We share this body, just him and I. It's strange because we're not even the same person. Not the same personality type or zodiac sign, I'm sure of it. I've come accustomed to his presence, though. When ever life gets rough, I talk to him. He gives me advice without me asking for it. It's as if he know my emotions and knows how to deal with them. I envy him for that.
It started a couple of years ago, the silent years. I was alone and didn't really have anyone to talk to. Whenever I cried I could feel him squeeze my little self so tight. He told me to calm down and that 'pretty girls don't cry'. That was my motto for some time. He carried a box when he was with me. All of my anger, sadness and worry would all be neatly folded in that box, never to be seen again. Every once in a while the box would need emptying, right? Wrong. It never got emptied. Why didn't he tell me that boxes get full and overflow? He never even told me when he had to clean out the clutter of my problems. It just happened. He starts one by one. He starts with anger. Suddenly, I'm the most disrespectful person on Earth and I can't help it. Then, he moves on to sadness. Catch me being emotional and socially awkward for no good reason. Last, but not least, worry. Worry turns into being overwhelmed about a whole dictionary of things. Being overwhelmed turns into panic attacks and before you know it, you're middle aged, have a fat mess in your mind, constantly talking to yourself, refusing to go to therapy and overall depressed! I don't want that! Free me! Please free me! It's easy for me to pretend, but I don't want to pretend anymore! I'm tired of it. I'm sick and tired of being secluded in my own garden of pity and sorrow.
Hello, everyone. My name is Pluto and this is my story. Day one of this life.
