My self, Self 

“Now, Tessa, you need to realize this isn’t a big deal.”
I talk out loud to myself, a lot. Usually, when I’m alone, it’s in the form of a two-way dialogue.
“Tessa” is the one who’s fucking up. She’s let things get out of control again.
But “Self” is here, and in control, and not feeling feelings, and knows what to do.
Or does she? Some of Self’s advice is pretty terrible. With the best of intentions, she denies me boyfriends, food, social activity. Tessa just can’t handle it, she rationalizes.
But when Tessa can handle it, she’s silent. So how would she really know (aside from sharing a brain with her frenemy)?
Tessa likes to poke fun at Self, calling her Self-Self, manipulating her way out of the rules. “I haven’t eaten all day,” she’ll say. “What’s 1,300 calories of McDonald’s if it’s all I’m eating all day?”
So they’re not polar opposites. Tessa, too, wants to not eat (sometimes).

Sometimes Self borrows good-cheer and Self-Selfs back to Tessa.
Neither one is good, and neither one is bad.
But neither one is me, either, somehow.


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