Conversations with myself: internal struggles.

Fade in.

As I lay in bed on a cloudy Friday morning - beside me a gorgeous friend, inside me a clanging voice desperately trying to grab my attention - I closed my eyes and listened.

Lebo:   Morning
Lebsie: Hi.
Lebo:   Are you still mad at me?
Lebsie: Are you still the bastard who ruined my life?

...
Awkward silence
...

Lebo:   Did you watch that video on the New York Times Gill recommended?
Lebsie: Do you remember us watching it?
Lebo:   Do you really have to be this hostile so early in the morning?
Lebsie: I don't like you.
Lebo:   I don't like you either.

Three days ago: A forced reunion.

Lebo:   Le Awesomish.
Lebsie: Yah.
Lebo:   It's been a while.
Lebsie: It certainly has.

...
Awkward silence...
...
...
...

Lebo:   You got the girl and lost her - all in two weeks.
Lebsie: A right side better than what you've ever done! Kim, Caylin, Tumi, Trudy - you failed every time!!! So fuck off.
Lebo:  Why so hostile?
Lebsie: I hate you.
Lebo:   Why, though?
Lebsie: Because I WAS you.
Lebo:   And can be again.
Lebsie: Never!
Lebo:   What are you so afraid of?
Lebsie: Fading into obscurity... being abandoned and left alone; isolated and scared in the dark - the walls staring at me, closing in on me all the while. The breath being choked out of my lungs by shadows of daemons past and present; by you... Being everything you made me; being nothing.

...
Awkward silence
...

Lebo:   You've grown into quite the writer.
Lebsie: Thanks.
Lebo:   What's next?
Lebsie: Freedom.

Present Day.

Lebsie: I woke up and even though I wasn't alone I still felt the loneliest I have been in the longest time.
Lebo:   How is that my problem.
Lebsie: I'm sorry I buried you.
Lebo:  That is your burden to bare.
Lebsie: It is ours.
Lebo:   Oh, so now it's 'ours'? What happened to 'I hate you'? You cannot just expect me to jump for joy now that you've suddenly realized that you need me in your life . . . I'm not you're toy to use and misuse as you fancy.

. . .
. . .
Awkward silence . . .
. . .
. . .

Lebsie: If you're not here to help me deal with me, then what the hell are you doing here?
Lebo:   I have nowhere to go where you won't inevitably follow. I am you, you are me. I go, you go.
Lebsie: Do not give me any ideas.
Lebo:   You wouldn't. You're too bitter and full of yourself to even dare!
Lebsie: Am I?

. . .
. . .
Awkward silence
. . .
. . .

With difficulty, I opened my eyes and started thinking about life and its worth. What's my purpose in this world - so unfriendly to torn and tormented souls? How can a man with nothing to give but words ever find solace in himself? The trick is living with yourself forever.

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