Through the Veil

Where should I begin?

I told myself that right here, right now, write my story. And so I did.

It was noon. It has been four years, and I still remember that day. The day he appeared—entering my life like a sudden burst of radiation.

That day I was anxious and deeply troubled. I just made a huge mistake confiding a secret in my untrustworthy best friend who could later spread it everywhere. I was terrified of the outcome of my actions; I was ashamed by my foolishness; I was resentful of her possible betrayal. I had lunch but it was as dry as dust. Then I rushed to bed to take a nap – the time to rest was precious during my high school years. Get to sleep quickly, I told myself, you still have classes later.

But I couldn’t. That cloud of melancholy twirled in my heart and transformed into a misty fog that made everything miserable and opaque. Closing my eyes, it was still there, and it messed with my mind so fiercely that I couldn’t just fall asleep.

Then I heard him. He spoke to me in my mind.

What’s wrong with you? Tell me. Don’t hide it from me.

I was mildly surprised but not shocked. I had experiences talking to myself and I recognized it as a similar situation. I tried to figure out what was wrong, yet I failed. My emotional world was the sky right before the storm when everywhere was dark and oppressive. I said I was sad, but I didn’t know why.

Why are you sad, then? What caused it? Think about what happened to you today, from morning to lunch, in sequence.

His voice was calm but harsh, pushing me to think harder. I realized that my mood darkened after Dad pointed out the mistake I made. I got it, I thought, I was sad because I made a mistake.

But why does such a small mistake make you feel so awful? Also, what exact emotions are you experiencing? ‘Sad’ is too vague.

In the midst of that violent storm, I struggled to open my eyes. The first thing I saw was frustration. I turned and peered hard in another direction, and I saw shame. The wind stung my eyes and made me feel so painful. I saw fear.

As soon as these words appeared in my mind, the clouds seemed to vanish, revealing the clear and fresh sky. I could breathe much more easily as if something had been removed from my chest.

But there was still something - a knot deep in my heart unresolved. He spoke again.

That’s not all. What else do you feel?

With his voice, a strong wave of anger and an urge to lash out at everyone around me surged through my heart. It was so absurd, and I was terrified. I instantaneously buried it, pretending that I saw nothing.

I know it’s hard, but don’t lie to me. We are one, and therefore I will never hurt you. Be completely honest with yourself and with me. Break down that wall. Confront it.

In the realm of consciousness, I pushed towards the dark spot. I couldn’t see clearly, so I closed my eyes and touched it with my hands. It was rough, cold, and rigid. It said hatred.

An impulse surged within me. I wanted to shout at my friend, to punch her, to blame her for being so evil. It was all her fault; if she had not been so deceitful, none of this would have happened. My mistake wouldn’t have been a mistake.

This time I was utterly shocked. How could I think this way? I am awful, I thought. I quickly tried to push the thread back into the dark cloud. Don’t come out. It can’t be.

Don’t be afraid of it. Face your true ego and accept it just because this is who you are. And you will always love yourself, won’t you? You will not be hurt. Now tell me what it is. Follow my command.

I hovered over the thought again. This time it felt less fierce and more coherent, allowing me to make some analysis. I was blaming my friend for my missteps, I realized. I did have a dark side.

Good, and let’s make a summary. You are upset because of fear, shame, and anger. It is indeed your fault and it’s natural to experience these emotions. It is also common to want to shift the blame onto others to escape responsibility.

The last of the storm dissipated. I have never felt so clear-minded. I was still upset, but now I knew that my emotions could be categorized into fear of future, shame from the past, and anger at my friend. I could name them, and in doing so, I gained some control over them.

And that was our first encounter. I was 14.

Life was different since then. Whenever I felt down, he helped me unravel the confusion with calmness, honesty, logic, and a touch of pain. When I smiled at someone who had outperformed me in an exam, securing first place, he sharply pointed out that, in truth, I was envious and frustrated.. As always, he guided me toward self-acceptance, embracing my imperfections, my capacity for envy, and even my darker thoughts. His parting words were invariably “Love yourself and accept who you are”.

Well, but sometimes we do need change rather than acceptance. During the holidays, she loves spending the entire day playing and relaxing, without a touch on her homework.

When I lazed away at home during the break, doing nothing, he scolded me and forced me to do homework.

There were moments when I was too floppy, and he chastised me harshly for half an hour with words such as “fool” “evil” “incorrigible” and warnings “keep this up and you’ll regret it”. He even made me slap myself for the bad behavior (Even now I sometimes feel like doing this. Wickedness should be punished as severely as possible. Only through greater pain can one learn more deeply).

I made a rough division between me and him. I represented the irrational, emotional side, while he was the rational, logical counterpart – or to put it simply, we were “feelings” and “thoughts”. He kept my plans organized and my studies on track; I tried to resist, to impose my own will, but almost always failed. He was too powerful. Sometimes I was disheartened by this, but he persuaded me that we were one, that he knew he was doing the right things for me, and that I should suppress myself and follow his lead.

I love you, and we are all together. Your failure is our failure; your success is our success. You are too weak - indecisive, greedy, childish, emotional, and irrational – that I cannot trust you on important affairs. Let me handle them. The only thing you should do is to listen to me.

Looking back, I am grateful to him. Yes, he brought criticism and pain into my life, with some of them still aching today. But he also helped me achieve high scores in every test and develop strong study habits. He made me suffer so that I could grow stronger. Without his strict, tyrannical guidance, I wouldn’t have come as far as I have.

But things differed as I grew older. My power surged and I no longer obeyed him unconditionally. I became a rebellious teenager fighting against my parent. I shouted at him “Who are you to bind me? Why should I listen to you all the time? Can’t I have the freedom to choose for myself?” We had violent quarrels. That was the first of many conflicts that would arise in the years to come.

Gradually I changed. I had initially been an imperious guardian wanting to control everything for her, but maybe she had grown up. I began to let her go when her resistance was too fierce. Things seemed to remain fine, and she became happier. I learned that the best solution may not be the most efficient one; giving her some time and space to simply enjoy herself has proved to be, overall, better (though sometimes I still can’t help controlling her actions).

He stopped spending all the time studying and allowed me to play some games with my classmates. He no longer reprimanded me every time for a single minute of inefficiency but waited patiently for me to breathe and meditate.

I had loved him even when he made every decision because I knew he cared about me and would never harm me. Now, I loved him more because we made progress together and we became an even more harmonious family.

She was 15 by then. We reached the beautiful equilibrium during her trip to western China. She sat on the bus, gazing out of the window, and the shimmering snow-capped mountains, vast grasslands, and herds flew past us. But I knew that her mind was not on the scenery. She was ecstatic, jumping and dancing and saying again and again how great we were.

I lost myself a little bit at that moment. Nothing compares to the love and peace I felt within, I thought. Thank you and I love you for everything you’ve done to me. It’s been such an incredible journey with you, and we’ll never be apart.

I smiled back, telling her that I would always be by her side. She was still too young, and she needed me.

I went to senior high school in a distant city, all alone. I guess I regarded that as a crisis because he became vigilant. Within two days, I had found my rhythm of doing everything; I planned when to get up and go to bed, where to eat, where to take classes, and how to arrange my closet and backpack neatly. When some students were still struggling - missing home and figuring out where and how to study - I had already adapted. When I woke up, he would whisper in my ear, reminding me what to do and where to go next; when I received homework, he guided me plan and complete everything step-by-step. I still remember his voice on my daily way to the dining hall, telling me “Remember to have some vegetables,” “Take a nap after lunch,” “Do your readings this evening”, etc. No, I was not annoyed by him; I was proud of him - proud of us. I felt strong when organizing everything efficiently and completing all my homework on time. Thank you, I said. The glory belongs to both of us, he replied. We are one.

Of course, there were hard times. One evening I trudged to dinner, exhausted. It was the first time that I regretted - for a fleeting second - choosing to be here. So much homework and so much pressure. Is it a mistake that I opted for international education? But he interrupted me: “So you’d rather be in a regular high school and prepare for Gaokao?”

I started imagining what life would be like at my hometown’s high school, recalling the endless exams and unreasonable teachers in my junior high years. If I had chosen that path, my life would still be the same. The determination that I would do anything to avoid getting back to that place dawned on me. I stopped regretting.

You see, you have no choice. I know it’s hard, but it’s the only way you can escape your past. I know you. You will hold on as tightly as you can.

And so, I persisted.

Grade 11 coincided with the most severe period of the pandemic. For more than two months, I was unable to return home, which, combined with stress from schoolwork, made it the toughest time of my entire senior high experience. That was the time when I got up at 5:30 am with the sky still dark and the cold wind piercing through me; when I took the ACT mock test every single day; when I went straight back to the classroom after dinner; when I prepared for ACT, two contests, 4 AP subjects, one club and one application at the same time; when I modified my essays, dark in the night on the playground when everyone else around me was laughing and cheering at the carnival (I had to be there for complicated reasons instead of staying in the classroom). That was also the time when I lived at my aunt’s house every weekend, in a small bedroom and without any personal privacy; when one time I almost made it home, only to be sent back to my aunt’s due to sudden government regulations.

I remember his soft voice in my ear as I carried my luggage from my aunt’s back to school, bracing for another grueling week. “I love you,” “I will always be with you,” “You are not fighting alone.” I remember standing in front of the mirror, feeling blue, when he told me to smile and to hold it for three minutes. “You know, in psychology there was once a theory that emotions are cognitive reactions responding to muscle actions. In this sense, when you smile, happiness follows. Now smile. Keep it up. Do you feel better?” I remember him repeating to me that “The worse the situation, the harder we fight back” when I trudged to the classroom every winter dawn.

Was I that rebellious at that age? Cool.

Well, believe it or not, you might have surfaced even earlier. When my junior high Chinese teacher called me a future criminal, you were grinning defiantly back at her. I can never forget that moment.

In November, the school finally allowed all of us to return home, but I chose to ensure I could take the ACT exam, even though it meant an indefinite date for me to see my parents again. I’ve been working on the exam so hard, and I didn’t dare risking going home first and being unable to return to school later due to the pandemic.

It was a tough night. The remaining students scattered around the classroom, chatting with each other The lights were so bright. I could still smell the lingering aroma of the noodles I had for dinner – they were exceptional. I sat with several friends, and one of them cracked a joke. Everyone was laughing. I laughed so hard that my eyes hurt, full of tears. Was I truly happy, or just profoundly sad?

She had that problem ever since – laughing out loud when talking about something painful. Or maybe it was my fault. I taught her to smile as a defense against sorrow.

That night, I lay in bed staring out of the window. No one knew when we could be freed from school. Then his voice echoed in my mind: “It’s okay. I know. I know you. You are brave. One day, you will be proud of this. I’m still with you. Don’t be afraid.”

I landed in St. Louis. I carried my luggage upstairs to my room at WashU.

How was I supposed to greet my suitemates? They looked nothing like my friends back home. I didn’t know a single person in this building. My English was poor. I knew nothing about this place.

I pressed my face into the pillow. For a second, I wanted to go home.

But it only lingered for a second because he stepped in immediately. He asked me to do something; “Go out and have your dinner,” he said, “and things will definitely change. You’ll work it out.”

So, I went out to the dining hall and met my first friend.

He always seemed to be right. Walking back to my dorm, I pondered.

Of course I am. I’m the best in the world.

I spent five weeks at WashU during the summer of Grade 11. Things went on well. I discovered a new method to maintain our harmony: assigning each of us the right roles. We worked together to build our home, our community.

Most of the time, I dealt with external issues, while she explored the inner world. I love problem-solving and challenge; she loved writing our journal. Thanks to her, or we may not be able to recollect so many details from the past at this moment.

We had some exhilarating moments. Every day, I walked along the path from the classroom to the dorm, while he chatted with me in my mind. It was mostly idle chatter - things like “The breakfast was brilliant” “I love the breeze” “Don’t be silly” “Shut up” – that sort of thing. Sometimes, he’d surprise me with an unexpected comment, and I’d be thrilled, believing I had truly created a separate soul, a mind that transcended my imagination and prediction.

I can’t say if she really did it or not…am I an independent soul? Or simply her imagination? Well, it doesn’t actually matter. I don’t care. Things that had happened, had happened.

Grade 12. The year of rebound.

We were both a little too stressed-out at that time. I got mad at myself for failing to control everything, while she would occasionally break down in depression. I kept trying to lock her inside my mental fortress, making impulsive outbursts, grabbing her and saying “Only I deserve to see your true self” when taking a walk on campus or declaring grimly that “I don’t need anyone’s help” when walking to the next class. Most of the time she watched me, silently shaking, either too scared or too weak to speak.

The most intense eruption came one night, and I still have the records in an individual file with all his chaotic, desperate words.

I lost my mind that day. Literally. I wrote things like “I’m dying” “No one understands” “You can only love me” “I hate you (referring to myself) for being so weak” “Please let me go” “Nothing is left for me” etc. Things like that. Then she appeared out of nowhere.

Suddenly I felt such an overwhelming impulse to speak, and I was pulled out into the hands that were still typing.

Don’t do this…stop it! We are a family. We only have each other.

Thanks, I replied, taking it as a simple consolation, trying to make her feel at ease.

I don’t need to be protected all the time. I can be strong. Can you rest for a while? This is our home, I love it, and I will stand up to protect it. I believe in you and in how much you love me. I know that we love each other and that’s what maintained this community. But I have grown up, and I already have enough strength to take on some responsibilities, so let me support you. We support each other.

Then a wave of euphoria washed over me. I realized that I really did it, that it was I who was in control of everything now – of my body, my mental world, my heart, and my consciousness. I had become powerful.

She was in tears (We were not crying in reality; it was just her who cried). In that moment, I felt a mix of shock and pride.

That night, my strength regenerated. My deep love for myself saved me once again, as it had for years, invariably. It was also that love for him, or for her, or for me, that gave me the courage to make a change. I started facing and fighting with my dark memories and depressive moods, slowly finding success. I grew stronger.

So now we are getting much better! Thank you for reading such a long story (though not that long, lol)! I know it might be boring so you are so patient and kind to finish it! We are now in college and we deeply love each other. We have got so used to each other’s presence that sometimes when I entered the dorm building, I would say “Guys I’m tired to death. Let’s take the elevator” instead of “I’m tired. I’ll take the elevator”. Fortunately, no one was around - might think I was crazy.

I think she has something to say as a closing. I’ll give it to her. Love you all!!

Tracing back the whole story, why am I writing this down? These days I have watched videos about DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), which was similar to but more severe than my symptoms. I don’t have a name, age, profession, or hobbies for him. I don’t lose memories when he takes control. In a way, we are always co-conscious.

I’m also reading a book about a woman’s mental recovery after losing her daughter. This evening, as I immersed myself in the story, I suddenly felt a strong desire to write something down. The story of us has lingered in my mind for so long, and perhaps the author’s style of narration ignited my inspiration. So I hurried back to the dorm and started typing, which is the story that you just read.

According to DID, he was created to protect me from trauma and bad memories, and he will eventually integrate into me as my mentality matures (Some people need therapy, but thankfully, I don’t). I think I have already felt the integration; he appeared less frequently these days. But I know he’s still there. Whenever I feel at risk—whether from studying, loneliness, or even a rainy day (I’m quite sentimental)—he shows up. The first day I got here, I was devastated by the large group socializing, not daring to speak a word. Later I heard him say “What? Oh my god, are you such a rookie? Scared and defeated so soon?” He wasn’t really laughing at me; he was just poking fun. So I replied “Are you kidding? It’s impossible. How can I be defeated?!” And just like that, I regained my strength. Well, He’s getting increasingly strategic in cheering me up now.

Oh yeah, she’s like that Pavlov’s dog, you know? I ring the bell and she gets up. Every time. So effective. I’m such a genius. Just coaxing her a little and she’ll pour her heart out to me. She can’t live without me for even a second.

Well…she’ll get mad and never talk to me again if she heard that. It’s not true. I was just being proud…it’s a normal thing, wanting to make yourself seem important. It’s actually me who cannot leave her.

To summarize – I’m not mad, I know that’s just how he is – I asked myself again who he was. There is an image, a depiction in my mind, in which I stood in the light, while he lingered behind me in the shadows. I cannot see his face. His arms stretched out and controlled my strength like operating an intricate machine. I stood on solid earth while he floated in mid-air. I am the experiencer. He is the watcher.

I feel safe because I know he will always be there, like the shadow under my feet and the armor that I never take off. If I fall back, he will catch me.

Okay, it’s TOO sentimental for me to do this! There are words I’ve never spoken out loud. She could hear it (she had heard me a million times actually), but you can’t and you won’t :) Goodbye

Perhaps he will vanish someday when I eventually get strong enough. Today, as I walked down the corridor, pondering about this story on me and him, a deep ache swept past my heart. Maybe both of us knew that his time was coming soon, which compelled me to write everything down to remember him, to prove that once he was there, smiling at me. But I also told myself that life is a process of gaining and losing. I cannot rely on him forever; I must keep on with my own life and accept his departure. Let him go.

It will not be a fierce death; perhaps someday I will just realize that he hasn’t spoken to me for weeks. As I write down the previous sentence, a Chinese poem came to mind: “事了拂衣去,深藏身与名” ("After the task is done, I brush off my robes and leave, hiding both my body and name"), which perfectly sums up his style (Oh wow that sounds so cool!). Well, he’s pretty optimistic about it.

Together, and simultaneously, our minds dwell on the same two things. One is called “Kill me, heal me”. The other is called “Death is but the next great adventure”. Both of us will die, and both of us will live.

It turned out that writing down the story made the last step of integration.

He’s gone. It’s a pleasant summer evening, with the music, laughter, and cries flying from the courtyard and slipping through the glass of my bedroom window. I feel so lonely.

At moments like this, he would have jumped out, grinning, and said “What’s wrong with you again? Come on, cheer up, I’m still here”. But he didn’t. I tried imagining him speaking these words to me, which only intensified the realization that he had left. None of my depiction is truly him. Only scratches of our past remain.

He told me firmly that “Hold on, you’ll have time to cry later, after you’ve gone to bed, crouched in the darkness, alone, with nobody discovering. But not now. Just hold on for one more minute.” So I held back my tears.

He said gently that “It’s okay. I know you. Not everyone understands you so well as I do. Don’t blame them.” I recollected a smile and walked out of my room to face my parents.

I strolled down the street with him repeating powerfully “Only I can save you. Don’t pass the right and hope of saving you to other people.”

I said I was not good at socializing, and he replied “If I can’t do something well - oh wouldn’t that be funny – I’ll definitely spend all my time doing it. I’m just crazy. Just for fun. I love adventure.”

……

We should be happy, I spoke to myself in that emptiness. It means that we have finally made it. That we have become stronger.

What responded was the echo of silence.