People have misunderstood me for as long as human kind have roamed back and forth throughout the earth. All I want to do is interact and play with them, but they call me names like butterflies, nerves, and when I really get what I want, anxiety. It’s my favourite mode, if you will indulge me to use that term, to be in. My proudest accomplishments have occurred on that level.
However, none of the humans, with all their intellect and yearning for happiness, even bothered to ask me if I liked any of the names chosen for me, let alone how they portray me in drawings! They personify me in drawings as this evil black gremlin with sharp teeth and claws, tearing apart some, admittedly defenseless human being. I’m very good at what I do, but I have no actual form. I am merely a voice to be listened to. Yes it gives me great joy to see a human on their knees, in tears perhaps, trying to make me go away. I love the physical challenge of struggle and suffering. I love getting into their heads, and the stress reactions are as good as gold to me. All of it brings me great joy, but nobody cares about my happiness! I understand that it is unlikely, but perhaps by the end of this story, you the reader may see things my way. I am not a creature to be feared, my goal is not to bring people across the threshold of death. I merely want to play with their minds. When I accomplish this goal I achieve for a time, depending on how long my carefully selected friends allow me to play with them, joy and true happiness! Nobody else seems to see it that way though. They will go to great lengths, sometimes at the expense of friends and lovers to achieve their unquenchable need for happiness and joy. If this need is so apparent, should I not experience it as well using whatever methods are at my disposal?
A good example would be one of my dear, long-term, friends, Jared Abernathy. Jared is a horrible wretch of a human being, incapable of being loved and loving in return, or doing anything important or great for that matter. He’s not worth the dirt on the soles of your shoes to go over and talk to. I feel as though I have been a more than adequate sounding board throughout his young life. We certainly had some great conversations, til the moment it all went wrong.
I suppose I should tell you the story leading up to this infamous moment in time. I realize, however, I run the risk of making you think that Jared is the victim and subsequent hero for struggling with adversity.
Let me make one thing very clear at the start. The story is not about him! It’s about me, and my struggle in the pursuit of my happiness and joy! Everyone else is looking for it, Why can’t I do the same? I know you’re going to think whatever you want reading this but I’m the real victim here!
Of course, nobody wants to talk about how I feel. I had best get on with the story. Just remember, I’m the narrator, and it’s about me. Not Jared.