I don’t know anymore

Nobody spends time with someone who sits around in his room all day with too much things on his mind, and too much garbage spread all around him. Nobody spends time with me. Probably there’s too much trash inside of my mind too. No one wants to spend time with me. No one does, and no one will. That’s what those two voices inside of my head always say.

They’ve been inside of my head since god knows when. Two voices that sound familiar, sometimes they’re warm and at other times, cold. They’re both unstable.

Their warmth comes in the form of diverting me from productivity. It’ll be too much, they said. It’s going to take too much time, too much effort. It’ll be better to just give up before you even start, they said. That’s what warmth is to them. Or maybe that’s the part of their being that isn’t cold. I don’t know.

They could be cold too, very cold. They’ll shit on me for getting up from bed too early to do anything. They’d rather have me roll around on the floor, on all of the filth that I’ve amassed since forever, than have me stand up to wash my face. They’d make my muscles tense up whenever I take morning walks, they’d make my head hurt if I try to smile. But I don’t really feel tormented. I’m used to it already.

Most of the time they don’t show themselves to me, but I think they look like me. I think they have the same eyes as me. And eyes are important, they’re the windows to one’s self. But I don’t know what I’d see if I peered into theirs. I know that they have my eyes, and my ears, and my mouth too, but I think they don’t see the cracked, moldy walls of my room, I don’t think they could hear the two of them screaming at each other every time I try close my eyes, and I definitely don’t think they utter the same prayers that I do every time their screams start to make me trembling all over my body. I think they don’t look like me, maybe we’re not alike after all.

And they say I think too much, but I think it’s not that I think too much, I just have to think more than most people when two fucked up things are screaming out evil things in unison. I don’t know what to do about it, yes, but I’m going to let myself get used to all the screaming first. Maybe it’s silent from the outside, but in here it’s the only thing I could hear. And maybe it’s not them that’s fucked up, it’s me.

                It’s lonely here, but this is all I need. A constant, silent bickering between two formless entities inside of me.

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