Buying an apartment again was a big deal for me. It marked the moment when I had finally managed to pick myself up and started moving forward again. After over half a year, I was independent again. I was earning an income, taking care of myself and I finally felt alive again.

However, my mother wasn't too happy. Even though she supported me every step of the way, she feared that this turn of events would make everything go back to how it used to be. She feared that she was going to lose me for a second time, and she wasn't wrong.

"You must visit sometimes!" She insisted as I hauled a suitcase out her door. "I don't want you disappearin' for a decade again!"

"Mum, I'll keep in touch, I promise!" I muttered, too focused on moving out to say a proper goodbye. I still regret that moment. I want to scream at myself to pause and look back. I want to grab my younger self and shake her senses back into her. I want her to turn around, smile and say goodbye.

But she didn't. I didn't.

I fully intended on keeping touch. I was convinced that I wouldn't fall into my old habits, that I'd answer calls, meet up, visit friends and family. It's too bad I had forgotten how much of a drug success was.

I unlocked the door to my new first-floor apartment and threw my suitcase on the floor. I closed the door behind me and immediately started unpacking.

I stuffed clothes in the wardrobe, dumped makeup onto the bathroom sink, shoved some food I had brought with me into the kitchen cabinets. I couldn't wait to live independently again.

When the 7am alarm went off the next morning, I practically strung out of bed like a Jane-in-a-box. I put on my office clothes, did some light but noticeable makeup and grabbed my handbag as I ran out the door. I had already searched online for the best cafés in the area and I headed towards the closest one to get my morning coffee.

When I finally had a disposable cup in my hand with a steaming latte, I got the bus to Mercury IT. I had been working there for about a month now and I was a lot happier than I was. I felt useful. I felt needed. I was back to where I belonged.

As I stepped through the glass doors of the office building, I breathed in the now familiar scent and grinned.

"You didn't get me a cup?" Veronica's voice was preceded by the clicking of heels which was the only indicator of her presence. If it weren't for those heels, she'd be a ghost.

"Last time I did, you didn't pay me back for two weeks." I glared at her as we neared the elevator. Of course, she knew I was teasing. She let out a chuckle and pressed the call button with a long manicured finger.

"It was one week, actually. And I had already apologised for it." The elevator doors slid open silently and we stepped in. "Anything interesting happening up at your floor?"

"Not particularly." I shrugged. "There's some drama between Jenkins and his wife though."

"When isn't there drama between those two?" Veronica smirked. "What is it this time?"

"Not sure, but she stormed into his office yesterday and almost shattered the windows with her shrieking."

Veronica laughed as the lift came to a stop on her floor.

"Well, I'll meet you outside at lunch, like always." She stepped out and gave me a small wave. I raised my free hand in a half wave and watched as the doors closed again.

I took another sip of my coffee and soon arrived at my floor. I set my stuff on my desk outside Jenkins' office and sat down, opening my laptop.  I smiled when I saw the familiar layout of an office computer: word documents, spreadsheets and PDFs. My natural habitat.

The next nine hours at work went by pretty quickly. I drowned myself in the scent of coffee and the sound of fingers flying over keyboard keys. The day ended sooner than I expected and before I knew it, it was 10pm and I was engulfed in my new bedsheets in my new home.

***

My symptoms got worse. As I fell into my old routine of life, I started to get amnesia. I couldn't remember what I had for breakfast. I couldn't remember arriving at work. I couldn't remember going to bed. It was as if I was conscious only fifty percent of each day. It freaked me out so much, I had to go back to Sally.

"You're back!" Sally pulled me into a hug when I appeared at her doorstep for an impromptu visit. "Veronica's been telling me that you're doing great at Mercury!"

"It's alright." I smiled as she led me into her living room. The fireplace wasn't on that day, probably because she hadn't been expecting visitors. "I'm back in a familiar setting."

"That's good." Sally sat down in her usual place and I sat opposite. "People like being in familiar situations. So what brings you here?"

"Well... I don't think..." I wasn't sure how to phrase my thoughts. "I don't think traumatic events are the only... things causing my suppressed memories."

"How come?"

I sighed as I fought to form words. "I don't think they're suppressed memories at all. I've been having amnesia lately. For no apparent reason."

"No reason? Are you sure?" Sally furrowed her brows and pulled out a notebook from the bookshelf beside her. She opened at a page and started writing.

"It's simple things." I insisted. "I don't remember what I had for lunch today. I also don't remember most of my journey here, in fact, I'm not sure if I got a bus or taxi. It can't be traumatic events! It doesn't make any sense!"

There was a pause after my outburst. It took a full minute before Sarah spoke.

"Did you ever have any other symptoms?"

"Like what?" I asked. Many strange things have happened in my life lately.

"Does anything happen when you have a memory gap? Do you..." She chewed over her words for a moment. "see things, for example? Or hear things?"

I could feel the blood drain from my face.

Sally cocked her head in suspicion. "Jane, you need to tell me the truth." She said sternly.

Why does she get to tell you what to do?

She's only trying to help.

She hasn't been very helpful so far.

Yes, she has.

"I... there was one time..." I mumbled, scared to say it out loud. What if I was crazy? "One time I just saw blackness... and I heard a woman's voice... talking to me. She talked to me."

"What did she say?" Sally didn't seem shocked or worried like I had expected. She had a curious expression.

"She told me I was safe." I could still remember her voice vividly. The way it flowed purposefully like a river, calming me down like a slow melody. "She said I was safe... with them."

"With them?"

"Look, I didn't know! You're the expert!" I was starting to get aggravated. I didn't want to talk about something like this. It didn't feel right.

Sally sighed at my outburst again and sat back in her chair. She slowly closed her notebook and methodically places it back where it came from. Then she turned to me with an expression I had never seen her wear. She was serious. She was Sarah Carter, a therapist and psychiatrist.

"Jane I think you might possibly have DID." She stated. "That's dissociative identity disorder, or as it was formerly known; multiple personality disorder."

"What?!"

"The voice you heard could have been one of your alters talking to you."

"What?!" I repeated the word several times before standing up. "No! That's not right! That can't be right!" I was fuming. How dare she diagnose me with something so major? If I had more than one personality, I was convinced I'd at least notice it. "It doesn't make sense! How dare you!" My blood was boiling and I wasn't sure what was happening. I was only partially in control of my words and actions.

"Jane, listen to me—"

"Listen to you? I have been listening! I've been listening for almost two months now and all you've done is misdiagnose me!" My hands shook and I tried to control my breathing but I was certain I was having a panic attack. "I don't want to listen to you anymore! I don't believe you. You helped me find a job but since then my symptoms have only got worse. Why should I trust what you say? That's the problem. I don't."

I grabbed my jacket from the bannister and flung open her front door.

"Jane, please calm down." Sally ran after me, her voice pleading. "Jane, come back!" She yelled after me as I almost ran down the road. Just like the day before, I didn't look back.

I ran and ran until I ran out of energy and almost collapsed on the pavement. My heart felt like it was about to burst and I was struggling to gasp for breath. I put my face in my hands and tried to stop my panic attack.

"Shh... calm down. It'll be okay."

It was the woman's voice again. I whipped around to see if I could find the source, but the sound seemed to resonate in my mind. I was suddenly washed over with a wave of warmth and calm, like climbing into a hot bath or sliding under the bedcovers. It didn't change the fact I was still freaked out so I started to speed walk to the nearest bus stop.

When I got home I didn't let myself to pause and think. I focused on making a sandwich, then eating the sandwich, then brushing my teeth, then changing into my nightgown and then climbing into bed. I squeezed my eyes shut and refused to think about what happened that day.

***

The following morning I had a blissful ten seconds where I didn't remember anything and didn't have to worry about anything. Then reality kicked in again.

I rubbed my eyes and looked around, slightly disorientated and confused. I was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand. I looked at the clock and saw that the face showed five past ten. I had a moment of panic — like a mini heart attack when you miss a step — before remembering it was Saturday and I wasn't supposed to be at work.

I looked over at the sink and saw a plate in the sink that hadn't been there the night before. I must have had breakfast already, so I moved to the living room and pulled out my laptop. I opened the report I was writing and stared blankly at my hands as they hovered over the keys. As if on a whim, I opened my browser instead and typed in "Dissociative Identity Disorder".

Pages upon pages of health and psychology websites came up and I scanned through a few of them. Then I read some more. I was clicking link after link in a trance-like state and I couldn't stop myself from absorbing the contents. With every paragraph, my chest grew tighter and with every page, my mind raced faster.

All the symptoms fit. All the questions I had were answered. Everything I felt and experienced was right there in words and explained.

I suddenly ran to the bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection. I looked deeply into my own brown eyes and my mind raced. This was me. I owned this body. Only me and no one else.

You know that's not true.

"Stop!" I yelled and slammed my fist against the bathroom sink.

Sally had been right. She hadn't misdiagnosed me. She was trying to help. Yesterday's events replayed in my mind and I screamed in frustration. What had I done? Why had I blamed her for everything?

Visit her and apologise.

No, that would be awkward.

You value her friendship.

She probably hates me now. There's nothing to go back to.

I broke down into tears. I had screwed up again. For the second time in my life, I had lost someone close to me, and I was to blame.

I was always to blame.

***

As I drowned in misery, I ended up walking aimlessly around town. My mind was racing and blank at the same time. I could feel the emotions and thoughts swirling around in my head but I couldn't quite focus on any one of them. The floated about, just out of my reach.

It quickly got dark and I found myself strolling down the empty streets of the city. The dark and eerie streets, with limited lamplight and a suspicious smell which reminded me of a gutter. The silence was broken only by the strong bass coming from a nearby bar, resonating through the tarmac.

I paused outside it, mesmerised by the neon lights and the rhythmic beat of the music. A perfect place to forget your life.

As I walked in I was met with whistles, yells and pick up lines, which washed over me like water off a duck's back. I was used to ignoring words.

There were far more men than women in the dim bar, probably because of the female pole dancer twirling on her pole on the stage. I ignored it and walked to the bar.

"What can I get for ya, Miss?" The female bartender gave me a crooked smile and I shrugged in response. I wasn't really an alcohol drinker back then. I had no idea what I liked. "Let me rephrase that hun: what do you need?"

"A distraction," I muttered and leaned on the bar. "A distraction to forget how much I screwed up."

The woman smirked. "I know just the thing then." She poured a shot of something and set it in front of me. I cautiously took it.

The bitter taste hit the back of my throat and I coughed. As I recovered, the bartender refilled the glass. I took it without question, determined to drink my problems away.

That night I did what most people do at a bar: I drank to forget.