The Schizophrenia Tango

"Do you feel that ache in your right leg? That can't be good."

It often feels like I have another person who lives inside my head. It's not fun to have a different person in there. It's annoying. She (yes, she) is a naysayer, someone who sees nothing but doom around every approaching corner. Whenever I start to think that I might enjoy trying something new, that other person in my head immediately comes up with a long list of reasons as to why I shouldn't do it. Inevitably, this causes an argument between us as to who's right. Having 2 personalities is exhausting.

I don't know how soap opera characters do it. I was first introduced to the existence of this multiple personality thing back in the 70's from One Life to Live when Kathy Craig, believing herself to be Kitty Mainwaring, a character from a book she had written, kidnapped a baby. On that same soap, the character of Viki has battled for years with her alter-ego, Niki. And then there's Jess, Viki's daughter. In what is probably the first and only case of inherited multiple personality disorder, Jess has another personality known as Tess.

My "other self" is vastly different from the ones on the soaps. On TV, the other personality is usually portrayed as evil. They're kidnappers, alcoholics and on drugs. They often have guns and hold people hostage. And for some reason, they are usually portrayed as wildly promiscuous which, when you add it all up, means the alternate personalities are having much more fun than their goody-goody counterparts. Watching them on the soaps, you start to think that maybe it would be a pretty cool disorder to have. Like doing a wild dance with an out of control partner who keeps you guessing at every step. Mine, however, is different. She's like an overly protective, world-weary grandmother who's seen too many things in life go wrong. She spends most of the day sitting in her rocking chair, looking out the window and disapproving of what she sees. I call her Greta.

Lately, Greta has been much more in evidence when I go out for my runs. For the past couple weeks, running has been a struggle with tired, sore legs and a general fatigue. Putting on my running shoes and heading out the door, not to mention just putting one foot in front of the other, has been more challenging than usual and Greta has been seizing every opportunity to offer ongoing commentary. Greta doesn't trust this whole running thing. She'd much prefer me to stay home in my bed, preferably while surrounded by padded baby bumpers and wearing a helmet.

As I head out to run, Greta dispenses her helpful warnings. "You know, that ache going down your legs should be looked into. I don't want to alarm you or anything, but a friend of mine's daughter had aches like that. She thought it was nothing and then boom! Dead." Greta seems to know a lot of people that fall into the category of healthy-but-dead. Like I said, she's seen too many things.

Ignoring Greta doesn't do much good. I've tried. But as I continue running and then hit mile 1, she chimes in again. "A mile's enough for today. Let's not overdo. Did you see that piece in the paper the other day? The man who had a heart attack while jogging? He was in perfect physical shape, jogging along like he did every day and then suddenly boom! Dead." She goes quiet for a few seconds, convinced I'll stop. When I ignore her and keep going she shakes her head and adds "OK. When you can't walk tomorow morning don't blame me." She clucks her tongue once for emphasis because she knows it irritates me and then falls silent for awhile, plotting her next move.

At mile 2 "Look out for that dog up ahead.You'll want to slow down before you get anywhere near him. I think it may be one of those pit bull types that'll rip your leg right off." and at mile 3 "Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Bernie? He used to run, too. Then one day he got this pain in his left ankle, like the one you're getting right now. He tried to ignore it, like you're doing, too. Just kept on running and running thinking it would go away on it's own. Well, eventually it was so bad he fell. Unfortunately, for him, he fell right in front of a garbage truck and boom! Dead. But you just do what you want. Don't mind me. Is that a bus I hear coming?"

Greta goes quiet again, sulking because I've continued to ignore her. I can see her sitting there, arms crossed, tapping her foot, eyes narrowed as she stares in my direction and tries to think of some way to make me come to my senses and head back home where it's safe and warm. But I'm used to Greta. I can listen to all of her negativity and continue to keep my pace while ignoring both her and the small aches that I know will disappear when I've completed today's run. I will NOT let her win.

"Do you really think this is a good idea at your age? I mean let's face it. A couple months and you'll be 47."

Maybe letting her win just this once is OK.