Duality

Different versions of me.

While pondering the mystery of memories, it occurred to me the trauma diary was from a time period where I was essentially living two different lives, at an age that was still trying to make sense of one. Two personalities would emerge, each becoming more distinct as I aged, with a third personality that hides in the shadows.

The summer in between elementary and middle school I lived with my Dad in town. It wasn’t a huge town, nor all that far away from my country home. It still forced my country bumpkin brain to learn the ways of ‘townie’ and make friends that weren’t necessary accustomed to the wild lurking outside the city limits. I had to pretend to be afraid of bugs, curse the weather for ruining plans, and learn to ignore the sounds of traffic (every car made me look out the window, thinking we had guests). The hardest adjustment of all? Being around people all the time.

At first this new way of life was jarring and confusing. There was nowhere to run when the noises and neighbors overwhelmed me. I had my own bedroom, sure. Just not a secluded space where I couldn’t be found. Eventually, though, I settled in to the convenience of town life and learned how to cope. I found the hidden wooded areas, and taught my new friends to dance in the rain like wild children. I learned and I grew.

At the end of the summer, I begrudgingly returned to my country home. I had learned to live in town, and my peaceful countryside now felt like isolation instead of comfort. The real punishment came when school started, and I entered the dreaded middle school.

Middle school damaged us all, I think. That time in our lives where we’re under huge pressure from our brains, bodies, and others to make decisions. Who will you be? What will you know? How will you succeed? That pocket of time where you’re still just a child, but need to think about taking on adult responsibilities. The preteen years, where you can’t appease yourself most days, let alone your friends, parents, or teachers.

So while I didn’t have any specific traumas that were particularly horrible, the ping ponging back and forth between country and town, mom and dad, and even separate sets of friends took it’s toll. Dualities and different personalities started to emerge. I was good, I was bad. Friendly, yet also mean (feral, even…some would simply call it ‘emotional’). I could find peace anywhere, but nowhere.

These dualities only grew as I got older. Worse, they became more fractured. I was not a country girl nor a small town girl. I was not good or bad. Somewhere in my adult years, the two personalities settled into something that resembled “Professional” and “Personal”.

Each are a hot mess, struggling to find where they belong. Professional is driven, makes friends easily, and is usually careful what she says for fear of being seen negatively. Sometimes the mask slips, though, and Personal blurts out something stupid. Personal is usually reserved, sharing secrets only with a select few. She likes to be alone, and loves to ponder things. She’s emotional and demanding, which is why she’ll occasionally bleed onto Professional, often in detrimental ways. Personal also believes in Magic, even when Professional denies it.

The third personality I call Writer, which I imagine was some leftover piece of childhood that wanted to balance the other two personalities. She existed as an overflow for feelings and desires that couldn’t exist comfortably in the other two personalities. To be successful in public, yet remain anonymous. She wanted to be taken seriously, but also speak honestly and be creatively. Mostly she just wants to be left alone. She also believes in Magic, but usually in a fictional sense.

These three versions fracture me, the wounds of this early split having never healed. They overlap and over talk each other, making harmony difficult. They all want to be heard. I want nothing more than those fractures to come together, to make me whole again.

While we should all have those masks we wear to be able to maneuver life with others, in a community or a casual bunch of friends, there should be a part of us that always shines through and overlaps. The big picture of our personalities, not just the things we accomplished publicly or things we thought about privately. The summary of a person we’ll be remembered for.

That’s the point of this publication, really. To share my thoughts and experiences, public and private, creatively as a whole person. Maybe one day we’ll get there.

Two blooming Tiger Lily flowers on the same plant, each with unique features but both with stunning colors. A third bud appears at the top, a flower not yet opened.