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Sometimes I really think that I may be insane. My mind wires are never not ignited and my thoughts are never fluid. Picture a train station where trains are supposed to show up on time, one by one. My thoughts, however, are more like a pile-up. Rushing at various "stops" or ideas, beliefs, and overall responses to everyday things.
I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 in 2012 and ever since I found that fact about myself, it has been a metaphorical circus. Countless therapists, medications, and other possible alternative reliefs have been a fleeting effort to ultimately live with this ailment. Some days are good, other days are bad, and all the while, waiting to see what the day, hour, or even minute holds when it comes to my responses.
Over the years, I have developed symptoms that can be categorized as "schizophrenic tendencies." I hear voices in my head and it wasn't until the last few years that the voices in which I hear now have personalities. Saying it out loud scares me since I live in a city when people who talk to themselves or act "different" are called crazy. The one thing I don't like is being called "crazy." I like to believe that I am a sane individual; however, looking at my life, it could be equated as crazy.
Picture this. You are in a business meeting. The set up being a roundtable and everyone of your employers and people in power are sitting around it, weighing in on your thoughts, dreams, and ideas. Eventually, the meeting is over and everyone goes home. Not in my case.
My roundtable consists of four people. All were born at various points of my life and have now made imprints in my mind, beliefs, and at times, show who they are in the physical world. Through me, these voices are then channeled into energy and I embody them.
We have Jackie, my everyday self. The one who physically conscious of everything around her. We have Jay, the shy, quiet self that approaches situations with fear and apprehension. Questioning everything and proceeds everything with caution. We have "No Name," angry and pessimistic about everything. She would rather fight and has a very dark side of herself that when situations are unable to handle quickly; she steps up. Forgoing every law or consequence that comes along with it. Then, we have Scarlett. Scarlett is a sultry succubus that will channel any of these "individuals" energy when the situation calls for it. Wild, inhibited, careless, but there is a strength about her that at times will leave me exhausted.
Scarlett was born after trauma and she has grown with me over the years. I know when she will rear her head, through little actions such as putting on contacts whereas I want to wear my glasses or trying hard to be "sexy" through everyday things. Conversations are charged with sex and when I want to curb it, she suppresses me. The "party girl" that never died—only grew more powerful and more reckless.
The following is one instance in which Scarlett takes "over."
Scene: In the bedroom.
Scenario: Having an internal dialogue with my seductive, siren that has been named Scarlett.
Self-hatred and desperation had been my final solution to an already shit cake that had been the past week and some change. Today, I mustered the courage to look through my phone and as I scrolled down my text-free app, his unsaved number had been seen multiple times. My heart had been in turmoil due to Karon and his inability to be open about his feelings for me. Rather, insisting on his age-old game of cat and mouse; in this case, however, I was the mouse, and done being played with said cat. The sadness had caused a series of events to influence her to actually be present throughout the passing days. Walking around sad, crying at a drop of a dime. Scarlett had enough. I think we all had enough. The constant arguing which leads to confusion and chaos was what he had always created. Scarlett was done. She wanted to rear her head as soon as that first salty tear fell.
Tired of this shit… he's gonna throw years away of good sex and loyalty for a quick buck at the expense of a bitch of a friend. Please… fuck him, them, and that.
I had come to the point that he had always been my waking thought and also my sleeping stress. To know he doesn’t feel the same crushed me, sending back into my 16-year-old self. A time, that Scarlett was in her preteens. Rebellious, mischievous, meticulous, and sneaky. The only thing that kept her quiet was my innocent face and approaches to various situations that would take all the attention off her or wouldn't cause her to awaken. When she felt that I lost her "power," she would find a way to regain it back. That seems to be the very case during the time of me texting a lover.
Ugh, why are we so desperate? I ask myself.
Simple. The pain was too real to deal with. Loyalty meant nothing even having invested years into him. I meant nothing. I was nothing.
If that’s the case, watch how fast I'll replace that dick with a new one.
He responded to my “wyd” and “wya” as many past lovers have responded the same with me and their pursuits. His excitement alludes with a very quick message of my whereabouts and if I was available. It physically made me sick, but the fix was needed. I couldn’t handle the lump lodged in my throat or the twist of the knife in my heart. Scarlett fed into it, like a snake charmer. He arrived at the door in a matter of minutes. Again, making my stomach turn.
Dude... for real?
He looked at me, wondering if he may have jumped on the idea of coming over too soon. I look into his eyes and assure him that it was ok. While my eyes reflected the day's frustration and his annoying present, I wanted this. She wanted this. I didn’t want to hurt and she needed a release. As the night would play out, we would begin to get intimate. His kisses on my neck revved an already horse-powered sex drive. I fade into the darkness and Scarlett slides into the spotlight.
I chuckle to myself, every interaction we have with these guys. Who knew the art of persuasion would be this powerful. He didn’t bring weed or a cig. What's the point?
He started to touch our thighs, squeezing them as if they would magically open. They did. Not because of his eagerness in wanting him to enter me, but I wanted his face at its entrance. He was going to put some work in. He must have caught the drift as our hips rose to meet his lips. He sucked and licked like a good dog. I ran my hands around his head, fingers caressing him as he drank all my nectar. An evil grin comes across my face. Men are nothing more than orgasm providers like drug peddlers. My drug is electric power that courses throughout every one of my cells. My high is the euphoria that is in the clouds of moans and pants. I love it. I live for all of it.
Our body responds to his dick, adjusting to its girth, familiarizing it to my walls. As a helpless victim in a Venus fly trap—that is what our yoni was. Poisoning each man with every thrust, cry or tremble. Soaking into their pores is our essence, which is burned into their subconscious forever. That gave me power. That makes me superior. That’s what she needs. She lost it this past week, damn her and her sad passive energy. It's exhausting me... like him and his excessive need to ask me if “this pussy his?” As empty as his adoration for me, “yes” I'd answer halfheartedly. Always yes. Once Jackie realizes that she needs me, we'll be better off.
There are many situations that Scarlett had been around for—handled while I would fall dormant. The pull that she has on my thoughts would make anyone's head spin, yet I have gotten used to it. Even now, I'm not sure if that's a good thing.