The Guy With No Name

He’s back again. That guy. He lurks in the corner of my mind. Taking residence there. He thinks I don’t know he’s there, but I know.

He unrolls his battered up sleeping bag, removes the dog eared pillow and lays down, tracing shapes along the walls of my subconscious. He’s no idea how this affects me, my daily patterns. He messes with them.

My sleeping patterns used to be disrupted through him but now it’s just the case of putting him to sleep too. I’ve never tried to explain this to anyone before. I sound crazy, don’t I? But I don’t care so much anymore. He’s a part of me too y’know. The thoughts he brings with him help me more than anyone else ever could.

He’s like that small part of me that wishes I could be different. The one that encourages me to stand out. That little guy in my brain with no name. He’s always been there for me. Never once doubting my decisions, unlike my parents. They don’t trust my speech anymore. Every word out of my mouth could be a lie to them, one fabricated from the medication. But I’m not lying about him.

He might even be a side effect of the meds but who even knows anymore? Maybe one day he’ll become a guy who I can talk about.

But for now, he’s just the guy with no name.

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