Mike the Shock

I used to believe in a friend who wasn’t there.  Pretty standard stuff for growing up, I guess, though I have always had emotional problems.  He was small and sturdy, built like a fire hydrant.  His name was Mike the Shock because he had crawled out of the electrical outlet.  

Mike was all the things I didn’t like to be: mischievous, mean, and mad.  Later, I would learn to enjoy mischief within the bounds of good taste, but as a kid, I was hopelessly lost in guilt.  Being mean just made me feel bad, but it often stemmed from being mad about something I couldn’t control.

I'm not sure why I feel so guilty now.  There were plenty of things I was able to do correctly and confidently without fear.  When I was eight, I would fill sketchbooks with cartoon ideas and full-blown comic strips—character arcs inspired by visionaries like Monty Python, Mel Brooks, and Christopher Guest.  I played every sport and was mediocre at all of them, but I had a lot of fun.  I had actual, real friends at the time.  We would make movies together, creating world after world as one and experiencing true joy in the process.  

So why did I still have an imaginary friend?  Still not sure, but he was around.  Keeping me up at night, telling me I was an idiot.  Making sure I noticed that I wasn’t invited somewhere or picked last for something.  Pissing in my ear about a bad grade or a girl who was mean to me.  

One night I just told him.

“Mike,” I said out loud to the shadows on my ceiling. “I don’t need to hear this anymore.”

He kept going and telling me that it was all true, all of the doubts.  Screaming at me now, his hot breath and electricity inside my eyelids.  I turned on my side and rubbed my eyes.  Took a deep breath.

“Go back inside the outlet.”

He said I had a stone for a brain and that I was a coward.  Called me fat and weak.  Told me I would always be alone.  

“No,” I sighed.  “Leave.”

And he finally did.  Crawled right back into the outlet where he came from.  I still catch him sometimes, but he only whispers now.  No more screaming.  Saying that nothing is worth it.  I feel bad for him now. I tell him to keep it down and get back inside the wiring.