trifurcation (mentally ill mondays #7)
i finally started watching Severance
Sat, June 21.
Yesterday, I was disappointed. Last Wednesday, I bought a parting gift for HQ, my favourite DXO, who’s leaving this month. Writing her note felt good. “Giving nice words to friends is what I live for!” I exclaimed to Peter. But the right moment never came, and the paper bag has sat under my desk for nine days. (Speaking of false starts, my writing mood also fizzled out over the emotionally heavy weekend.)
I complained about it to Josh over dinner last night. “She’s leaving next Friday, and didn’t come talk to me ALL WEEK?!” I whined.
Hang on. That felt weird.
I realized I usually can’t access my feelings about work once I’m off the clock. Even when I talk about it, it feels distant, like repeating someone else’s story. This was the first time my disappointment lingered after I left work, instead of dissolving into thoughts of Toronto, therapy, or my latest book. (Which, of course, I never mention at work.)
Months ago, I wrote a four-part series about moods. A given setting—chatty friends, an inspiring show—shapes me easily. I adapt fast.
But what if different situations evoked separate Davids entirely? More and more, I realize they live in separate worlds: the sociable, winsome Workvid; the confident, opinionated Outsidevid; and the quiet David who needs meds to get up and cries into his pillow at night.
Looking back, I had fun this week. I bowled and played guitar with Nathanael, watched Severance with Josh, binged Tokyo Ghoul (especially in the downtime at the doctor’s), and texted friends a bunch. But none of that seemed to matter to the Depressedvid who woke up this morning unable to do anything that, merely 24 hours ago, Workvid would’ve given up an off day to accomplish.1
Oh, and they all crush on different girls. Isn’t that wild?
some theories
Most people see personality as concentric masks—each layer hiding a “truer” core. We’re told vulnerability means revealing that core, and that your real character is how you behave “when no one’s watching”.
“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do…” (Matthew 6:16).
Yet that whole model of a single “true self” hidden underneath misses how the versions of me that show up at work, with friends, and at night––they’re people, too. Sure, they’re regularly interrupted when doors close and uniforms come off. But like Severance’s Mark S., they re-emerge with consistent traits, habits and affections. I suppose they’re all me.
My education professor, Molly Goldwasser, says that a child “acts up” at home not because they’re bad, but because home is a place they feel safe enough to stop performing when their energy to be compliant runs out. If not at home, where else?
Maybe that’s how it is with me. “We” need each other. Workvid borrows Outsidevid’s humour when he gains rapport with colleagues. Outsidevid’s the one who shows up at therapy and brings back strategies to help Depressedvid when he comes online at night.
And Depressedvid? He writes well—in fact, he wrote the note that Workvid will hand to HQ on Monday.2
Where would all of me be if he wasn’t holding our demons at bay?
-outsidevid
Such as my Coursera requirement for my Master’s program. Procrastination is a bitch.
Oh, before you ask, yes I like HQ a lot but she is 31 and engaged, so it’s not like that.