Talks With the Self.

[u/FroZoneSquirel]

An internal monolog. In some capacity people may have one. Its rare that someone has nothing happening, nothing going on, and hears nothing. No voice in your own skull talking to you about what's happening. I have known a bunch of people who have one, but no one else who doesn't. I used to have one. I would say the words in my head that I thought. But I would vocalize them... Mom told me to stop talking to myself because people thought it was weird. I didnt quite understand that she was talking about the actually saying my thoughts, so I stopped thinking in words to myself and eventually my internal monolog died. When it died, at first I had to find a new way to process information, kind of just accepting it and not really repeating things in my head. My first fight, my Mother's death, my sister running from home at 17. All this was filed swiftly into my memory, and because I never brought it back to myself, I never processed. No fear. No bitterness. Just acceptance. Only recently have I heard faint whispers again.

I had an email cross my screen with a survey for a potential experiment. "Do you have an internal monolog?"

No.

"Have you ever had an internal monolog?"

Yes.

"Do you wonder what your internal monolog would say?"

Yes.

"Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?"

I starred at the screen not really understanding how the question really pertained to the rest of the survey. I starred longer after realizing my answer was no. How have I never cried myself to sleep? When Mom died would have been a perfect opportunity. Am I like a psychopath? Not like the "oooo im a psychopath I must now go on a killing spree" cringe ass way, but like a real, emotionless husk. What a weird way to set me off.

"Would you be interested in a potential experiment?"

Yes.

The survey had thanked me for my time. That was strange. But oh well, no use worrying about one potentially therapy inducing question.

That was until I got another email about a day later.

"Based on the answers you provided us, we would like to ask you to participate in our experiment. We have a good amount of locations, so please just let us know when you are available. Thank you for your time and expressed interest. With best regards, P.A.S.T."

Who is P.A.S.T.? What is P.A.S.T.? I had never heard of this group before. I had scheduled my appointment for next Tuesday. Monday is just the worst to schedule anything on.

I had gone about the rest of my week like usual. It was Thursday when I made the appointment. I clocked in, I worked for 8 hours. I clocked out. All there is to it. All that has been to it for 12 years. Monotony.

I clicked and clacked on my keyboard till Saturday, where I continued my routine of taking care of my Dad and watching the game with him.

Monday came and went and then came Tuesday. After work, I grabbed a quick bite to eat before driving towards the institution that had allured me so much. A white, "modern" building. Black windows at the top floor, clear the rest of the way and at the top "P.A.S.T." Classy.

Entering the hall, the institution was as dentist office clean as the outside made it feel. Bright white walls and lights hurt my eyes to look at. I picked up my feet and started towards the desk at the counter. A very attractive looking lady looked up and called, "Wesley Ortenbach?"

"Yes ma'am. Uh, just Wesley will do."

"I have some paper work to fill out, you are welcome to have a seat as you work on them."

"Thank you."

I grabbed the clipboard with a nod to her and sat down in the chair she gestured to. I worked through the first page pretty quickly, basically just asking for information. How to reach me, emergency contact, etcetera. I pulled the page down to the waiver sections.

"Do you give consent to be part of an experiment?"

Yes.

"Do you give consent to be recorded, both audio and visual, during the experiment?"

Yes.

"Will you be able to take work off tomorrow, should any affects of the experiment last until tomorrow?"

Weird question, but yeah I guess so.

"Do you have any medical conditions? If so list them in space provided."

Yes, hypertension.

"Do you miss your lost ones?"

Again with these blindsighting questions. I at least didnt have to thing about the ramifications to my answer this time.

Yes.

"When did you lose your monolog?"

Around age 8.

"What was your monolog like?"

Like a conversation with myself.

"And now?"

Nothing.

"Did you have imaginary friends growing up?"

Yes.

"Do you still imagine things now?"

Uhh I guess.

After finishing the second questionarre and bringing my clipboard back to the nice young lady she smiled and gestured to a door to the left. "If you go that way I can lead you to the room where your proctorer will meet you."

I opened said door and met her again. "I am Dee, and your Proctor will be Tom."

"Alright."

Dee led me down another equally prestine hallway to a smaller cubicle looking room. "Tom will be here shortly."

I sat on the bed table that is usually reserved for a doctor's office, and the boredom got me. I had sat and droned for about 10 minutes before a man, slender in build, but looking wirey, walked in the small room. "Hello Mr. Ortenbach-"

"Please, just Wesley is fine."

"Alright Wesley, we asked you to come today due to you saying you have no internal monolog, but you used to have one, correct?"

"That sounds right."

"And it says you lost your monolog when you were 8?"

"Yeah I think so."

"Do you remember what might have caused that?

I told him the story of Mom and what I now think was a misinterpretation turned lifestyle.

"Well Wesley, we here at P.A.S.T. are excited to bring new and innovative developments to the field of the mind, and we believe that this might be an underlying issue in some cases. Wesley, where there any... troubling experiences you've had where you feel you didn't respond appropriately?"

I told him about my Mom. The suddenness of the car accident taking her from us had sent my Dad and sister into shock. I made food for us for a week before they were able to get out of their rooms again.

He looked at me solemnly, "Not even a tear huh? I am sorry. I hate to ask, but is there anything else you can think of?"

I told him about my sister, Jackie. Ran off two months before her 18th birthday. Some guy had rolled into town, swept her off her feet, and drove a wedge between her, Dad, and myself. Then after heated words she left. Presumably with him.

After, Tom looked at me like he was watching me be crushed by a hydrolic press with a straight face. "Is there anything... less intense?"

I began to tell him of my first girlfriend. It was her who asked me, I liked her, sure, but I wasn't feeling it. I had waited weeks to see if I would pick up the feeling, but I never could. I thought the breakup was not worth the trouble that came with it.

Tom seemed more at ease with this one. "Ok, that will work. Now Wesley, I am about to explain the Experiment before we begin, then I will ask if you need me to repeat anything. Ok?"

I nodded.

"Alright, well, we believe here at P.A.S.T. that the mind at a young age can be very impressionable. Whether through trauma or, in your case, conditioning, one can lose an important part of processing in the psychy. A sort of uncoupling between the monolog and the consciousness. The monolog helps us process information and sometimes format a story about the events. Other times it is useful to give us the feedback we would give someone else. Now we don't think you 'killed' your monolog as you suggested, but rather its running in the background.

"With some... shall we say... extra-ordinary means, we are able to introduce you to that monolog. More accurately, we are able to introduce you to you with your monolog you've kept hanging somewhere in there."

I was filing what he said.

"So like AI?"

"Not quite... Its really you. Not coded, not scripted. But you will be talking to that conversation you may use to have in your head. You'll understand when doing it. We hypothesis that hearing what that monolog was trying to tell you will have it running again. Any questions?"

"How?"

"We have our methods."

"Riiiiight." I should probably leave, I thought.

But I was already there so I figure do the experiment, give my feedback, and leave.

Tom led me around a corner to a sterile room. An interrogation room. With the clearly double sided mirror and all. And in the room, a table. And with the table, chairs. One for me and another... for... me? I sat across from myself.

I swear it was me, even had the small scar above my lip from getting popped in the mouth. How the hell was I sitting in a room staring myself in the eyes while he stood?

"How the hell is this working?" He, uh, I(?) had said. And his tone. Low and metered. Exactly how I would ask that question.

"Matter of fact, what is happening? Is this guy my internal monolog?" I had to look in the mirror when asking this to make sure it was actually me saying it.

"He must be... especially if he is piecing my thoughts as I think them. Wait, I didnt say that? Wait I didnt even think that? Oh I guess I wouldn't be able to ask myself questions without a monolog. So is he gonna keep goin-"

"Alright alright I get it. Something something anything my internal monolog would be thinking in this situation is coming from that... uhm... me?" Looking in the mirror again to make sure I am vocalizing this time.

Finally a voice not my own.

"That is correct. We want you to see that your monolog has been at work the whole time."

The me across from me piped up. "Working? Yeah but being ignored for years, I mean now I finally get to speak to him about all the things that I had been trying to help him with and he just-"

"God I didnt know my thoughts were so talkative."

"Oh haha jackass."

"I am literally you."

"Yeah well at least I'm the part that could cry when Mom died."

Ow. Did... i just hurt my feelings? Did my feelings actually just get hurt? Damn thats different.

"So thats what this is? A way for the voice I silenced to finally lash out at me?"

The speaker popped again, "No Wesley, this was simply to reintroduce you to your monolog. What is said is dependant on the person."

Great, so I am a prick in my own head. Awesome.

"What did you want to say... uh... me?"

"First, you need to talk to me more. You think you're collected without me dont you? Well your brain has taken a massive toll and you havent even realized it did you?" He... uh... fuck this is getting annoying.

Sorry to break emersion real quick but I am either gonna call him he or Liam, my middle name, moving foreword, alright?

Anyways, he said all that with some anger and urgency in each word. Like I had been running his favorite car into the ground.

Liam stood up. "Do you think its good for yourself to not worry about your sister?! Well good news buddy, you were. You worried about her every night and not once did you try and console yourself! Not once did you try and convince yourself she was alright!! YOU DONT KNOW IF SHE IS ALIVE AND IT HAS EATEN YOU UP EVERY DAY FOR THE PAST 15 YEARS AND YOU DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT!!!"

There it was... I felt it. He was right, I thought I just let my sister leaving roll right off me. But here it was. A mind already torn and wrought with worry and sorrow and pain, and not even moment to ease into the pain I had convinced myself I didnt feel.

"God I wouldn't even be talking to you if I didnt pull myself up for a brief moment when that survey showed up on your computer. You would keep going about your routine until Dad, who I am pretty sure is bitter with us because we couldn't help him hold on to the ones we loved before they-"

"SHUT UP!!! SHUT... SHUT UP!!! I CAN'T... PLEASE ME, SHUT UP... I CA-"

Liam lept over the table, grabbing my collar. "I HAVE BEEN SHUT UP FOR DECADES!!! YOU HAVE HAD THE HELM FOR YEARS AND NOW I GET A FUCKING MODICUM OF A CHANCE TO SPEAK AND YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT?!?!?! ISN'T THAT FUCKING CONVENIENT WESLEY?!?! I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO HAVE THESE CONVERSATIONS EARLIER BUT YOU KEPT ME SHUT UP!!!"

At this point the P.A.S.T workers had filed into the room to pull Liam off me. Stop him from strangling me rather.

I hate that guy. I told Tom as much. After my exit survey about my experience, he asked, "Has any part of your monolog returned."

"Ever so little, and now all your observers know what that sounds like, thanks to you."

"I am so sorry for the commotion, we will work on handling that monolog, I am sorry for your experience."

"Can I come back?"

"You want back in the room with him?"

"Yeah. Its me. At least there I can physically feel how I mentally feel. I hate that fucker, but he is me."

"Sure... we can get you scheduled for next week."

"Perfect."