I am not always me. Or at least, I am not always what I would like to consider Myself. There are times when others seize control and bear my name for a time. Each has a knowledge of its short span of existence, yet none wish to relinquish control. They all utilize their energy to put forth thoughts that increase their domain and to retard Myself from resisting.
This is not a simple as it sounds. Myself does not simply get jumped and thrown into a cage to rattle the bars until the captor is weary. Each intruder acts as a friend, a protector against outside attackers that Myself cannot handle. Maybe they are. I am not sure of the consequences of defeating them before they take over, but one thing I know: they each bring pain. That is the similarity between them, that they each incur pain. For this I do not trust them. Cliche as it is, there happen to be three major players, all unnamed. I am glad they are, for if given a name, they might develop further identity and result in Multiple Personality Disorder. As it is, they are more like personifications of a single emotion. There is no order to them, but I will start with the first one I remember appearing. For the sake of simplicity, he will be called Anger.
Anger was incredibly active in my youth, appearing often and without warning. For a number of reasons, he has become relatively inactive in recent years. He is the most outwardly destructive of the three. His weapon is fire. It immediately burns through my bones at any spark. A simple injury, a small comment, or even a slight facial expression can give anger the boost he needs to take over. His fire adds strength to my marrow and passion to my mind. Justification seems natural and correctness becomes absolute. In this way he tricks me into believing my sense of judgement has been righted, when in fact it has been skewed by the loss of reason. His rage is devastating to my environment, but while he is in control, my environment no longer matters. My life feels warm and full. He uses this fact to forestall his leaving. When there is nothing around for him to rage against, he will remind me of how empty and cold I will feel without him. He's incorrect though. After eating, sleeping, or a long time alone in thought, he will die down, and I don't always feel frozen. Sometimes I feel better, although guilty for the damage I let him cause. Other times, he gives his reign directly over to another. He is Sorrow.
A crafty mindset, Sorrow can use any situation to assist his plight. He takes good and bad in and around me to bring me down into the blue. With him I drown. He enjoys making me cry. Do not forget that he is me, so although I might say he enjoys my suffering, I'm not sure if "enjoy" is the correct term because there is no happiness for him. To be more precise, he exists to create misery. Most common after too much social interaction, Sorrow is a horrid companion, saying he is perfectly fine and giving no reason for his remoteness. Although uncomfortable for others, he is most damaging to the inside. He works in words, giving a constant stream of insults and discouragement, and allowing Myself to join in somewhat. The only reason he does so is to have more material to feed off of. Sorrow takes every subsection of sadness and applies it to me: failure, loneliness, defeat, despair, etcetera. Imagination is a prime weapon he holds. Images of self-injury, commonly by sword, are his most common tactic. He can be staved off by eating and sleeping as well, but he grows from internal conversation, giving him a longer time period of control as long as he can get me to avoid his physical weaknesses. After he has worn out, he leaves me with little energy, creating a perfect situation for the final oppressor to swoop in: Dark.
Dark has the shortest but most direct period of control. He tempts me into whatever dark deed he feels currently easiest to accomplish and then flees, normally allowing Sorrow to regain control off of guilt. Although he works the fastest, his weapons are slow. He implants molasses in the veins. This does not create apathy though, because that would defeat his purpose. When Dark is around, the molasses is more like honey, with a sweet taste and a golden glow that softens sharp points that contradict Dark's position. The closer Dark gets to his goal, the more honey he pours on, filling my veins until very little opposing thought remains. Without words, he promises an endless supply of the honey he uses for completing a single act. Of course, he lies. Once the act is finished, he leaves and the honey sours. The golden glow turns brown and the sweet taste turns into guilt. The molasses is thick, sticky, and flammable, creating a perfect situation for Anger to ignite or for Sorrow to drown. Dark is the most dangerous of the three. He is very adaptive to the situation, quickest to finish, and hardest to detect. Anger and Sorrow willingly show themselves to whoever is around, but Dark prefers to remain hidden, so that no outside forces will trifle with his dominion. Even worse, I have not found an easy cure as of yet. He is only able to be beaten if completely ignored in his early stages. Once I have given in, Dark is nearly impossible to stop. He is also the most destructive. Traces of his molasses stick with me, influencing my decisions for wrong and clouding my vision even without his presence. Unfortunately, he is also the most insistent, leaving for no more than a few days at once.
I do not know life without them. I might never do so. If they are indeed a part of Myself, they may be resilient to complete defeat as long as I exist. I do not enjoy their presence nor their after-effects, and so I continue to fight them as much as I can. In a small way, I can be grateful for them. Their continual interference has allowed me to develop a fuller understanding of the emotions they represent, increasing my acting ability.
Forward ho, I continue to fight to stay Myself.
Wish me luck.
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