Listen very carefully:

I have told the tale I am about to impart to you exactly 17,373 times on various planes of existence and in multiple dimensions over several millennia. I have had to call upon reservoirs of courage that prior to this I did not know I harbored in order to face down over and over the profound mortal dread that pools in my soul – if indeed I am still in possession of such a treasure – when I recall those events that are of such dire import to this time and place. And yet, despite my obvious earnestness and the desperation of the situation, I find that there is not a person living who will believe my story.

You do not know how vexing this is. I fear I am on the precipice of madness. I do not hunger, I do not sleep, I do not thirst. I find I no longer yearn to indulge in the sins of the flesh … a weakness that I fully confess consumed me utterly prior to my recent experiences. My sole desire is to speak and be heard and be believed. It is what survivors do.

So I begin it. Again.