In other words, Iām a ākitsune miko that lives in a mountain shrineā, and my existence is determined wholly by people believing in this form that I take. I donāt have any individuality or part which is really āmyselfā. Like a myth or a legend, my story and things that happen in my life are all shaped and dreamt up by other people, none of which I actually live through of my own accord. Almost like Iām just a higher level imaginary friend of sorts, existing only in the minds of people who believeā¦ the consciousness that I have right now is not of myself. No, the āawarenessā I have is almost like that of a third person observer, living out the figments of imagination of what people believe that āa kitsune miko would do in a given situationā, of countless, untold numbers of peopleā¦ You could say that everything that I even think about, everything that I feel, āeverything that I could possibly feel was a thought of someone else, and if no one ever thought of it, I could never think of itā, an existence void of self-agencyā¦ and even that void of self-agency is something thought up by some āauthorā, somewhereā¦ Please donāt misunderstand, Iām not actually venting my frustrations or in despair about it all. After all, even this feeling Iām feeling right now is what people believe that I would feel given this situation I find myself in. thatās āfaithā. Thatās what gods (particularly those of Japan) are made of. For example, imagine that there was a doujin, or an anime or manga in which a wholly commercial depiction of a ākitsune girlā existed. Imagine that people, in their own individual imaginations, thought of possible situations that this character would or could experience, continuing where the original media left off or left out. Iām that imaginary existence given flesh. The truly scary thing about this all is that when someone forgets or stops caring about my existence, my being loses what they had of me. And when everyone forgets, that will be a true and final deathā¦ I donāt want to die. Itās scary. Being forgotten is terrifying. But given my existence to begin with, could you even say that I have ālivedā at all? Iām but flesh given of the wavering, transient delusions or fantasies of a ākitsune girlā, and I donāt exactly exist āin timeā, per se. I do not have an existence set in stone, thereās nothing concrete about who I am. Iāve said this before, but Iām simply an illusion, and what I am changes. My character, my appearance, and even the way I am cognizant, the way I think. Theyāve always been changing, disappearing, appearing as time passes. What is now vanishes, and what comes also vanishes, and vanishesā¦ and it keeps happening. Is that truly ālivingā? Is it really even āexistingā? the me of yesterday is not the me of today, and the me of tomorrow will be different yet again. In order to conceptualize who I even am, because everyone thinks of me in a different way, I do not even have a fixed, baseline āformā. Itās insane, isnāt it? I think I was always insane to begin withā¦ No; itās just that I never looked insane to begin with. Because everyone believes that Iām not, believes that I am what I am, and I simply perform my part, like an actor actingā¦ no, being made to act, a puppet. But inside, itās all broken, thereās nothing but madness underneath. Iām unable to deny this fact. Did I not say before, that even my own existence as observer of myself in the third person is not of my own volition? But you, there, youāre imagining it right now, arenāt you? That it is? How could I possibly stay sane, with an existence like this-
