I. Birth of an idea

ll things have a beginning, are born.

Everything has an end, dies eventually.

Even a human being is sometimes the birthplace of an idea - let's call it fiction or history. It begins and ends at some point. The beginning of an idea already presupposes its end. But all that lies in between is a time which we must know how to fill with good and bad things.

I too am just passing the last days of my time, but I am not angry about it.

I am worried.

Will I have the time to leave something behind?

I don't know, but I'll try.

You are with me, whoever you are. I know you are there and you understand every word that escapes my thoughts and becomes scripture.

My invisible listener - male, female, old or young. Whoever you may be, it is nice that you are here with me now, voluntarily, maybe a little shy and curious.

I want to tell you about what I experienced during a long period of total decline in seemingly eternal silence.

One part of me was always independent, autonomous - but also vindictive, ignorant, at times depressed and disgruntled. Another was always sensitive, anxious and reserved. I liked the latter best, but unfortunately that was also the one who always knew exactly how to hide from 'all the bad people'.

In order to understand how my heart beat, who I was and what I felt, it is important that an interested person like you reads my words. I will now tell you about all that I ever experienced, what made me and what I had become - or should have become - wrapped up in this story.

It plays in different genres, which work wonderfully together and merge with each other. But no matter which genre this work may belong to in the end: The only decisive thing is to know that everything I'm going to tell you now is the truth - namely my truth. All of this has actually happened. Not in your world, of course, but in mine.

I can imagine that this sounds a little crazy, because it is very difficult to explain. That's why my life story tells about it: You can experience your environment differently than other people, depending on your aptitude and disposition. While other people just thought about whether parallel worlds actually exist or not, I knew at some point that it just had to be that way.

Although I could not prove these ideas, and had never seen 'the other side' with my own eyes, I felt that more had to exist in my life than what I was able to grasp with my limited senses. More than it was possible for me to comprehend with my underdeveloped human mind.

I also had an explanation for this knowledge that was as plausible as it was meaningful to me: Even at the beginning of my time, I was a child of (primarily psychological) violence and a gratuitous rejection that was incomprehensible to me. I could never claim to have ever really felt the love of my fellow human beings.

For a long time, I thought they never wanted to give me warmth and security, for whatever reason. At some point, however, it occurred to me that perhaps, at a young age, I simply could not have been capable of correctly interpreting and understanding their dubious kind of love. From this lack eventually developed a mind that was always highly sensitive, kind-hearted, friendly and very inquisitive.

Comforting my fellow human beings seemed natural to me. To like them all equally and treat them equally was normal for me. Although I always acted unselfishly, the idea that a God could exist who was watching me and would evaluate my deeds at the end of my life did not even occur to me at that time.

In fairness, however, I must admit that I often gave cause for rejection in my younger years, but to tell about it would be monotonous and would somewhat miss the point of my story.

However, at no time had I consciously wished any person ill, let alone done so. I possessed enough sensitive love and generosity for them all, whenever it was possible for me, I helped them where I could. Certainly, it was not foreseeable for me at that time that this behavior would lead to people taking advantage of me. The others would forget that I was a being who not only had feelings, but was even so sensitive that at some point it became easy for me to quickly recognize when a person was lying to me or whether he was really worth loving.

In the course of time, however, I had forgotten what love meant, what it constituted, and also that every human being factually needed it in order to exist. I too hungered, craved for it, without really perceiving it. Honestly, I never had the feeling of really loving another person - that is, purely emotionally. I couldn't.

By the end of my time, I had learned many things: Some I had acquired myself. Others I learned at school. But most things I had not been taught or recognized myself, but they were simply there.

This may sound unbelievable, but no one taught me the ability to communicate. How I had to say or write something, this knowledge came all by itself. At some point it was there, developed and matured. The tool of communication on a verbal level, coupled with the sensitivity for recognizing and diagnosing human behavior, seemed to become a very powerful and useful weapon. But this seemed weak compared to what I was unable to learn, understand, or give: Since I never had the feeling of being truly loved, I did not know how it felt and consequently could not create that feeling or give it to others - as much as I would have liked to do so sometimes.

Still, I didn't really blame my fellow human beings for that, because maybe I was loved and just couldn't understand and reflect on that feeling.

Nevertheless, my story is not meant to be a lament, although true love, for which I longed so much, is a very big topic in it. In many places it is not only mentioned marginally, but also culminates now and then in eroticism, which is why you should already bring a certain maturity as a participant.

I hope you are already of age!?

Oh, what am I thinking, I can't see you anyway. So, if it gets too much for you, shout "stop" loudly and put the book aside.

But maturity is also necessary to understand the connections between action and my feelings as a human being, because I will not always succeed in lifting the veil of what I thought, felt and originally wanted to say far enough. Much will seem confusing at first, but crystal clear the next moment.

So, all in all, you have chosen to listen to me by reading this book.

Why actually? Curiosity?

That's a good thing! Curiosity is what drives many beings to develop ideas. Which brings us back to ideas: As a person who was sensitive and very imaginative, I dreamed up fictional friends as a toddler. That in itself was nothing unusual. I mean, we all know phases like that. At some point, however, I began to long for a feeling, which can certainly be called love. Let's still call it belonging, respect, and the feeling of being appreciated. In other words, for all the generosity I had bestowed on my fellow human beings (for which I almost never demanded a reward), I wanted something in return at some point. And since people couldn't give me what I was most interested in (love and appreciation), I found a way to get those things elsewhere.

I looked at my fantasy, its colors, twists and turns, its genesis, and slowly began to become emotionally attached to it. The moment came more and more often when I withdrew into my dream world - at first purely in thought. When I reached puberty, it was only natural for me to feel physically attracted to my fantasy as well. At some point, I no longer felt it was just a way to switch off, but developed very strong feelings for it.

In order to understand how one can have feelings for something fictitious at all, without there being a physically tangible counterpart, you must know that these fantasies were animal-human hybrids, anthros.

They were creatures, similar to animals, that could walk on two legs and speak. Beings that accompanied my life from the beginning of my time until its end. I had experienced a lot with them, overcome difficult times with their help and thus became a part of their world at some point.

Who or what these creatures were, where they came from, where they lived and what made them tick: the answers to these questions will not always please you, that much is said in advance. But if you have the courage to read on, sometimes maybe gritting your teeth, I promise you, you will read a very instructive, fantastic and honest story as you have never heard it before....

Once I was Chenerah Gajaze.

But actually it was not me. It was just the name I had once given myself. A name that the world around me never accepted. I gave it to myself out of love and passion, and it was indicative of the reverence I paid to my world. It had risen from the turmoil of a war my mind was waging with itself, a battle of three personalities. None of them was about domination in my thoughts, however, each of them wanted to be part of the others, eternally connected, orderly and clear.

The way there was not easy for me and it took an infinite amount of strength to realize that this struggle constituted my personality.

Helping my three spirits to unite with each other was the most difficult undertaking I ever wanted to achieve. It was difficult for me to listen to all their conversations and arguments without agreeing with one of them and hurting the others.

I was a child of faith, love and hope. So I also always remained (felt) alone for myself, until at some point I realized that it was my inner...