Journey to Wattpad

I can honestly tell you that I don't remember when I first decided to sit down and take the time to write down all of the ideas I had. I did remember all the childish ideas I would go to sleep with, never thinking that I could jot them down and developing them further into something greater. I did write small books in preschool however, but I don't think that counts. Just silly little things with aliens and superheroes.

I suppose my first real plot line came to me when I finished Pokemon Black and White, and had my first fictional crush. Before you ask; yes, it was N.

"Black and White? That's not that old though." Yes, I know. I haven't been writing as long as you thought I have been. 

I wrote chapters after chapters a day, keeping them to myself. I didn't think fanfiction was a thing. I never went on any site besides Club Penguin or anything like that (lame, I know). But I found Quizilla, and thought, maybe once I can join (wow what a goodie-two-shoes, waiting until she was 13 to join), I could publish my stories there (thank Arceus that site is gone now; many regrets on that site). 

Many stories died there, as they should have, or I deleted them. Like when you start a drawing, think it looks perfect, and then realize it's quite shitty and crumple it into a ball and throw it into the trash. 

...Anyways, Black and White. I did say I kept ideas in my head, and slowly over time they would disappear and be replaced. This was an exception. 

I don't remember how old I was...probably around 11 years old (everything is so jumbled up; its a guess). I can't remember exactly how, but there was a talk that happened at some point, that went along the lines of, 'mommy is very sick and needs to go to the doctors, ok?' I thought she'd get better, and I did what I normally did; stayed out of the way to make sure I wasn't bothering anyone. 

I played games, watched TV, drew pictures. All while mommy was downstairs on the couch, or at the hospital. I thought it was taking a long time for her to get better, but I still thought she'd be ok, so I stayed out of the way.

"Mommy needs to go in for surgery," I was told. I was told she'd be all better when it was over. It seemed that way for a little bit too. To wait for her to get better, I wrote out my plot line; which you know as Torn into Two. Like I said; chapters and chapters a day. Eventually, my friends on Quizilla told me about Wattpad, and how they were leaving Quizilla to come here. So I followed as well, hoping to keep those friends, but unfortunately I never actually found any of them. I had to start fresh, and I reposted my stories to here, hoping they were as great as they were on Quizilla. 

Mom didn't get better. Eventually she started going to D.C. to go to the hospital since the doctors here couldn't do anything. 

I needed a distraction, so I continued to write. I spent an unhealthy amount of time online reading and writing to escape reality. It may be because of that why everything happened so fast. 

I was writing something, or talking to someone, I don't remember. But someone told me to come downstairs, to see her. She was asleep. We sat on the couch next to the bed that was put in the room for her. There was some sort of sound she made every time she inhaled, which I recently learned was called death's rattle. 

Eventually the rise and fall of her chest stopped. It was like the weight of reality, which I've been ignoring for the longest time, collapsed on top of me. It felt like I just...broke.

I lost interest in everything. I couldn't write anything, I couldn't draw anything, and I didn't want to leave my room. I'd play video games, distracting myself even more. 

It felt dark. Like you know when you're little and all you think about is how you love the friends and family you have, and never think that they're going to leave your side. Death was something that just didn't exist to me. The only things I could see was how everyone I loved was there and they aren't going to leave me, because life isn't that cruel. Sunshine and rainbows, yay.

But when she was gone, I felt lonely, like I lost everyone, and whenever I tried to picture me and my family together, it felt like I was in a dark room. Like they were there, but I couldn't see them. At first I fumbled around for the light switch, but when I realized the bulb was dead, I quit. I sat in the corner, knees to my chest. 

My follower count was rising though, and people liked what I did. I didn't want to do anything else, but I thought maybe I should keep going. Do something I enjoy again. 

But I was still in the dark. My stories didn't see light, or happy endings, because those don't happen. Everything comes to an end. People die, so why not make stories that let people know that happens. People can leave you, so why not make stories that show that. People can earn your trust and break it, so show that (but that's completely irrelevant to this and has nothing to do with how I started to write). 

Slowly, I wrote new books and more chapters. However, unlike before, it would take days, maybe even weeks, to do one chapter under 1000 words. My characters went from bubbly and outgoing, like how I was, to cold and shut off from the rest of the world, like how I am. 

...Eventually, I got a message one day, something along the lines of "Hey, do you wanna do a role-play with me?". I had nothing better to do, so I probably replied with something dull such as, "whatever". 

She told me to get a Kik, so I did, and joined a group with her, another friend of mine now, and a few other people that I honestly don't remember. 

They were disgustingly weird, childish, and crazy. "Maybe this was a bad idea..." I thought. 

We never did any sort of actual role-play, so eventually that stopped, but for some reason one of them continued to talk to me. I thought I would regret it. 

But no matter how rude, cold, or pissed off I was, she never stopped talking to me. I wondered why she never stopped talking to me like everyone else. Everyone else was intimidated or something else. I put walls up to protect myself from getting close to people and losing them, but she ignored those walls. 

...And I'm thankful for it. Whenever I was hurt, on the verge of crying, or angry at what's been going on, she was able to comfort me more than anyone else that I actually knew. And she's hundreds of miles away. Her words have always made me cheer up (or piss me off even more but she knows I'll cool off eventually). 

Then there's my other friend. You'd think she'd be somewhat serious with how well she writes and how formal she can be to people, but she's so goofy and funny she could cheer me up without trying. She was in that role-play as well, but I didn't talk to her again until months (a year maybe?) after that. 

I love the both of them and if I never joined Wattpad I wouldn't be talking to them today. I've said this to one of them I believe, but sometimes it feels like I'm crossing a wobbly old bridge, over a cliff that I can't see the bottom of. I'm slowly making it across, and when I almost fall, they're there to help me up and hold my hand the rest of the way. Theres times when I feel like just jumping would be easier, but they tell me everything is going to be better when we finally cross. 

I'm feeling a lot better after talking to them for the past couple years, so thank you Kitteh and Potato. 

For nominations, I'm going to say iipotato (obvious reasons), dakotipelto (for helping me as well), and AttractiveSkitteh (again, obvious reasons).