There was a time, when I was so broken-hearted- No wait, that’s a lyric to an Aerosmith tune.
There was a time when I felt vulnerable enough to need armor. I was suddenly confronted with the idea that I needed protection from the pricks (both meanings) and barbs of the world. So, I did what any rational person might do in that situation, constructed an alter-ego, naturally. It wasn’t planned at all. It just sort of happened. The fact was I needed insulation from what suddenly had become a cold place.
So birthed somewhere in the back of my mind as a result of some remarkable fantasy, half power trip and half bad trip, Doc was born. An amalgam of the intellect and power of a near-naked comic book character, the loyalty and whit of a long dead card sharp, and the flair and narcissism of two fictional German doctors; one from the mind of Quentin Tarantino and one from video games, and if I’m honest at least a sliver of the worst part of me. Immediately, I launched his campaign for dominance. It began by circulating a story among friends regarding an ex that I have already covered in my previous writings, and will not revisit here. Doc’s birth also coincided with the start of a new job, wherein I began introducing myself to everyone as such. Much to my surprise this new name stuck. I am saddened to say this new group of people never even met David. Many more would be converted to the church of Doc, even those I had known for years. Oddly, the near-immediate assumption of a new persona only led me to rely on it more deeply. Doc was bold, ten feet tall and bulletproof and always looking for a good time. It was such a shame however, that Doc’s good time was always found at the end of a trail of bad behavior. I would also learn rapidly that there are no shortage of people who will support, and even take pride in, such destructive behavior.
Doc was a mixed bag of fun and chaos, which often led to me having to pick up the pieces of a good time turned bad. After weighing the benefit of being Doc as opposed to myself, it was apparent the ends didn’t justify the means. This led to Doc showing up less and less over time. He went from controlling all of me, to some of me, to none of me. Then to imaginary friend, to haunting spirit, to undiscussed memory. This process was much more gradual, but just as much of a subconscious act as Doc’s quick arrival in my life. Meaning, I didn’t plan to rid myself of him, no more than I had planned to wish him into being.
Even after Doc’s usefulness had run his course, I still held onto parts of him. It would give me solace at times that, although it wasn’t needed, I could call on Doc and he’d show up, and one way or another I’d forget about my problems. Even if by the end of the night, I had a completely new set of problems.
In the end, I outgrew the need for Doc. Dare I say matured even, much to my surprise, and that of others. That was all well and good, for I have learned that a coping mechanism, even a maladaptive coping mechanism is better than no coping mechanism at all. Actually, I don’t know if I learned that, but I definitely assumed it.
I have heard it said that people enter your life for a season, and they fulfill some need* you have, and you part ways never to be seen again. I just wonder if the same applies to one’s delusions.
*Of course this can, and usually is reciprocal
By the way, if you liked this one you will also enjoy it's predecessor: https://davidakadoc1.wixsite.com/houseofrants/home/they-call-me-doc
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