HiveComb

   That day I had to deal with him. In reality, I had been doing it for years. His appearances, at first, were sporadic. He would only emerge when I needed to forget everything. When did he arrive? It is difficult to say. There are habits and attitudes that become part of your life without you realizing it. Years go by and it is difficult to get rid of them.

   "You again," I said, laughing in front of the mirror. My face split, like a mixture of the masks that represent the theater. A part of me was suffering, he was laughing. Or maybe it was me?

   I was moving slowly, but my mind was a seething mass of maggots. That's how it is when I let it in. Phrases like "you're good for nothing," "stupid," and "you should die," swirl around my head. I can't think, I can't even read. My drooping eyelids and red eyes betrayed the state I was in. When was the first dose? I was too young to remember. An adolescent who didn't care about anything. Yet, I wanted to know what that weed was that made everyone laugh.

   "So you want to talk. How many times have you talked about me? You play at being a writer, but you don't write anymore. You sit around smoking and lick your wounds. Then you complain because I show up. You know that I'm your best work. You can't deny it.

   My senses dulled. My mind inhibited. No thought could disturb me, at least at first. After several years, all my thoughts were troubling. I had gone from a box of cigarettes a week, to a box a day, sometimes two. Work, cover basic expenses, smoke and forget about myself.

   "Since I talked about the people I love, I don't mind talking about other things," I replied. "This is the end of you. Accept it. I don't care what they think. I want to kill you once and for all, like the memories I preserved and delivered because I had nothing more to tell. Why should I allow you to stay? You're not as special as you think you are.

   I didn't care about anything else. Long periods of time when I didn't know anything about myself. I was an addict, I struggle every day not to relapse. I spent so much time using weed that it created a rupture in my psyche. I wanted to do one thing, but I did another. I thought one thing but said another. The other was taking over.

   "Now I'm the guilty one. Why don't you say that you felt good when you went back to the mud? It's your nature: to wallow in your lack of self-respect, to excuse yourself, to cry on the sly, to feel miserable. At least I gave you strength.

   That's what I believed for a long time. The veil of truth never fell. It was not necessary. I could see what was in front of me, but I chose to ignore it. And from so much ignoring, I became ignorant, like him who thinks he's a big deal. Yet, I have nothing but my family, my thoughts, and my way of acting. But he wants to destroy everything.

   "This doesn't make sense. You know that. You can't get rid of me that easily.

   His voice is there at all hours. When something will go right, he is there to remind me that it can go wrong. A storm of thoughts whips through my head. How long am I going to go on like this? When I meet someone new, he thinks the worst and I'm suspicious. Then I keep silent, never know what to say, and come off as a weirdo. When I'm about to face an important moment in my life, he looks for ways to sabotage me and gets his way.

   "You should shame yourself. You are not a man. You're a crybaby, a poor wretch, someone who deserves to die. You know that. You've wanted it for a long time. So why don't you die? Die!

   One night, I gripped by indecision and insecurity. Aware that only I could help myself. I debated between using again so I could sleep or staying up all night, eaten up with anxiety. I closed my eyes and searched for a quick solution to my problem.

   After considering that my previous efforts were useless, I thought of committing suicide. I could not go on living like this, with a dissociated personality. As if two people were inhabiting my body. I was hurting myself. I was hurting my loved ones. They didn't know it. But my incongruous way of acting was enough to perplex them. I was hurting them with words or actions that made no sense.

   "Shut up! "I shouted in front of the mirror. A symbolic mirror, the only one in which I can look at myself since I lost my way. "You don't know anything about me, even they don't. How could you? Your ego won't let you see beyond your nose. I pity you!

   I hit the glass hard. My fist began to bleed. Thousands of splinters fell to the ground. In my hand, another cut. In my psyche, a deeper one. The split I needed for years. Dying is not the solution. Isolating myself is not the solution. Running away from the person I am isn't either. Less always thinking positive and pretending that nothing happened. Indifference is a double-edged sword. The best I can do, and continue to do, is to accept my complexity.

   "You can never get rid of me," his voice shouts. As the crystals falls to the floor and resounds like the chimes of a collapsing temple.

   I laugh again, but this time my face is not split. I never wanted to push him away, let alone deny his existence, I wanted to take back control. The other. The shadow I embrace today. He is as much a part of me as the air I breathe. I had a hard time understanding it.

   Today, I still struggle with my addictions, although I have been clean for a long time. I overcome my problems daily. I come out of my shell. I try to live life. I put aside the excuses and the tears. I put incompetence aside and educate myself to leave my ignorance behind.

   Maybe I'm not healthy. Maybe he will come back and end my life. I don't know. I also prefer to set aside thousands of probabilities. Focus on the good. Work on what's best for my life and those around me. I've already wasted too much time lamenting.