My name is Adrian and I’d like to tell you all the story of how I ended up here, in this hospital bed. I suffer from this mental disease known as depression. My doctors would argue I also suffer from paranoia but I know it’s real. I’m not paranoid. I’ve been put into a pretty bad way. My hygiene is essentially non-existent. I’ve lost so much weight it’s surreal. I’ve either slept too much or not enough as of late. Yet I still never feel rested. Typing now is almost too much work for me. However, I need someone to know that I DID NOT KILL MYSELF. It’s the other me. My reflection. HE’S the one who killed me. I honestly believed the doctors at first when they told me I was just paranoid, that I was simply imagining things. Not anymore, I know he’s real and he’s coming for me. I’m writing this on an auto-publishing website. Once I stop typing for more than five minutes, this will automatically send out to the vast spaces of the internet. My blog, my Facebook, anything I’m connected to will get this letter. This is sort of my final good-bye, I know he’s coming and I know I will die here tonight. The doctors let me have this laptop because I told them that if they let me keep it that I’d be less likely to try to hurt myself and that I’d stay put. They hate having to tie patients up. No matter, now is time to tell my story before my time is up. The time now is 11:30PM.
I’ve been depressed for a little while now, I only talk to my friends about what’s going on when they urge me to share. I never though the worse of my troubles would be seeing myself. The first time I saw it I was walking to school, it was raining to it wasn’t very bright out. I held an umbrella in my hand as it was coming down quite hard when I thought I saw what looked to be a scrawny, pale face, old man hunched over just standing in one spot doing nothing. When I glanced back to see if he was alright he was gone… replaced with something that looked like a young boy, skinny and pale. I couldn’t see much of him but he gave me the creeps so I kept moving. I didn’t speak of him that day. The next time I saw him was at the store with my parents. This time I was only able to see him in passing and when I looked back to see him, he was gone. He had the same colored hair as I do, same height, same everything except he was terribly skinny, pale, and his eyes were dark and bloodshot. The sight of him made me jump. When my parents asked what was wrong I questioned if they saw it to which they declined. Back then I’d marked it up to be a coincidence, but I know better now. I saw him a few more times like this, catching glimpses or seeing him off in the distance. Never able to clearly see him, but, eventually I knew it was another me. Reason for this being that I started losing weight from lack of appetite. I started getting paler because I refused to leave the house by chance I should come across my reflection again. My eyes darkened and were always bloodshot from how much I’d been crying. I was terrified. Then I started seeing him near my house, then outside my window. I screamed but my parents were always too late, by the time they’d come he had already gone. That’s how I’d ended up here. They’d had enough and admitted me here for psychiatric help. But all they’ve done is keep me caged and waiting for it to arrive for what I feel will be the last time. This time I’ll see his face, no… my face. And I will glare into my own eyes. I will look into his mirror and see myself, then… I will probably die. All I wanted to be was happy, I wished upon a star one night. S**t, someone’s coming down the hall, I’m supposed to be asleep. I can’t risk one of the doctors drugging me and losing my chances of seeing its face.
I’m finally happy now.