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"Hi, Annie."
She jumps at my soft voice, eyes wild. When she realises it's just me, she breathes steadily. "Hello." Her voice is shaky and quiet, a pitch higher than normal.
It feels as though she isn't me. Am I really this shy of a person towards strangers? Why do I look terrified? "How are you?" I ask softly.
Her slender fingers knot together. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?" Annie doesn't make eye contact.
"Good, good."
She smiles politely and stays quiet.
What part of me does Annie represent? She folds her arms in defence and bites her lip. I squint at her. "You know you are talking to me, right? I am you, and vice versa."
"I know."
"Then why are you so nervous? Do you not trust me? Are you scared of yourself?" She seems surprised at my confrontation.
Annie is silent for a moment, gently rocking back and forth in this white space of my mind. "Do you ever feel like you're a stranger in your own body? Like nothing is real?"
"If you feel that way, then so do I."
"Sometimes I feel like nothing is real. Like everything is just my imagination. Like I'm dreaming, but sometimes I don't even feel like I exist. I . . . " She struggles to explain. "I googled it. It's called depersonalisation, or derealisation. Where nothing feels real."
She doesn't need to explain this to me. We go through states where one minute everything is fine, and the next it's like our mind is fogged and everything is slipping away from reality. They last a few seconds, and we get our grip on reality by holding onto something so we don't fall.
"You've told your sister but she's doesn't understand, right?"
"Yeah," she whispers. Her eyes brims with tears, and she looks away.
"And you're too scared to tell your parents because they'll think there's something wrong with you." Annie doesn't want me to see her cry. Her back faces me as she sniffs.
"Everyone already thinks there's something wrong with me."
The white space is getting smaller and smaller, about to trigger an attack. "That's not true."
"It is."
"If it were true, you wouldn't have friends who care enough to notice when you're feeling down. Even if your - our - parents don't understand your emotions, there are others who still do," I say.
My mind briefly drifts off. I wonder when the effect of SEVB will wear off. Will I be cured by then? I can admit, consoling Ess made a significant part of me feel lighter, and facing Annie, the anxious part, makes me feel . . . somehow. It's a positive feeling. Maybe one of the best feelings I've ever had.
