My small sweaty fingers struggle to keep a grasp on the hot metal bar, slowly slipping and leading to my demise into the pointy wood chips. The glare in my eyes from the burning hot sun did nothing but make me distracted from what seemed like a far drop. The wood chips smelled like tangy wet wood, and taking a large whiff of the dust made me cough hard.

There’s something strange about the thrill of this childlike danger of precariously dangling yourself that attracted me to do this every single day since the start of 2nd grade. I know I’ve always been a wild child, but it’s hard for me to believe I could actually be insane.

I crash into the wood chips and hit my head on one of the lower bars of the structure everyone called “the rocket” because of its rocket like structure. I only groan at the scrapes on my hands and hold them against my head to stop the ringing. I’ve endured worse scrapes than this, but now I have a headache.

I could’ve sworn I heard someone, but when I looked around to tell off whoever it was, I saw kids running, playing their own game, all of them unaware that I had fell. I learned to get used to that as I was barely noticed by anyone in my school. I liked it better like this, but it’s lonely sometimes. Whenever I felt lonely, I would hide somewhere dark and quiet, usually underneath something, and I would think. Why am I so different from the other kids? Why do so many of them wear smiles, yet I feel as my mouth can’t make the same shape? I wanted a friend but only partly. I enjoyed being alone but not all the time, and then it hit me: I remember hearing about this strange thing where kids would have imaginary friends. That could be nice.

As I stood up, brushing the wood chips off my bruised knees, a ball flew in my direction. I wish I could say I dodged it… but that would be a lie. I growled under my breath, “like an animal” as my  parents would put it, and threw the ball back at the boy who threw it, biting back tears. He looked at me almost terrified and grabbed the ball before running back to his friends. Content with scaring someone, I ran over to my hiding spot. The place was underneath stairs to an abandoned part of recess, which is why I liked it so much. It was quieter underneath the black steps. A yellow slide curled around it and above that was a small platform that was balcony like. To crawl underneath the tight spot was a pretty easy feat for me after some practice, so I lay on my back to relax. I had to adjust myself so wood chips wouldn’t dig into my spine, shoulder blades, neck… basically everything. The hot sun rays shone through the holes in my hiding place, but I tried to bask in them and get as much heat as I could. A swift chilling wind also slid through the cracks and holes in my structure, making me shiver only for a moment before I wrapped myself in my thin blue polyester hoodie.

As I lay there I remember back to the dim feeling of the room my parents and that man, who had a kind smile but dark eyes, would murmur to. The smell was comforting, like a soft pillow after a headaching day. I was far too bored to listen to what they would talk about or what would be happening. Constantly moving in that room, my parents easily were annoyed. I tried to be quiet and calm but my body yearned to be something more than sitting in the office chairs. The chairs weren’t uncomfortable, but to me they were like a cage with invisible bars. I didn’t want to sit. I try to go upside down on this imaginary prison but soon got bored of that as well. It felt like this meeting would never end.

I never thought of myself as depressed or dark or even creepy, probably because I was too young to even know depressed, but now I can definitely say that’s who I am and was and will forever be. Most people can’t say that’s something they find pride in, to be a freak, but strangely I do… I really do. The doctor I went to with my parents might have mentioned it once upon a time, but I remember he spoke quietly. I never paid much attention to him anyways. I was too busy trying to get gravity to put the rings on the hooks in the small seaworld game I would play in the room. The rubber buttons to make air pump into the small plastic tank were sticky to the case which made me very frustrated and concentrated solely on this. The rest of my siblings also went to this doctor. He wasn’t the medical kind of doctor that would give us our shots though, maybe he was a therapist.

As I lay dozing in the wood chips waiting for recess to end, occasionally a person would run across the roof of my small place, which made me tense. Other times kids would deliberately poke  rotten wood chips through the holes and tease me as if I were a caged animal. I swiped out at them through the holes with my dirty, scratched, unkempt fingers and untrimmed nails until they stopped.

An acquaintance of mine poked her head into my hiding spot, startling me beyond what I would admit. She asked me if she could join me, but I was hesitant. After a moment's thinking, I sat up and nodded in her direction. She crawled into the space and sat close to me, making me uncomfortable. Her hair was bright red like my mom’s, poofy and curly. The sunlight bouncing off of it hurt my eyes. She had a crooked smile, but it was enjoyable to see sometimes. Her eyes were a greyish blue and I couldn’t help but stare at her awkwardly as she sat next to me. I looked down and apologized for staring, yet she told me it was ok. We said nothing for what seemed like a long time until she broke the silence, trying to make conversation. She asked me three questions that I’ll never forget: “What’s your favorite ice cream, favorite color, and favorite animal?”

I looked at her bewildered and then cracked a smile, answering her question with my own.

“How could I possibly choose just one?”

She helped me narrow down the suggestions.

My answers were, “Chocolate, orange, and uhm… why should I choose? They’re all great!” I cross my arms, irritated more with myself than her. Decisions aren’t hard to make, but for some reason this one really was. She shrugged off the question and told me it didn’t really matter. That made me feel uneasy in a way I can’t express.

“But my favorite is a cat,” I smiled at that. “Cats are pretty cool I guess.”

She giggled at that which I thought was weird, maybe because I don’t hear laughter that often, but I didn’t question her. We talked for awhile until recess ended. She would come visit me in my hiding spot for the next few weeks.

One day she asked me why I was always hiding and was always scaring people.

“I guess I just don’t like anyone.”

She went silent after that until I asked her about what I heard about the imaginary friends. She told me an imaginary friend would be great for me. He was only supposed to be an imaginary friend.

I called him Jake; after I had accepted he was there, I wasn’t lonely anymore. Unfortunately, he brought out a lot of my bad side. He told me to do wrong things and it was only a matter of time before I actually listened. To others I was feared because they didn’t know him, but to me I was misunderstood and just needed somebody who could help me. I still think he has helped me. ...but like I said, he was only supposed to be an imaginary friend. He disappeared for awhile after I was nine years old, but I heard his voice again while I was sobbing on my floor at 12 wondering why I was so alone. He told me horrible and mean things, but they made me feel better. I talked to him the rest of the night, but I wouldn’t bring up the fact of not talking to him for so long. I thought it would be wrong, that it might have offended him, since he was helping me again.

I learned a couple years ago through a lot of research that Jake is really my alter ego. It was a long process to accept him, especially because he’s rude and sometimes I wish he wasn’t here. That was strange to think about, but not as strange as learning I have Split-Personality Disorder. Learning that fact has been recent, so I suppose it’s understandable to not be used to it. I have more than just Jake in my head now, and later in life there may be even more, but that doesn’t change me. I am still me; they are just parts of who I am, and I wouldn’t give them up for any reason. My personalities are split but I am not. I still know who I am.