Me: You're an idiot. Me: I am not! You just don't understand me... Me: *sigh* I'm the only one who makes any sense around here.

I've been keeping journals since I was about 13. They're not necessarily like "diaries", I don't commit to writing in them every day or anything, and I don't just record what I've been up to. But I've found that writing helps me sort out and separate my thoughts and emotions. It's totally un-structured, sometimes rambling, weird little tidbits here and there that I try to match up with eachother to get legitimate thoughts out of my scrambled brain and onto linear, organized paper. Sometimes I use it to whine about things that are bumming me out or pissing me off or confusing me. Sometimes I use it to remind myself of things I should keep in mind when making important decisions or handling delicate matters. Like song lyrics...(journal entries in red)

"Do yourself a favor, become your own savior" - Daniel Johnston "It's in the hiding place she finds in preparation for the storm, and in the way she prays for hell, so at least she can be warm" - Jared Mees
or to-do lists that will surely lead to my eternal unwavering happiness,
Steps to not being so miserable:

Step 1. Learn to cook. It's a two-fer, because you'll eat healthier AND be proud of yourself for aquiring a domestic quality.

Step 2. Talk it out with Ivy, Icarus, or Earl. They love you as much as you love them (for suresies) and they always agree/sympathize/got your back.

Ivy Mae Icarus, a.k.a "Sticky Icky"
EARL THE MONSTER!!!....who smiles for pictures :)

As you can see, my journal is not a place which restricts irrational thinking. But it IS a place to grasp for straws to make myself feel happier or more balanced, or to vent or record ideas. Which is good enough for me. Plus, no one ever gets to read them; sometimes not even me. I just write it out, read it over, get what I get out of it, and move on. Sometimes I give myself some pretty good ideas this way, or resolve some negative feelings, or (most of the time) ramble on about what's going on in my head until I'm sick of writing about it, and therefore sick of thinking about it. Every now and then though, I do read back over what I thought about things a couple years ago, or last summer, or last Tuesday. While doing this, I've noticed a very strange pattern in communication with myself...

It's like there's been something hiding in my journal all along, that even I didn't know about. And the author of a journal is supposed to know about EVERYTHING that's going on in there, right? That's what I thought. Until I discovered....

*deep breath*

.

.

.

I have journal split personalities.

And I never noticed WHILE writing them.

Creepy?

Yes. Creepy indeed.

I have realistic, brutally honest, abrasive me, who talks like,

"You knew in the beginning where this would lead you, and now you're acting all surprized?"

and, "If you could just start paying attention to all the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, maybe you wouldn't make yourself look like such a goddamn fool all the time. Ever think of that?"

and, "Fuck you, you stupid fucking fucker."

I know. Harsh, right? What a bitch.

And it's all directed at bummed out, confused, but more eloquent me, who talks like,

"Is it better for me to have the experience and learn from it, even if the result could be horrifying?"

and, "Maybe I should just stop trying, that way at least whatever happens won't be my fault, which makes it not so bad"

and, "I wish sometimes that the immediate positive effects of a situation didn't make me blind to the should-be-obvious consequenses later..."

I know. Pathetic, right? Poor sad emo kid.

THE POINT: Notice the difference in how I address myself?

When I'm being mean to me, I yell at myself like I was someone else, and I'm all sarcastic and nasty.

When I'm defending/explaining/whining/making excuses for myself, I refer to myself in the first person. And I almost never swear.

But wait.

It gets creepier.

I have actual conversations with MYSELF as TWO PEOPLE.

For example:

"You just need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your lazy ass in gear to do the things you know you need to do. No one cares about all this bullshit you're worried about, and neither should you. I mean, it's not like I can't see how I got here, and how to get away from here, but when I'm confused and uncomfortable with everything, it's so difficult to be right in the middle of it and try to make a move. But if you weren't so busy sitting around being a crybaby all day, maybe you'd have time to take care of all the things that are upsetting you in the first place, one by one, and the situation wouldn't seem as difficult and huge as you're making it in your batshit crazy head. I try to be positive, and I know this is just another chapter that is bound to end, but I'm torn between riding it out and waiting for it to solve itself or taking action and risking making things worse. And it's like come on, are you really so stupid you don't even realize you're digging yourself a hole, and so pathetic that you're crying because you're holding a shovel and your clothes are all dirty?"

See how smooth the transitions between my selves are? I guess because I always just spew out whatever comes to mind without any filter I never noticed whether I was refering to myself as "I" or "you" while I was writing it.

I know what you're thinking.

"This bitch has serious mental health issues that should be addressed promptly."

And I am not offended by your thought, because I thought the very same thing. Because it gets even worse. Beacuse ACTUAL me kind of hates both of those other me's.

They're like the extreme polar opposites of my personality having a neverending slap-fight over who has better ideas.

They're like Daria vs. Eeyore.

They're like that hipster fucker at the used record store and the timid girl who never looks you in the eyes at the vintage clothing store.

They're like moods I get into, but fully represented as personalities.

I like the actual everyday me much better. The actual me is realistic, but cuts me some slack, too. Not overly negative, not too sappy. But for some reason, actual me doesn't play a big part in my journal. Actual me hangs out in my head. The me in my head is like,

"Chill out, girl. Everythings gonna be OK. Go for a walk, get some coffee, listen to your ipod, and people watch for awhile."

Now that is helpful advice. That makes me feel better. There's nothing INSANE about that.

But wait.

Does that make three of me, total?

Yes it does.

Crazy people can do simple math, too.