Twin Desire

I am a Gemini; considered a playful and curious bunch. But, it is interesting that my astrological sign is what it is when as I was growing up, it felt like two people were living inside of me.

A bold and frankly disturbing claim, but for all intents and purposes, there were.

There were two deliberate consciences within my mind, with their own thoughts—twins living inside the youngest of three.

I fully intend to explain what that entails, but...

Here’s the thing, I was born a Capricorn.

The irony of the situation is not lost on me. It makes sense, doesn’t it? That someone who self-identified as a Gemini would - by that stipulation - hold ownership over two distinct signs.

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Astrology has not always been a prominent thing in my life. In fact, when I was younger, my only exposure to the study as a whole was a free local paper called coffee news. Which would display horoscopes alongside fun facts and silly riddles.

Including me, my family had two born Capricorns (my sister and yours truly,) and we would often laugh about how our fortunes were predicted to be one and the same. It had never occurred to me that that was not the case at all.

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Now, back to my original point.

I am neither a sufferer of split personality nor am I a complete moron; my answer to the riddle of the dual person is both simpler and far sadder than I’d typically like to admit.

Ever since I was a child, I suffered from a serious case of depression. I have never been sure when it started, but It has affected me for as long as I could remember. There are all sorts of things that no one really tells you about depression, namely how to diagnose it.

I spent 19 years not knowing why my brain acted the way it did; that is to say, why there was a voice in my head that demanded I end my life.

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This is where the disparity between my Capricorn and Gemini signs comes in. Because for all intents and purposes, the voice telling me to end it was speaking in a very logical way. It was persistent, condescending and claimed to know exactly how my future would go.

Part of my affliction was an inability to feel pleasure at success; academically, creatively, and even romantic triumphs in my life were often laid low by an absolute emptiness that consumed the joy I should have felt.

The highlights of this are devastating, but only one of which should suffice.

I was an improv performer, a part of a club in my university. And without ego, I can say that I was hilarious. It was my utmost goal in almost every situation to make people laugh. So when I would hit the stage, I was on fire.

I was especially good at one particular event. The improv club was performing in Toronto, and I was absolutely killing the audience. Whenever I jumped out into a scene, raucous laughter would fill the crowd. However, after taking our bows and being greeted by smiling faces as we left the theatre, there was only one thought that would come to me.

“You should kill yourself.”

And that was where an illogical, other voice would swoop in, trying desperately to pull me from the whirlpool of despair.

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This other voice sought to convince me that what I had experienced was not “True happiness.” That the failure to feel came only from the quality of my success and nothing of fault to me.

With that, the two voices would go at it, endlessly shouting back to each other. One would demand an end to the suffering, while the other would insist that happiness would be around the corner. Neither one dared to believe that depression was the cause of it, and so we continued.

Successful stand-up shows; nothing.

Dating; nothing.

Girlfriend; nothing.

My first time making love, I cried in the car.

I lived in a dual state of egotistical desire and absolute hatred of myself. I was the best and worst person in the world. Everything was my fault, and nothing was. Life had no meaning, and I was running out of ways to prove myself wrong.

Eventually, I was just done; during a school group project, I broke down and just stopped working. I made no attempt on my life, but I had completely shut down.

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And that was enough; I had spent far too long being pulled apart by these duelling forces. I checked into a clinic and started attending therapy.

I won’t go into the healing process too heavily, but there is a vital piece of that recuperation that feels applicable. It centred around the idea of finding a “stable sense of self.” The idea was that I could step outside of my thoughts and become an observer rather than a participant. I became more than these wayward intrusions; more than just these thoughts.

Two people became one; twins joined into a singular sibling.

Through this turmoil, my “self” finally emerged; once the voices were rendered powerless, my true self remained. I no longer succeeded solely for the purpose of “being happy.”

And when acting upon my day today, I was enamoured by the world I found outside of my own head. I became that classic Gemini, hungry to explore and find everything that I had missed out on, the mirth that had laid dormant for so many years.

As to why I consider myself a Gemini specifically. May 29th, the last day I went to see the doctor who diagnosed me.

I consider it a birthday of sorts.