The True Story Of My Life

Anyway it was in late 2016 that I finally completed my seminal work (I don’t actually know what the word ‘seminal’ means, come to think of it,  but we’ll leave that to one side for now) entitled ‘Tales of the Toxic Ego’. Needless to say this marked a turning point in my life. There hadn’t been any turning points in my life up to then – it had all been just ‘more of the same, more of the same’. Reporters came to ask me questions, “What you think of your life so far?” they asked me. I always replied that I didn’t know, that it had all been a blur. In one way this was true; in another way however it was a lie. I had learned to lie at a very early age and had never stopped. You might think to yourself that I should have got on very well in life given that society itself is nothing but one big lie, but this wasn’t the case. My lies didn’t fit in with society’s lies and I didn’t get on at all well. My lies were baroque and twisted whilst society’s lies are banal, tawdry and offensive. They are tawdry and offensive to me anyway. Lying is essential for the health of the psychological ego as we all know and I was only trying to survive in the best way I knew how. I was only trying to lie in order that I might survive to lie another day. Year after year I worked away at my over-arching theory, mocked and derided by my peers. I didn’t even know what I was doing – it was all quite unconscious, the same as everything else in my life was. Even when my theory had taken shape I didn’t know anything about it – I didn’t even realise that I had evolved a theory. The theory developed a life of its own and started to make things difficult for me. I did things without meaning to and said things that made no sense. I embarrassed myself in public. My social standing – weak at the best of times – took a nosedive. My co-workers refused to talk to me and people started to defriend me on Facebook. In the meantime the lies I told in order to justify my existence became ever more convoluted, ever more elaborate. I couldn’t keep track of them. I became obsessed with the Mandela Effect, which seemed to me to prove something that I had long suspected. What this was however I could not explain – I couldn’t explain it because I did know what it was. I didn’t know what I had suspected. Nevertheless I knew I was onto something and I embarked upon a series of psychic experiments that were to prove my undoing. I was convinced of the reality of telepathy even though I myself didn’t practice it. Somehow I knew that telepathy was real even though normal people deny it and think nothing of laughing in your face at the mention of it. “What – telepathy? Don’t make me laugh!” they say. It is as if believing in telepathy is deeply pathetic and talking about it proves that you are totally stupid. Unlike them. And yet I knew deep down that I was right and that they were wrong. Despite my self-esteem problems I had faith in myself in this area, if in no others. I knew that I was right about telepathy and that all the smart-arses with their fancy suits and ties didn’t know dick. So anyway, despite all the difficulties that were besetting me I persevered and that is what has got me to where I am today!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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