An Inciteful Look Into the Mind of a Crazy.

I don't remember exactly when it all started but I can tell you it's been happening for some time. I'm talking years. I finally came to the realization that my thoughts were almost always in an accent other than my own, usually Australian, English, or Irish. It was at this point that I realized that my mind had a mind of its own and thus deserved a name, and Henry seemed as appropriate as any, after all, he came up with it himself.
Henry isn't the best at filing and we often have difficulty remembering things and retrieving those files. But, as I've come to find, if we think about something long enough we're bound to remember. I realize that referring to myself and my mind as "we" makes me sound like someone with Dissotiative Identity Disorder, but it's really not like tha...no, no actually you'd probably be right. But it keeps life interesting.
Anyway, I figure it's a good idea to have Henry around because I can always blame things in him. I suppose that, since I'm talking about it, I should introduce the rest of the gang. My stomach was the first of my body parts to receive a name and that name was Chunk. After Henry was christened, I decided that my heart had been around long enough and caused me plenty of trouble, grief, and pain that it needed to be given a name as well, and so it became known as Esteban.
I hope this will be helpful in reading any further stories found on this site. Thank you and farewell.