Sounds terrifying? Don't bother, it's not as terrifying as it may seem to a third party when you've lived it; for many people, hell is life without electricity; for some, it's life when you're unsure of your next meal, for others, it's life if the UNICEF aid truck suddenly stops coming one day; it's if the men with the bleached skin and their dull counterparts that look like you but somehow display stupidity akin to that of the bleached people; realize that the worthless shiny stones and pieces of ore that has no use whatsoever you exchange for meager food rations are actually worthless and turn you back one day; it's if the water drizzling tap that helps you survive the three days hunger marathon before the kind market women that leave you foodstuffs every four market days pass, dries up. Hell isn't hell for everyone.

As for me, I've learnt to find solace in it, I try my possible best not to build entirely new personalities for people or demographics that come into my life, but to take some or all of the preexisting ones and mould or merge them, in rations that'll suit them, until the day my world begins to value originality, and not just whatever puts a smile on their face, behaviour and mannerisms they find satisfactory, only then will me and people like me, be able to live their original selves in peace. I want to hope it comes in my lifetime, but nihilist me knows that's unrealistic, but it's a comforting thought that it'll happen as long as the human race continues to thrive, nothing is impossible on large time frames anyway.

If you enjoy this, don't forget to subscribe and encourage me 😊.

Then there's the personality changes for different demographics, I know the real me, I haven't lost myself, but noone does. Maybe except ChatGPT, after all it doesn't lash out when you tell it to shut the fuck up, so morbidly curious me doesn't claw at their larynx with my fingernails: really got to cut these things but scaredy-cat me thinks they'll save my life one day, and me that wants so much to matter, to make a difference before dying, would reinforce this view and stop perfectionist me from cutting them so short it'd take weeks for them to bud again; I deviated, but morbidly curious me might want to see in person what would happen if you were able to penetrate a person's pharynx with your natural fingernails while they were talking, but ChatGPT has no larynx, and will respond with some automated message about how it strives to be useful and encourage healthy communication and stuff, but I can always get it to stop talking anyway. So me for the family has genius level intellect, is super cool headed and calm, strict with the younger siblings as all eldest siblings should be, and respectful but stern with the breadwinners, smart people question everything, even authority.

But me at school is just a little bit better than everyone else, and acts like that's enough to achieve the high discrepancies in grades between me and the second best, even though I don't read and perfectionist me actually remembers everything cause he'd keep on spontaneously reminding me of stuff like the four valves of the heart some certain teacher with the glasses she must have missed a spot while cleaning taught us at school weeks ago.

Might seem like one hell of an introduction, but it might take forever to meet me, or know me, just have to end it here, and hope we meet you dear reader in the next article.

This should have been a poem, but I intend to build on it.