V.D.

 Every young woman has daydreamed the fantasy of being more desirable than they are. Sought after uniquely, desperately, superfluously, direly.. Everyone wants to be the most special of what they are, and women are women. An estrogen factory of dreams. We dream of being desired even if we already are. There's always room for supernatural fantasies. 

 Adventure, suspense, terror, struggles, and record breaking flattery. All of the elements of a perfect novel about yourself, that you can transform at any time to suit your needs. Of course, it's best that the story makes sense. The more believable your story about you is, the more you're going to like it, unless you wish you were someone else, which is less common. So, if the reason you're pursued in this story is impossible, you'll probably think of an impossible story of how it became possible, in a world where it can take place. 

 Long ago, in the midsts of outlining new novels of myself, I created my character. I made myself a vampire. At that time in my life, I believed that my fears of the sun in the material word had passed with age. But, this fear was a unique part of my memory, and never completely unharnessed. The transformation from human to creature of the night was simple. All I had to do was toy with the fact that I have EPP( the least aggressive of the vampire diseases ). So I did. 

 Over time, I built a variety of scenarios and details of why and how my symptoms mutate to transform me to choose from. Some very different from others. I could be weak, or strong, or enchanting, or immortal, or dying, or killing. There is no end to the possibilities of fantasy. It's quite good fun.  

 Over more time, in the real world, my symptoms began to return in unexpected ways. There was nothing romantic about that. My struggles were of the most least acknowledgeable variety. This book was a dull read. There was nothing for a third party to take note of, other than disgustingly covered windows and my new outdoor apparel. Sunshine dimmed from my skin, and breezes left from my hair. The exhilarations of life that waited for me outside all day seemed to fall asleep at sunset. 

 The worse I felt about myself, the more easily my inner dialog convinced me that I deserved it. In reality there's nowhere to escape to, and nothing tangible to escape. I wanted to run and scream and kick and panic, and be something much more than a shut in.. 

 On a mountain, in a post apocalyptical land, I'm out of breath and starving, and unstoppable. As an evil scientist hunts me like an animal, I think to myself that it's not his fault. It's my fault. I made myself a vampire.