
I feel safer inside"

This makes me think of that one explodingdog comic... 'the time machine is an illusion; you must live with your regrets. Life is perfect that way.'
This is true, but some nights I still find myself staring into the mirror, overwhelmed by this horrible need to literally relive my life. I've made so many bad choices, so many mistakes... but I suppose I wouldn't have the life I do now had I not experienced them.
Regardless, I still feel safer inside. Up in my head, lost in all those other worlds... reality is frightening to me still.

"And the things I see
Hidden in the chemistry
Is there anybody I can believe?
And the eyes I see
As I face the other me
Is there anybody I can call me?"

This gets abstract for a bit. The 'things... hidden in the chemistry' makes me think of all the terrible, wonderful, mind-shaking things that ONLY they know... those other forms of me. It's frightening how much they hide. Still, everyone around me warns me of them, warns me that they lie-- and they retort that they are speaking in earnest; the psychologists and counselors and other sirens are the ones who spit falsehoods. Who in the world do I believe? Who is truly right?
As for the eyes I see... it's true. The eyes are the window to the soul, and the ones I see aren't mine.
Who am I? Seriously, who is 'me?'

"No longer this year's newest type
Superseded, absent hype
Spoilt, faded, over ripe
I'm so much older news"

Ah, my favorite line. 'This is old news.' How fitting! How often do I talk about this stuff? How much cash have I spent on medical bills surrounding my mind, thinking that there's a problem to be fixed somewhere?
The hype, the panic is gone... this is just old news now, for everyone but me.

"Evolution come around
Jury trial by ultrasound
My handiwork will hunt me down
And masquerade as me"

Evolution occurs in two ways, I laughably state-- Freud and Pokemon. I can either change slowly over a long period of time, adapting to changes and difficulties, hopefully becoming something greater... or I can instantaneously warp into a newer, stronger, maybe even better 'me' with no specific care for my surroundings.
I'm a fusion of both. I've been slowly changing since my childhood, altering this aspect and that facet, trying desperately to find a happy medium-- a final, better conclusion. All the while, though, my mind is snapping into strange new things, faces who did not exist a moment before. I am still hoping for a future but the top floor is caving in from all the angry third-stagers, so to speak... and not all of them are good.
I may not have had an ultrasound to my head, but I've had catscans, MRIs and God knows what else. 'Let's see if something's up!' Everything looks fine according to the 'jury,' it seems. The verdict is against me.
Lastly... we have my nightmare. How many times have I expressed abject terror about 'someone else driving?' I won't touch alcohol, I'm perpetually wary of drugs, even anesthesia frightens me. Anything that blurs the boundaries opens a door for someone else to step up and take the wheel.
As a child, I cannot tell you how many times I would panic over Julie somehow 'becoming' me... that apocalyptic scenario where I would be completely fine, sure... but I would be locked upstairs. She'd have full control over the physical me, masquerading as the individual most know me as. I am still terrified of that possibility.

"Relive my life
I feel safer inside"

Not to mention the fact that I also have no idea how to deal with 99% of humanity, it seems...

"Now one on one has made us three
I look away, too sick to see
Our faces staring back at me
My little Frankenstein."

When I heard that first line as I was driving, my spine froze. It's a sick sort of equation when applied to me.
See, there has never been just one 'me.' Even as a child, there was the 'me' I would physically live as, and the 'me' upstairs... but only the latter was genuine. I clearly remember sitting in class, silent from the time I walked in the door to the time the dismissal bell rang, and my mind was a nonstop whirlwind of thought. I would be called on to answer a question or state my opinion, and I would either mumble a generic reply or remain silent... all the while thinking 'that's not something you would say!' 'Why don't you just say what you mean?' It was always a battle, never truly won, never truly lost.
Then one day I woke up and someone else was up there... someone with blonde hair. One on one has made us three.
That started everything.
It makes me sick, it does. 'Our' faces are there in all of them-- my face, your face, her face-- anyone and everyone who had a hand in forming that new me. A true Frankenstein's monster; a fragment with no 'true' life, hellbent on chasing me down.

"I sit alone beside the cage
And try to fight with all my rage
End of story, turn the page
I'm not the one you want.."

Whenever someone asks me what the 'room' in my head looks like, I have no answer. To me, everything is just... white.
But it's not a cage, this strange colorless place... my tiny room of solitude, my escape from the outside. My body is. And as far as I'm concerned, I'm completely separate from it, at least in mind, sitting beside it in desperation.
I'm alone in this room sometimes, in the dark, fighting without words. Why can't I change this? Why can't she go away forever? Why can't I escape for good? Endless panic, sorrow and desperation... but the rage goes to Laurie.
My rage. That's who I'm fighting the demons with... her. And yet I'm still so paradoxically alone, so I'm told.
Either way, I can't ignore it. It's the end of the story, the end of the old me. It's time to turn the page and start something new.
I'm still not the one you want... no, not yet...
...But I know you won't stop until I am.