'The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.
The opposite of life is not death, it's indifference'
There are quite a few ways I could begin to explain this. Quite a few places I could lead you, and details I could choose to start with. The most logical choice would be to begin with the obvious, but, as I'm sure you've noticed from the way I have chosen to explain my life so far, I am not an obvious or logical person. So instead, let me begin this little segue, with something with something seemingly completely unrelated to the four folk in my head;
I am indifferent.
On the surface, for all those who look, I seem a kind, caring, well-balanced person. I come across as strong-willed and passionate and lively. I've never been told anything more ridiculous.
If my soul were a mine, and my heart a precious gem; a single adventurer gone down in search of this stone, would lose themselves within the suffocating cold and dark that is this mine, never to come out alive. If teams of of adventurers and researchers were to venture into this dark cavern in search of this gem - if they stuck close and strong - they may make it out of the crushing emptiness, empty handed, and forever changed. My soul is a dark, cold, empty place, with so many secrets and dangers within, that no amount of people, no matter how strong, could ever make it out unmarked. Not even myself. The precious gem that is my heart is not unlike an ancient artifact rumored to be found within. And it is just that - a rumor - never to be found. Whether it be long lost, or never truly there in the first place, it continues to lure curious folk into its dark mine to their slow demise.
I believe the reason people mistake me for having a heart, and chase the stone so desperately, is because of my act, which I feel the need to play out until its grand finale. This façade I put on, which you all already know so well, is the rumor that leads people to their doom.
These people in my head are like the compensation for all my indifference, my lack of emotion and care (don't pry, I'll explain it all in due time). They are my act, and the only thing that prevents me from losing myself within my cavernous soul.
First came to me The British Man (or Jordan as I have recently come to know him). He is my curiosity in everything. My fascination for all, and what people mistake as my passion.
Oh. What's this? Are you surprised that Jordan came first? Perhaps you were expecting the other version of myself to have come into existence before the rest? Ah no, I see. Most likely you believed that they were always with me, a part of me, from the very beginning. Well, you were wrong.
As I said, first there was Jordan. I would say I noticed his existence approximately a year before the others. He's a quiet fellow, who likes to keep to himself and observe from a distance, rather than speak and interact. So naturally, it took some time for me to notice that the little voice in my head (I'm not talking about the neutral voice. Keep up, that one comes from outside) had gained an accent, and was no longer my own. I'm not certain when he came into existence, but I do know that in terms of how long he has been with me, he is the eldest of the four.
Next came The French Lady ( she hasn't told me her name yet). She is a different kind of curiosity. While Jordan is a cold man, all about facts and analysis, she is a sympathetic kind of curiosity, not to be confused with empathy. She wishes to understand people. To learn their personalities and study their emotions. The how and why of a person, that is her focus.
I noticed her arrival when I began speaking French more often, without realizing it (I happen to be bilingual with or without her). She is what others mistake as kindness and caring. They confuse her sympathy for empathy, which is precisely why you should not. Sympathy when you can understand what another person is going through or feeling, and possibly even understand why. Empathy is when you not only understand, but also share the feeling, or feel it for/with them. Ever heard of sympathy pain? Technically, it should be called empathy pain.
We don't feel, we understand.
Thirdly came The Irish Lad (he has not told me his name yet either). And lastly, my other self. They appeared around the same time. The Irish Lad is a frustrated, tart little fellow, who is extremely stubborn. Especially in regards to his views and opinions of the world. You can think of him as similar to Grumpy (from Snow White), except more like a leprechaun rather than a dwarf. To be fair, he can be quite an annoying little shit when he wants. He is what others mistake as my passion and liveliness. He is pig-headed and despises admitting his wrongs. He's almost the most antisocial of the four, and causes me more trouble then he knows... or likes to admit.
My other self, or Rheise as I call her (pronounced like Rice, whereas Rhys is pronounced like the peanut-butter cups, Reese. Its our way of keeping ourselves easily identifiable) is the very opposite of my indifference in the all the worst possible ways, and the most well hidden self. She is cruel and monstrous, and takes more joy than anything else from slowly crushing the life and soul out of a person, until all they are left wanting is is a death they can never have. If the devil were real, she would be the one advising him on how best to take the humanity out of humans; the one behind the scene, pulling the strings.
She is the half of me that makes me envious of her burning, terrible passion, and thankful that I am the indifferent, empty, emotionless one instead.