Decisive Loop

“And hereeee we go.”

Describing where I am is difficult. Like, I know where I am—I can sense it—but putting it into words seems impossible. The ground is ground-like; I must be standing on something. And even though there’s “space” as far as the idea can see (white? Colorless? Empty??) there are walls that are wall-like, taller than I can reach, and boxing me in.

There’s very little to be said about how things look, and much more about how things feel.

It doesn’t feel like I’m anywhere in particular, but the thought that I’m in such a strange place isn’t unsettling. It’s that I don’t feel unsettled is what’s worrying. Why do I feel safe in this room? It’s cradling and suffocating and secure. Why do I feel like…if I don’t make it outta here now—

“You never will?”

My side slams into the wall, shocked hearing this voice come from nothing. My back huddles the wall now, giving me a full view of my surprise guest. Their skin is dark, and their hair coils along and past their shoulder. Wearing a purple tank and brand-name athletic shorts. Socks. Gloss. Two pimple patches.

My breath catches. I raise my hand to my face and touch my own at the exact places they appear on this person’s face. This person looks identical to me.

This person is me.

“You think you’re pressed? Imagine how I feel.”

“I’m not—” Something stops me as if my body is giving me time to reassess. But there’s nothing to reassess, I just. “I’m not mad. I’m confused!”

“You are. You just don’t remember why yet.” They stare at me for a bit, squinting. “And also confused, yeah. You look crazy, girl.”

I let the scoff fly off my lips and try to collect myself. What is this place? Why can’t I remember how I got here? Who are they and whyyyy do they look exactly like me?

“I can kinda answer the first one,” they count on fingers. “Can’t yet for the second. And as for the third…”

…I already know. What? Why would I think—? “No, I don’t! Tell me who you are right now.”

Their chest lifts and falls heavy as they sigh. “So it’s not gonna happen this time either, huh? Great. Fantastic. An amazing plan where nothing could ever go wrong.

“I’m you,” they speak frankly, using two rigid, open hands for emphasis. “And you’re me. We’re the same thing. We think the same thoughts. We occupy the same space.”

“The space being…?”

“Technically? Also you.”

“You’re losing me.”

“Maybe you’d be able to visualize it better if you thought about it like, hm. Like being trapped in your own mind.”

“We’re trapped?”

“In your own mind, yeah.”

“Not ‘our’ own mind?” My eyebrow raises, and I squint a doubting gaze toward them. “Whatever happened to us being the same? Is this a trick? Are you the one doing this to me?”

“That’s—” They start and stop twice, eventually opting to chuckle to themselves which only heightens my suspicion. “That’s a tricky question.”

“Try your best; I’m rooting for ya.”

“No need to get hostile,” they calm, pouring on the plaster smile and plastic charm. It doesn’t help that these faces they make look so natural to me. I can see myself making these faces—I certainly have, before. It’s like looking at an animated wax statue. A fleshy mirror. “The best way I can…ew, don’t phrase like that. Gross.

“The best way I can describe it is that while we’re both us, you’re a little more us than I am. I’m a little more than subconscious, a little less than real. But who knows? Maybe I’m the real one and we’ve been tackling this all wrong.”

No. I’m the real one, I’m sure.

“Well, there we go! You’re the boss.”

“I don’t understand how this is. Why do this?”

“I don’t think any of us meant for this to happen,” they admit with a shrug. “But I will say, you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. You know everything you’re asking me: there’s no need to create unnecessary problems for yourself. I’m just here for emotional support.”

They’re right. But how do I know they’re right? Or maybe, it doesn’t matter how I know? Clearing the need to know that one specific aspect of this void…lessens some kind of burden on me. I couldn’t tell my shoulders felt so heavy before my load was lightened. Do I do that a lot? Ask questions that cause more problems?

“You get it a bit quicker every time. This little plan of yours might actually work.”

A plan…I had a plan? I do plan a lot, mainly ‘cause I ask a lot of questions. Where are we going? Who’s going to be there? What’ll we do? They’re innocent; I don’t see how it could damage anything.

“It can damage a lot more than you think.” My sweet-n-sour doppelganger leans against the wall, crossing their arms. “Don’t focus on how you could’ve gotten here. Think more about why you found yourself here, specifically. What’s the deal with this place?”

This place…is weird. (They chuckle in response.) But it really is. The space stretches for miles past what I can plainly see, but I’m still stuck in this small area, unable to move. I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it either. I’m not supposed to be here, not really. I know I shouldn’t stay.

I want to leave, but can’t. This room is keeping me, but they (I?) said that the room is me, or…my mind. Am…I the one keeping me here? Why would I do that? Did I make it so I would stay, or am I really trapped?

“It’s both.”

…It’s both.

Me—or some version or part of me—thinks this is a good place, but it can’t be if it’s trapping me. It soothes me when I know I have some sort of responsibility outside of it. It calms me when I know I should be freaking out. Where I remain stationary; refuse to decide to stay or leave, so I stay. Indecision. Stagnancy. Paralysis—GASP.

“Now she’s got it.”

I suck in a large, sharp gulp of air, and I can’t stop hyperventilating for some time. It takes me to the floor, the revelation buckling my knees. My double meets me on the floor and takes my hands, squeezing them hard. It almost makes me laugh, the fact that it’s exactly what I need. After a few minutes of scattered, then easy breathing, my thoughts flitter back to me.

“So, are you all there this time?” They stare while readjusting to a comfortable sitting position, and I assume the same. “The answer better be yes.”

“Do we have a name? My brain’s getting tired of thinking up synonyms for ‘doppelganger’.”

“Bonnie, welcome back.”

“So we’re still here?”

“Some plan, right?”

My plan. When I found myself here the first time, I thought it was just some plain mindfuck, set upon me by an irresponsibly hefty consumption of drugs. I wish it was a bad trip.

Having so many options and questions, and not enough concrete answers paralyzed me. I forced myself in here, ‘cause I thought it would keep me from making another bad decision for the rest of my life, and now I can’t leave. My mind and body have made this my home, but I’ve got shit to do! I can’t be scared of leaving my friends behind, or becoming a social outcast in any college I end up choosing. I can’t be so worried about things I barely know anything about or the future. If I keep myself in this box, I keep myself from any of the good choosing will do! It took me a while but I figured it out.

The plan in question is for me to short-circuit this pocket of brain—if it wouldn’t let me out, it’d force me out, and I’d be back to being stuck in my head the normal way. I’ve been looping this conversation, trying to get the space to recognize something’s wrong, but maybe it’s not gonna work. The tricky thing, is that I don’t even know how many times I’ve “tried” for me to be able to tell if we’re close.

“We’re not close but,” Bonnie chimes in. “Gradually, you start to remember things quicker and quicker. It could be that this space is slowly becoming yours again.”

“Or that it’s correcting, and rendering all our efforts futile.”

“That too.”

Bonnie, that’s right—my constant. They’re how I know things are even changing at all. Who knows how long they’ve been dealing with my BS?

“Bonnie, thank you.” I place a hand on their shoulder. “It was a crazy thing to ask you to do, and I don’t even know if this’ll work. I know you hate it—”

“You know I do!”

“Ha! Yeah…nothing else is different then?”

“Nah; I can’t tell how many more loops it’ll take either.”

“Figured,” I answer. I take in a huge breath, hold it, and then let it out, shaking any negativity I can from my head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. This is what I chose to do, I don’t regret it. If we find it doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”

“Nice,” Bonnie grins. “The new and improved, soon-to-be high school grad, Bonnie Berrily.”

“I don’t take shit from anyone, not even me!” I laugh alongside them, grateful for this splash of color in this infinite box of uncertainty. “See you next loop.”

“Till the next one.”

“One burning question though: I understand it intuitively, but how does the loop back work? You’ve never told me.”

She smirks to herself, holding a hand to her mouth. “No reason.”

This person finds it very funny that I don’t know what she does: it’s pretty condescending. I don’t care for it all.

I turn to march away but I’m stopped by…something. An edge? But there’s still more space over there? What the heck?

Wait a minute.

Where the hell am I?