Because all good things must come to an end
I never thought it would come to this.
In the beginning, I was so happy with myself. I’d go on long walks, holding my own hand, and at the end of the day I’d gaze at the sunset with the person I loved most in all the world right there with me: myself.
In the beginning I’d give myself thoughtful little gifts at random, just to show me how much I adored and appreciated myself.
Sometimes I’d cook myself a special meal to surprise myself, just so I could see that shy smile on my face. When I went to look in the bathroom mirror.
The first year with myself was truly bliss: my jokes made me laugh, I cuddled myself before going to sleep. Even the sex was great.
Maybe it was inevitable that as time passed I’d begin to take myself for granted. The little gifts became fewer and less inspired. The sex became routine, once or twice a week. Sometimes I’d see that I’d left dishes in the sink for myself to wash, as if I didn’t have better things to do with my time.
I tried dropping hints to myself that maybe I needed to work harder to put the spice back into my relationship, but I didn’t listen.
At the end of the second year I began to get tired of the fact I was always there, always hanging around myself, never giving myself any space. “Why don’t you get out, go get a hobby?” I asked myself, but I just sat on the sofa drinking beer and watching Netflix.
I began to feel the relationship was stale. How could I be with someone who gave me no privacy, no time to myself? “You’re always there,” I said to myself. “Crowding me.” Worst of all, I always claimed to know just what I was thinking. Which was really irritating, frankly.
In the end I knew I’d had enough. Being self-partnered isn’t easy. It takes one to make a great relationship. And I just wasn’t pulling my weight.
So I went to see a lawyer. Turns out, it’s not easy trying to obtain a divorce when your partner is yourself. The Patriarchy doesn’t recognize self-partnering as a legitimate marital state, which shows how repressive and unfair our society is.
I was so distraught that I couldn’t face myself any longer. I told myself I needed myself to move out immediately. I cried, begged myself to take me back, but to no avail.
I turned my back on myself.
It was over.
On the bright side, I’m now in a very pleasant and calm institution. White is a good color on me and I get three meals per day and the walls of my room are very soft. It’s not so easy eating with a plastic spork but I don’t mind.
Best of all, I visit myself once a week, just to see how I’m doing.
Secretly I hope I’ll get back together with myself one day. When they eventually let me out of here.