Multiple Personas

Why do you sometimes feel as though a hundred years of life have been crammed fit into your seemingly only nineteen-year old body? Anyone had this problem? Well, that's the best way I could describe it. Or honestly, it's like I'm going multiple personalities here. One minute I'm that hundred years old, wise like, bitter and sad this-is-all-good-for-nothing-anyway kind of person, let's call her the Battered Old Lady. Next minute I'm jumping up and down in excitement, laughing and joking, like some kid, let's call that one Jiggery-Pokery. Minute after that, I might drift away from things, distance myself, dream and illusionize, paint stuff, write stuff, create stuff; and I call her the Solitary Artist. And occasionally, I slip and fall back into my so called irresponsible, judgeless youth, where all that really matters are drinks and dances and the most primitive kind of passion - that would be the Careless Teen. Guess there are more to it as well, like the Teacher Trainee, embracing troubled kids, or the Famous Local, loving her job at the gas station, and the Poor University Student Constantly Complaining About How Poor She Is; but they are all minor, compared to the first four.
Battered Old Lady likes nothing. She dislikes nothing, either. She does nothing but cry, or possibly stare dully at some point on the wall. This is all because she thinks everything she does is useless, and won't matter to a soul, especially not to the world on the whole, which is the only thing she considers matters. Got it? Battered Old Lady will do nothing, because to the world, she is merely a drop of sea water in the Atlantic if even that, maybe slightly more considering her contributions of tears. Instead, she will be sad about the condition everything's in and how hopeless it is for it ever to change. The state of the world saddens her, but she is so blinded and overwhelmed by the sadness that she does not attempt to change it.
Battered Old Lady can appear at any time. Sometimes when simply hearing the news. Sometimes in the middle of Jiggery-Pokery's laughter, because honest laughter makes Battered Old Lady choke and force herself to come forth, preventing anything becoming too happy, too satisfied, too enjoyable. If the world is so troubled, Battered Old Lady considers, she has no right to be any less troubled than the rest, just because she is materialistically better off. And being troubled all the time inflates her conscience with the twisted idea that being chronically depressed is sort of her compensation for never actively struggling for what she sees.
Jiggery-Pokery is a blast. She doesn't see consequences, she doesn't think of practical things. She plays around, and finds pleasure in the smallest of things, smiles at the littlest of thoughts. Jiggery-Pokery thinks it's still not too late to get that craved letter from Hogwarts, and loves the way it sounds when she kicks a piece of gravel against hot asfalt. The furthest away from home she's ever been and ever heard about is simply as far as to the sea, where you can play in the waves and build castles in the sand and play with sticks and stones in, and where Mum and Dad brings lemonade and sandwiches for when you get hungry, and dry towels for when you get wet. The sea, from where you don't ever have to go home, where the family is always together, always laughing. Jiggery-Pokery loves the sea, and will never leave it.
Solitary Artist is a loner. She enjoys the company of herself, and logically, why shouldn't she? She is, after all, the only person she can be absolutely certain that she'll spend the rest of her life with. Solitary Artist draws, writes, sings, simply creates, anything that comes to mind. She is very emotional, but mostly expresses her feelings through her creations. When she is making something, she disappears from the world, distances herself, drifts off... dreams herself away, unintentionally. When she's done, she might show her work to someone, thought most of the time she stuffs it somewhere, unseen, where she can keep it safe for other times. Solitary Artist makes time fly. Hours can pass without her noticing. Solitary Artist is mostly left to herself by the others, but unfortunately, appears more and more seldom as years come.
Careless Teen is different from Solitary Artist. She doesn't bare the company of herself, she's only happy when she's surrounded by people. If she finds herself alone, she makes herself busy with something, anything at hand, so as not having to think about things. Sometimes she is interrupted in this by Battered Old Lady, almost as if that is who she becomes when she does that dangerous thing thinking. Careless Teen thinks a weekend without alcohol is a waste of time, that a day without hearing from any of her friends is like a plague. Careless Teen does loads of things to occupy herself, and to keep her schedule crammed, so that she can feel wanted, needed, confirmed, by the people around her. And so she does anything to be accepted by them. Foolish things, at times. Other times she does things that only benefit herself, hurts people, not willingly, but because she is swept away by the moment far too often. Careless Teen hates work and thinks her folks are ungrateful to her for what she does for them, unlike Jiggery-Pokery, who would beam at work, and love every ounce of it. Careless Teen sometimes wishes to hurt herself so that someone might see her, so that someone might reach out and touch her. Careless Teen is blind to who is good for her and who cares about her, and sometimes sees nothing when there is so much there, or sees so much where there is nothing to be seen. Careless Teen would never stop to think, because her way of living would break down her conscience if she did.
Do you see how all these fit into one person? How they all are parts of one person, parts of me? When I look at what I've written, it seems absurd that they should all be sides of one person, but they are.
They are all just parts of me.