Three Versions of Me
This negativity
is uglier than I thought—
because it doesn't live around me,
it lives within me.
Me, myself, and I—
three versions of the same soul,
sitting in the dark,
each holding a different truth,
each convinced the other two are wrong.
Me says,
"You should have done better."
Myself whispers,
"You were never good enough."
And I—
the tired one caught between them—
just listens,
absorbing every word
like punishment.
Tonight,
they fought.
One blamed the past.
One feared the future.
One couldn't survive
the weight of the present.
They threw old mistakes
like weapons across the room,
dragged forgotten failures
back into the light,
and turned every insecurity
into evidence.
And I realized—
Negativity doesn't always
sound like hatred.
Sometimes,
it sounds like your own voice
trying desperately
to protect you
by expecting the worst.
Three versions of me.
Three battles.
One mind.
And somewhere beneath
all that noise,
a softer voice asked:
"What if we stopped fighting ourselves?"
Silence.
For the first time,
Me looked at Myself.
Myself looked at I.
And none of us
had an answer.
But maybe healing
doesn't begin
when the voices disappear.
Maybe it begins
when the three of us
finally learn
to sit in the same room
without turning
each other
into enemies.
PSYCHOLOGIST ASH
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