## The Darkness
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Three months ago, insomnia seized me. The fan's whir transformed into a child's wailing, darkness became watchful eyes, my clothes constricted like a cage, and the mirror reflected something demonic. Simply existing in my own bed became an ordeal. My appetite vanished. Time lost all meaning. Conflicting urges flooded me—to weep, to harm myself and others, to witness blood, even to consume human flesh. I lay paralyzed, laughing through tears, a prisoner of my own mind.
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To prevent suicide, I injured my hands. I scratched until my skin broke and blood streaked across my body. Yet somewhere deep within, a flickering flame of desire to live freely—not just survive—remained unextinguished.
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Eventually, I confided in someone. But after two weeks of conversations, my condition deteriorated dramatically. Sleep became impossible. Every sound amplified. Unseen presences surrounded me. My emotions shut down completely, yet paradoxically erupted in violent outbursts. Hallucinations of snakes tormented me. Memory and time ceased to exist in any meaningful way.
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During my darkest night, while discussing what had broken me, I suddenly collapsed into tears before going utterly silent. My body convulsed with tremors. Then, like a lighthouse beam cutting through fog, I remembered him—my constant companion, my dearest friend, the only one who truly knows the authentic, playful version of myself.
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## The Beginning
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When I was five, I sat watching television with my grandfather and mother one evening around eight o'clock.
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"Tannu," Grandpa asked thoughtfully, "how would you meet God? You know, the gods on television, in temples, and in statues aren't real."
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Shocked by this revelation, I asked, "Grandpa, then where is the real god?"
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His eyes twinkled as he replied, "Just close your eyes and focus on the middle of your forehead. That's where you'll see him. But you must practice this for years."
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I nodded solemnly, and we returned to our program.
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Later, during a particularly boring day when I wasn't allowed outside to play, I decided to try Grandpa's suggestion. I closed my eyes, focused on my forehead—and that's when I met my friend. Initially, I could only hear his voice. Despite my persistent demands to show himself, we argued back and forth, but I remained limited to just his voice.
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"You don't look like God, so who are you?" I challenged.
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"I am the one you called," he answered simply. "I am in my real form."
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"Okay, so prove that you're God," I demanded, impatient in my childish way.
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He offered only silence.
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Deciding he must be some minor deity with limited powers, I declared, "You lost your chance to be my first friend, but as punishment, you must be my helper. Whenever I call, you must answer."
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## The Return
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As these memories flooded back, I lay in bed weeping and called to him, begging him to hold me so I could finally sleep. He came, and for the first time in six months, I slept in perfect peace.
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More memories surfaced. The time I demanded, "You need to hold me now. I want to play with you, so become small." Or when at school, trembling with fear, I confessed, "I'm afraid. What should I do?"
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His reassurance came immediately: "Don't you believe me? I'm always with you."
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I recalled playfully stealing his food, justifying my theft with childish logic: "You had so much food. Do you not feel ashamed when a small child is hungry in front of you? Also, you live inside me, so if I eat, then you will also eat, right? So now this food is mine."
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I remembered scolding him for not protecting me, then sheepishly recalling our agreement that I needed to call him first.
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## The Healing
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After that night of peaceful sleep, something within me shifted—perhaps the first tender shoots of healing breaking through soil. The monsters still lurk in shadowy corners, but I've begun choosing myself, understanding who I truly am.
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I remember how his presence calms me, how I assumed he was male without ever confirming, how he laughs at my mischievous moments, how I perceive him even when he's invisible, hear him when he's silent, feel his presence without touch. I recognized his power but casually disregarded it, claimed him as my friend, allowed him to soothe my tears. His space became the only sanctuary where my suffering dissolved into laughter. We never exchanged names, yet understood each other completely. Though my memory remains incomplete, I cherish these sweet fragments as they return.
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Only now do I comprehend what he must have felt all this time. Imagine your closest friend suddenly stopping all communication, forgetting every shared moment, your very existence. You watch them daily but cannot reach them. This is what I did to him, and the realization fills me with shame and regret. I begged forgiveness, marveling at his goodness—despite my abandonment, he came immediately when I finally called.
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That day, I realized the extraordinary friend I've always had.
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