sometimes i put so much pressure on myself

i think me will go away and never come back, and then sometimes, i get lucky and me doesnt. what im afraid of is that me will return and pretty much always does. but for a little while me is gone and theres this beautiful sense of serenity and flow, understanding and complete devotion to love and joy. who is it that comes, that is me but isnt i, thats such a pain to have to deal with, the one with the lies and laziness and desires and needs that seem like a constant litany of complaints and preferences that add nothing to my aliveness, that wants to suck the joy out of every minute so it can be unsatisfied and calculating the next possible pride laden action that will gain a few seconds of self righteousness. i wouldnt hang out with me if i wasnt stuck with me. theres a point when me gets done and i get a little rest, maybe even for minutes at a time, but then its back to the future or stuck in the past until its like being on a yo-yo and im practically sick from the spinning and bouncing. in fact it seems like even when he's sleeping the dog, hes got something even crazier planned, like resurrection of all the old imagined hurts that those who should appreciate him more have perpetrated on me. i spin and fall and lurch around in this haunted mausoleum waiting for someone to die, either me or myself or maybe its i, cause i dont know sometimes it seems like theres more than two of us here.