The Dissociative Self

 I started losing time.

It started out small—at times I couldn't recall. I would awaken in unexpected locations, like as my automobile, a peaceful street, or the edge of a forest. I would rummage through my head, but nothing made sense. Neither my watch nor my phone displayed anything.

Then the messages began.

I found them in my apartment—on napkins, in notebooks. Cryptic, disturbing words and drawings: “You’ll regret looking.” “I am waiting.” Once, a drawing—a face—twisted, jagged eyes staring. I didn’t know it.

I brushed it off—stress, lack of sleep. But the episodes grew. I lost hours. Afternoons vanished. When I woke up, things were moved—books, objects. But the worst part? The feeling. Someone else had been there. Someone else had lived my life.

Then it happened.

I saw a bruise on my wrist. I didn’t remember it. I didn’t remember anything. But there was something else—something in my eyes. A coldness.

The next day, another message: “It’s too late now.”

I realized then—this wasn’t sleepwalking. It wasn’t forgetfulness.

I was living with someone else.

A second self.

A darker self.

I didn’t know how long it had been with me. Maybe always. Maybe waiting. But now, it was awake. And it was stronger.

It took control during weak moments, during stress. I felt it pushing, pressing against my mind. The more I fought, the longer the episodes lasted.

One night, I woke up in a field. My hands were dirty. My clothes torn. And there, in the dirt, a map. A location. A place I knew but had never been.

I followed it.

The more I tried to control it, the more it slipped. The second self took bigger chunks of my life. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. What was real? What was me?

I found the place.

An old, decaying house. Inside, pieces of my life—old clothes, scattered things. And in the center, a mirror.

When I looked in, I didn’t see me.

I saw it.

And it was smiling.

Now, I don’t know if I’m losing control, or if it’s taking over. But one thing is clear: the more I fight, the stronger it gets. It’s inside. It’s everywhere. I can’t run.

I am becoming it.