Amber has been reignited in me. My passion was dead, the light gone from my eyes. I was reasonably happy so I thought, but now I now that my alter ego is alive and well, I'm feeling better than ever.

You see, I've met a kindred spirit. He has the same ideas as me - when we talk about things we frequently say it is like looking in the mirror. He too is two - he has both angel and demon, and unlike the majority of the world, he treats them both as individuals. And I have begun to do the same. I have finally acknowledged that Amber is the stripper, lapdancer, whore, drug addict, alcoholic - she likes to live life in the fast lane. And little ol' B is the girl whose favourite pastime is curling up on the sofa with the duvet over her reading a good book or watching a good film.

Both are smart, sassy, and know what they want. But Amber has no issues with speaking her mind, whereas B is the worrier, the bottler. I haven't yet identified who it is who has been crying so much in the past year - the tears certainly match Amber's tempuosity but reflect B's emotion. Amber is the one who keeps trying to drag me towards setting up a long-term arrangement in the sex industry, whilst B is desperately trying to convince me to seek an intellectual career in publishing. So as a happy medium I have ended up in entertainment and customer relations. The time on stage feeds Amber's hunger, whereas the endless paperwork causes enough stress to sate B's pedantic appetite.

My kindred spirit is exactly the same. Sometimes when we talk, when we fuck, when we spend time together, we first establish who it is we are with. With him, Amber certainly has enough to keep her busy, and his talk is enough to keep B's brain alive.

Thus began the age of schizophrenia