I have often wondered how much it pains one to know that he is living a solitary life full of misery and such. I have often wondered this, and I never quite have gotten the answer to such a simple question. This has always left me in my ecstasy, in the state of a peculiar desire for nothingness.

Has it ever occured to you that no one really knows you? It has occurred to me, in truth, for no one knows me - not you, nor they, nor anyone else, even I. Except for God perhaps, because that is His essence - being everything perfect. Anyway, this misery has left me to perceive things unreal, to meet my own self in an elevated state and realize the quality of joy. How, if you might ask? Rather, I would not know. I have never done so myself.

I am Dr. Jekyll.

Meeting one's self is never an easy task, especially if one's self is technically the embodiment of irony and pain. You really need not know yourself, in truth, because you need not experience agony - but then, what shall become of you if you know all but not yourself amidst everything dark and miserable? Nevertheless, my blabbering is not of your concern, for it is but rubbish to everyone alive and gone today, so let us go on with what is much more important - difference.

So far you have known me, my being Dr. Jekyll, my useless blabbering, and my curious way of thinking that can easily annoy a baby out of its bed. You may hate me for saying that I am Dr. Jekyll, for some Dr. Jekyll fans out there, nevertheless, I am - believe it or not. My being Dr. Jekyll does not really come in "legal" form, or rather, "hereditary" form. It is by who I really am and what I have made myself become. I hate myself for being him and for sustaining such a character.

Dr. Henry Jekyll is one good man who is known for being clean, nice, purposeful, and grand. He is of the highest levels of man's delicate statutes, and his credibility is far from what is called, 'fallen'. Mr. Edward Hyde, on the other hand, is a man of hate, fear, agony, misery, and whatever one can call something terrible. They are of the opposites, and there is absolutely nothing between them that is even a single percent the same. Nevertheless, they are only one man, according to Robert Louis Stevenson's novel, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, who, by means of psychopathic trances and the mischievous way of life's hatred for a tormented soul, have been split apart into two to make things at ease for nothing such.

This is my wonder. Everyone knows me as a cheerful, laughter-loving, conspicuous, young girl who sees nothing in the world and its misery but never-ending joy, which is strange, for it is rather a joke in itself. But then, meeting myself in my agony, has brought me further up into knowing that I am not such in any way known, and this sole problem has given me more pain to bear rather than before. I am not happy. Technically, I am different as to what the world perceives me to be. The things that they can see are very much more wrong compared to what is the truth. Am I split apart? I hope not, nevertheless, whenever I wake up in the morning, I cannot say, "Good morning, Dr. Jekyll," but I say, "Good morning, Mr. Hyde."

Is this not such a terrible fate to achieve? I am lost in a sea of hatred and woe but no one can hear me cry out sober tears. Perhaps the sea has made me become invisible to reality, damn that wretched sea. I want to become visible to many, but no one can seem to see what has been left of me - a man desperate for peace and to be loved for all heaven's sake. Day by day, my desire leaves me undone in the presence of obstinate circumstances, which results into my transformation. I transform most, into something that isn't really me. I wish to be Jekyll, but I am Hyde.

Why am I Hyde? Has there been no mercy left in the gates of heaven to bestow me with such a ghastly destiny? And why do I ask questions such as these that are mostly come from the lips of a foolish man? Who am I to question the Will of God? I am nothing but a piece of refuse ready to be thrown out into outer space for such uselessness, yet here I am taking stand to what is not really ought to be taken by one.

Perhaps all is liable to me, in fact, that is truth, and everything is indeed liable to me. Taken by senselessness, I have entered a world of questions and commenced something that is not really requisite in all aspects of every man's life.

I have not taken an oath to my propriety, nonetheless, these murmurs have made me learn about what is to be done, and my morals are essential to everything that completes me. How I wish to stay mulish to all regarding my destiny, for that is what I really think I need and should do.

Do as well as understood. Final words never become truth when commenced with something new, nonetheless, history never becomes such when life never goes on, proving all truth as much defined. Am I still left in my ecstasy? Anyway, "Good Night, Mr. Hyde."