Narrated by Hate

"You became worse than me..."

What happens when something once feared becomes normalized, consumed, and woven into everyday life?

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How does a powerful monster turn into an exploited victim? I ponder as I get dragged from house to house. I’ll never get used to being welcomed with open arms everywhere I go, idolized by all. It’s the opposite of how I was meant to be perceived.

I always thought that for me to be embraced this widely, I had to soften myself, be excessively showing my good side, something that rarely comes naturally to me. But apparently all I had to do was give people some time, and eventually they would come around to love the original version of me, so much so that I’m now a priority. A need. An addiction. My influence a disease that spreads between crowds in a matter of seconds. And gradually, what I once considered to be a strong and powerful identity, overuse transformed it into weakness. The more people who carried my identity, the less it belonged to me.

I remember a time when I had a meaning, a motive for existing. Now I’m left to question my purpose, and how my excessive presence drowned out my true meaning.

I remember a time when parents used to warn their children about me; now I’m introduced to them before they can speak, and lingering until they take their last breath. I used to be a passing companion. Accompanying those who desire me and leaving when I was no longer welcome. Until they learned to cage me, imprisoning me deep within the walls of their vile homes. At least I used to remember the names of all my captors; now the numbers are well beyond my comprehension. My popularity was confined back then because people understood the weight of what I represent; now they carry my name so casually as if it is worthless.

Gone are the days when I had to constantly fight with Love, determined to prove the monster within me is more powerful than the angel within her. We didn’t stop seeing each other, though, but the reasons for the meetings drastically changed, because she herself had. Every time I see her now, she’s hollowed out, stretched thin, smiling on command for people who invoke her name without understanding her, horrendous in the new performative dress she is forced into. So that’s how we begin working together, then. Not out of companionship, but as casualties of the manipulation and corruption of our nature. The difference is, I’m born a monster, she’s occasionally compelled into becoming one.

I know I should be content with how the tables have turned, but all I feel is disappointment. I only want the victory when I single-handedly kill every part of what she is and stand for. But humanity ruined her name. Rewired her image in a pathetic attempt to match mine, and in the process, not only replaced our reputation with a cheap one but robbed me of the satisfaction of her downfall, the one meant for my hands.

I still remember when I made my first appearance online. The thrill of it. The excitement of watching my influence travel faster than ever before. Little did I know that it would be the beginning of my inevitable abuse. Every video stamped with my presence, every comment I motivate, every statement I help shape. The exhaustion of my existence is a burden that limits my potential. But I know what you’re probably thinking, “What a hypocrite! Mourning the consequences of his own nature!” And although I never claimed not to be a hypocrite, how can I not consider myself a victim of society’s over-consumption and its vulturous habit of turning anything powerful to fragile, anything valuable to meaningless, and anything priceless to common.

I was once feared as a monster, treated like one. Now I merely observe the creatures who inherited my work and turned it into something far worse than I ever was.

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