A Parallel Life
Imagine having one, but you don’t know what it looks like. Other people do. In fact, it’s the only life of you they know. They don’t know the real you, the real life you live, and the real thoughts in your head.
You can guess, speculate, and assume what your parallel life looks like because of what people around you say to you and do, but you don’t truly know what your “parallel you” is doing in that other life.
Sounds insane. The only experience I’ve had with “parallel lives” is watching them in the movies. For me, they don’t really exist - something fictional that’s watched for entertainment.
Imagine saying to someone, “I’d like to know what makes the different colors - red, yellow, purple, etc. - of the sunset”. And the other person responds, “Oh I know, it’s amazing the different shapes the clouds make.” This has been my real life every day. If not a single thing around you made sense, or was not logically in direct response to what you said or did in the moment - what would you do? Not a few times. Not for a little while. But every day with everyone you knew for over a year now. That was a real conversation by the way - by my aunt who is normally quite engaged in conversations and who I used to think was highly intelligent. And that was roughly how every conversation went for a 33-hour road trip. Painful, right?
I had a friend who I randomly confided in that I had lost weight when my Dad died. This was the first friend to turn into my “parallel life”. He tried to take this statement and repeat back to me that I had confided in him that I had eating disorders. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. I was getting bullied at work daily, and my nervous system and patience at the time felt inexistent. I got mad at how such a false story could be made up from such a different, unrelated statement at losing weight when my Dad died. To me, seems pretty organic to lose an appetite when the only trusting, loyal person you had in life dies. Literally. The. Only. Person. So who I am as a person - someone who lost weight in a period of grief - all of a sudden went to now being a person with an eating disorder. It was insane. And yea, I got mad at how someone can be so illogical. Stupid almost. Not to mention so insisting it was insulting and beyond annoying.
My closest friend and I watched a lot of Netflix shows together. A sample list - A Series of Unfortunate Events, Outer Banks, Enola Holmes (don’t judge, we watched good/cool shows too.) Then all of a sudden, my friend goes on a rant one day about how he hates watching shows with kids or young people in them - with disgust and disdain. Now this is the same friend that spent a noticeable amount of time playing with kids in their bouncy house one Thanksgiving and won over my young niece and nephew to be their center of attention anytime he was around. …sure, but okay, now, suddenly you hate watching shows with kids or young people. Possible, I guess. Not likely. My friend is 56 and more set in his ways than anyone I’ve ever known. I know he was trying to make the point that I hate young people and I’m not honest about who I am. I don’t hate young people as I explain later. And I don’t lie as also explained later. And this is how a “parallel life” unfolds, one in which has nothing to do with the real me and one that I cannot do anything about but suffer through.
Sadly, this friend who put a roof over my head every time I passed through town or took care of my dog for a bit in exchange for some nice whisky, would no longer do either of these things. A decade long friendship of closeness and trust now existed at arm’s length, yet nothing I’m aware of changed. Still, I plodded along in our friendship-turned-acquaintanceship, zombie-like, with no joy in our conversations, but going through the motions. And then, most recently, finally arriving at the finish line of our acquaintanceship to be asked if I’m a liar and if it’s true that I want to harm my family. That moment was like being asked why I chose a career in the circus when I’ve spent my whole life working in accounting. I was again in the twilight zone. And yet, to me, I had done nothing different, have not changed as a person from who I was when we first met over a decade ago. Not. A. Single. Thing. Except have someone or some people create a “parallel life” for me that I have no clue how it came about or why and that I’ve had to defend my character and myself against.
I had a close friend that I hung out with on average once a week, for 12 years. Shared coffees, movies, walks, yoga, art shows, runs, mini golf, etc. Usually Saturdays or Sundays mid-day. Absolutely zero romance between the two of us ever, though much respect, admiration, and appreciation for each other’s company and friendship. Money between us had never been a thing. I pay, he pays, I pay, he pays, and so on so forth it goes. It all evens out. I went all out on a gift of really expensive ear buds one Christmas. Bought the most expensive wedding gift I could see which was cash applied to his honeymoon expense. And we’d swap favors, I helped him move, he helped me move, etc. Our thoughtless and equal exchange of time, effort, and money for over a decade was almost inexistent in the background. Then one day everything changed - we paid completely separate. No explanation. I tried to have a direct conversation about why the change but got no answer. Nothing I’m aware of changed. Not. A. Single. Thing.
My same, former amazing friend, where our relationship felt effortless and filled with joy, now tensed up and directly confronted me about the slightest fidget in my hands. He now became so tense I could feel it on an upstairs floor as I walked to the bathroom in the middle of the night while he was downstairs, awake in the kitchen. My friend who now kept our friendship at the furthest arms-length he could, making no conversation whatsoever, where normally there had been an abundance. The healthiest, and most secure, friendship I have ever had in my life just gone. Gone to this parallel life that exists, that I know nothing about. And that no one will tell me about. The tears and the sickness in my stomach have not gone away. I’m told I should be happy.
A former boss who I had kept in touch with for a decade after resigning went rogue on our acquaintanceship. Normally we’d talk or meet a couple to a few times a year - food, drinks, a walk, a drive, anything. While we were nothing alike, this former boss and I, I appreciated his zest and love for life, his drive, curiosity, and interest in many things. It was inspiring, as often I lacked these qualities in myself. And it was fresh and freeing to be around. In the flip of a switch, his aggression toward romantic intent was like being waterboarded with talks of romance and nothing else. Yet, we were two people that had historically found satisfaction and entertainment in talking about anything - family, work, life, music, etc. A 20+ year relationship - of professionalism, friendship, a touch of romance too long ago, yes, but most recently and ultimately an acquaintanceship - did a 180-degree turn in the flip of a switch.
I spent nights and weekends working for this person. Not once complained of blurring the lines between helping him with his businesses or personally supporting his life, nor complaining about the amount of time spent working. Now romance, and mis-remembered facts about our professional life and friendship - littered what used to be an open, honest, communicative relationship where we had always been forthright with each other. Now, our conversations went like this, “When you get here (to his place of business), I’ll show you the paperwork, and we can go through it <cough> ‘gun’ and you can review and ask questions. Your dog can stay in the building as well, there’s plenty of place <cough> ‘bipolar’ for her to roam and move about.” Not only were the random words of “gun” and “bipolar” being worked into our conversations, but my former boss also went dark on plans to get some work done.
This is the same former boss, who in addition to flipping the switch to romance, working the words “gun” and “bipolar” into our conversations, and going dark on plans to work together, was also repeating my private phone conversations with others back to me.
If I haven’t lost the reader yet, (do I have readers?) I will, if I keep going. But there are many stories like this. Two friends I had did a complete confrontational 180 degrees to the most insulting, rude behavior I never thought possible, they ended up leaving my home - one being asked to leave. Another friend told so many stories over one meal that paralleled my life - all the way back to my 20s - at one point repeating back to me something private I had told another friend over the phone. Another friend flipping the switch to romance in an instance, though our decade long friendship had been void of even a hint of romance. I won’t yet go into these stories here - or about my mother no longer trusting me and videoing me in her home - maybe later in another post.
I won’t go into how I know my phone was hacked, and to how my private conversations were repeated back to me by a coworker, my former boss, members of a 12-step program, and some random strangers. I won’t go into being followed, being run off the road, having my belongings stolen, or my car window broken in. I won’t go into being habitually treated like shit by businesses. I won’t go into one of my friends trying to give me a murder-is-wrong lesson 101 when I’ve never intentionally harmed anyone. I won’t go into being asked by a friend if I’ve ever lashed out in insanity and anger as I drank tea in my home doing a puzzle (which by the way, I absolutely never have). I won’t go into my family, friends, and an entire neighborhood of people freaking out because I don’t walk my dog on the exact same route every single day.
As all this was going on around me, I spent roughly 80% of my life at home, some time at yoga, and the rest at the grocery store. I worked on a customer tax return, treated a history of trauma through self-help and reading, learned to cook some, set-up two websites, finished two thirds of being an IRS enrolled agent, studied different career paths, and read various books and watched telly. This is what I did while every relationship I had fell apart. This is what I did when everyone around me speculated, made up stories, and for no reason decided not to trust me.
What I did before that? Get shut out of a job. Struggled with that job. Worked weekends. Went through a leadership program and various professional development work on the weekends. Planned three moves. Organized my finances. Organized my transcripts, and my standing and route to become a CPA. Tackled my dog’s illnesses and allergies with the vet’s full cabinet of medication and treatments. Entertained house guests. Tried to update and acquire decent work clothes (working from home for nearly 5 years and pushing 50 didn’t align with anything in the closet). Yoga. Caught up on my favorite shows. Quit a job. Start a 12-step program.
What I did before that… ok you get the drift. There’s nothing but really boring stuff to keep typing on what I did.
So, whatever this “parallel life” is, or whoever the “parallel me” is, I truly wish I knew.
I think I’m thought to have eating disorders because I lost weight when my Dad died.
I think I’m thought to be a murderer because I had suicidal thoughts and google searched a gun when I learned I was being surveilled with no idea why - if the gun was to be used for murder, honestly, I’m not dumb enough to google search it - and my suicidal intentions were clear through the surveillance of me in my home.
The money thing - I honestly don’t know where that comes from. The lying thing - truly, again, I don’t know where that comes from.
The harming my family - I communicated that I hope they mentally suffer even just a fraction of what I have - due to the dishonesty, disrespect, belittlement, and harassment they put me through - this would come from one’s own mind and feelings - not from harm from me or anyone else. But sure, they can make up any story they want.
The bipolar thing - not a clue, maybe not wanting to be alive anymore after learning I was being surveilled and not having a clue why - or maybe holding my right-of-way at a stop sign while someone backed into me with an unobstructed view - again, after being shut out of a job, harassed at work, driven at in a crosswalk, treated like shit by businesses, my nervous system was beyond taxed and I was tired of being shit on. Not an excuse, but the honest reason, I held my right-of-way …nearing a stop sign, going what was likely 5 mph or something to that effect, after having gone to and from yoga for the last 3-4 hours. I’m not claiming that was the right decision. I am telling the truth I know. So again, no clue why the “parallel me” is a bipolar sufferer.
From what I gather, the “parallel me” is a floozy - I’m not sure where this comes from - though all my friends and acquaintances were men - I have enjoyed that immensely in life - men are stereotypically less competitive, less judgmental, less nosey, less rude, and talk about many more things and broader life topics than women - just my personal experience and opinion. They are also easier to meet up with for an occasional lunch or whatever. Men are not without their faults. And women are not without their greatness. This has been a personal preference, like one who prefers red wine to white.
The “parallel me” hates young people - I think this comes from me saying “no young” people to a friend’s suggestion to go to a bar and watch the UT football game (with young people) and to me not wanting to talk about child rearing 100% of the time with my mother (because I have no children). Truth, the “real me” - after my Dad died I found a huge disconnect between me and a younger group of girlfriends I used to associate with. I didn’t want to talk about fingernails, wives doing their lawn/pool guys, dresses, nor did I want to spend all day drinking. I had also come to learn that most younger people have a distaste for me because I can be too serious, nerdy, and just plain not fun enough at times - this being the largest driver of preferring people my age or older. I also have a distaste for the younger coworkers I had worked with who found joy in the petty, games, and mockery - this based on my personal experience, not a stereotype for the masses. My closest friend of the last 12+ years was 12 years my junior; clearly, I don’t dislike young people. I didn’t want to build a relationship with my mother solely based on child rearing - I’d love to talk about her grandchildren (my nieces and nephews) to connect and build our relationship, but wouldn’t tolerate this being the sole subject of our relationship. What I’ve come to learn is that even older, mature folks can be petty, game playing, mocking assholes. Though stereo typically the subject matters discussed tend to have evolved beyond fingernails and screwing the lawn guy, which again, is preferrable.
In my “parallel life” from what I gather, I’m an asshole - again, no idea why. There are many people who can vouch the real me isn’t. Not even the real me in the last few years or now. I defend myself against assholes. Though not typically running around as one. I suspect when coaxed along in a background investigation, no friend or family is giving up the good stories. Or at least that’s what I pick up on anyway. Like a girlfriend who, from what I heard told a story of me drunk on her sofa in my early 20s. Yet, no stories from the last 20+ years came about on how many cups of coffee we shared, sober outings, and the at least 2 times I remember spending all day with her while she and others drank during my mass consumption of water. But at 47 years old, it’s the one incident drunk on her sofa that counts at roughly age 25. I’m also sure she didn’t share the time a coworker had to drive her and her car home after she got wasted at a happy hour - so wasted she threw up on the way to work the next morning. But me drunk on a sofa once counts. This is what the background investigation picked up. From everything I’ve heard, seen, been confronted with, not one person told a positive story about me. Not one. I’ve been treated like fucking filth by people and the public since this started unfolding. And it certainly isn’t because anyone is saying something kind about me.
From what I gather, the “parallel me” is jealous - again, no idea where this comes from. I’ve been jealous or envious of one person that I can remember. A coworker named Christine who presented and spoke so well in meetings, I wanted to work to speak as well as she did. Our jobs hardly overlapped. But professional and friendly when they did. At one point all my friends and family only spoke of their social outings, their material possessions, their travel plans, how busy they were, their friends, etc. I think I was supposed to be jealous. I think the “parallel me” is supposed to be jealous of good-looking people, fancy cars, those with great careers, and people with lots of money. I’m not sure why I am thought to be this way. I used to take pride in my appearance, though I attempted this from the inside out with yoga and food. I worked hard to feel financially secure and independent so as never to burden anyone else with a need. I had saved enough to buy a small, older house, so I could have my own 4 walls with pets and a garden. And I liked to treat myself to something nice sometimes, a nice bag or dress. Am I supposed to be jealous because now I have none of these things? Honestly, the only thing I am or feel now is numb because I live a life that is not real.
From what I gather the “parallel me” is a thief - again, I have no idea why. Roughly 90% of my purchases in life have been online. I think I was one of the first to start using Amazon Pantry when it came out. I certainly was one of the first to start using Netflix. Anything that could be delivered, I was signed up for (free delivery as much as possible of course). Most of my jobs have paid well below market for the work I did. Only a few have I had bank access. The only one I could have stolen from was asset rich and cash poor - nothing to steal. I left the last 3 jobs I had. The first due to grief, trauma, and burnout. The second because it sucked beyond fathomability, the third I was forced out. None of those jobs presented an opportunity to steal. And I did my work. I’ve always been happy with what little I’ve had. Mostly furniture that is assembled at home. A 700 sq. ft. living space. A base model car for 13 years. Guess whatever my “parallel me” was stealing never made it to the “real me”.
This “parallel me” apparently belittles people - again, I have no idea why. Is it because I noted that work I had to submit to external departments and management, that I had to put my name on, was done incorrectly by someone else? It’s my one and only guess. But again, apparently my “parallel me” just runs around belittling people for not a single fucking clue as to why by the “real me”.
The “parallel me” is apparently ungrateful and spoiled - again I have no idea why. I used to thank people so much they would actually get annoyed with me - kind of like, ok, can it already kind of a thing. I know there are people in life who can vouch for this. Why they haven’t, I don’t know. I’m also not sure how someone who has lived financially modest to poor the vast majority of my life can be spoiled - but hey, if that’s the world the “parallel me” lives in, we can already tell there’s nothing I can do about it.
The “real me” has had to live in an entirely fictitious life that exists all around me in the heads, stories, and lies of others. Yet the real me worked, stayed home, did a lot of yoga, read, watched telly, self-educated and kept the same friendships and acquaintances for the last 10-20 years. The “real me” has been the exact same person for the last 20 years. The grief from my Dad dying changed my zest for life some, combined with a mental shift in middle age that brought impatience to pettiness and stupidity, and a realization I had some trauma recovery work to do. I used marijuana to stuff feelings of depression after my Dad died and to escape being shut out and bullied at work. Other than all that fun, I’m the same person I’ve always been. Yoga, coffee, Netflix, work/education, friends, and my pets making up my entire existence. Pretty boring stuff.
The “real me” has no idea what this “parallel me” could have done for all of this to have happened. But everyone around me knows.
While I've was close to two people in my early 20s who got into federal, criminal trouble, all I can honestly say is I was in my own world, not paying a bit of attention to what they were doing outside of our dinners and evenings. I financially gained nothing from those men. A few clothes from Nieman Marcus Last Call so we can enter nice restaurants without me being an embarrassment in poor girl clothes. My cat Munchkin. A gym membership. And my weekend salads and wine paid for. If these men I dated were criminals benefiting financially, the prior list is the only “financial” gain that was passed along - the dollar value of the gain I received is so affordable, most men I dated back then could have reasonably bought me all of those things with a middle-income job. But anyone can make up any stories they want. Clearly, they have as I'm a murdering, bipolar, thief that runs around like a floozy belittling people while I over or under eat. Who has also lived extravagantly in used or base model cars, in average 700 sq. ft. apartments, and has never afforded travel.
I couldn’t take the games, the lies, the insincerity, the probing, the disrespect, the distrust, the belittlement of my friends and family anymore - all of these things I know I don’t do to others. Trying to make change, move forward, or start something new has led me back to people I’ve just met referencing what I do in the privacy of my own home or people speaking to the “parallel me” and not the real me or the situation at present. I’m left planning my death as, based on first-hand experience, there is no future life I can live that is a real one based on who the real me is and a sense of self agency - unfortunately, now, a plan without the use of a gun, which to me was the easiest way out - which some days makes progress and others retreats in execution due to lack of courage.
It’s really fucking sad what gossip, hate, speculation, misunderstanding, misjudging, assumption, and misperception can do. To whatever this “parallel me” has done, or whatever this “parallel life” is, I truly, honest to God, have no fucking idea. And I wish I were dead.
There is a lot of suffering in this world. Trauma sufferers from 9/11 or war. Accident victims losing limbs or having life altering brain damage. Migrants being thrown from their life, their homes, or losing friends and family to war. Victims of human trafficking. The homeless and those in poverty. Mothers losing their children.
This post speaks to me. Not compared to any other suffering that exists.