A Congress of Selves
I see people as haunted by the selves they don’t know…
I see a long rectangular table in a dim room lit by a flickering fireplace.
Around it sit twenty or so people.
I rarely see their faces or clothing. Thus far, the ones I’ve glimpsed have all been male.
They are all different…yet they are all me—and they speak, act and live through me.
Who Are They?
One is Anger/Blame at the Universe/fate for my so-called misfortunes.
Another is Sadness. He mostly sulks and mopes in silence.
Then there is the ever-popular Victim. His histrionics are legendary as he prattles on and on, rarely letting the others get a word in.
Alongside these are a host of others—Guilt, Shame, Regret, Hope (the positive ones sit far from the fireplace and rarely show themselves), and some whose acquaintance I have yet to make.
Sometimes they listen respectfully and speak in turn.
More often than not, they bicker and drown each other out in a cacophony of shouts.
Those are the sleepless nights.