I am a 19-year-old Gothic female who lives in Kentucky (I won’t say where, but it’s a start). I have been studying Japanese language and culture for about 5 years. Ever since I was old enough to make noise, I have been fascinated with music, and singing. Anyone who has to spend time with me realizes that immediately. In fact, I made enemies at a job once simply because I hum and sing without knowing that I’m doing it, and she told me to shut up (and then I’d start singing again… rinse, lather, repeat). I have been writing since between 3rd and 5th grade, and, although I have started at least 20 books, I have never finished one. I also inherited the ability to sew (my mother and both of my grandmothers, and beyond, are/were gifted in said ability). Since I was in elementary school, I would do many things on the computer, such as type, edit pictures with Jasc Paint Shop Pro, and use it to learn songs and pair them with lyrics (and later, translations).
Now, let me tell you more than the basics. Since I was in kindergarten, I have had depression. I remember the moment at which I realized the futility of life– or so I had seen it at the time. Five years old, standing over a box of barbies, and suddenly aware that death is inevitable– so what were we alive for? I was overcome with the feeling of despair that was completely out-of-place. I had my first thoughts of suicide in second grade, because I was pretty much the pariah of my class. Of course, my limited interaction with people made me completely and utterly socially awkward, and so I didn’t know how to handle it. I would come home crying every day, and hide in my room, wishing something would change. I was stuck in a world where I could carry on a conversation with my teachers (that is, the ones that didn’t look down on me because I was a kid), but would shy away from my peers because their ignorance was disgusting, their personalities were repulsive, and their hearts were warped.
So, to keep myself alive, I began to write. My characters were my way to escape from the world that held me down in what felt like a flaming, gaping maw of hell that made death seem appealing. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. When I was mad at school, or someone insulted me, I would write. When I felt like kicking someone until I ruptured their internal organs, I wrote. And it worked well enough– especially when my writing introduced me to friends. There were a few others who were kinder, gentler, and less apathetic than the others– and they didn’t turn me away. I’ll never be able to say that school was good, or that I enjoyed it, other than attaining knowledge and access to the Internet, but at least I wasn’t utterly alone.
From a very early time, I realized the repercussions of loneliness. I felt that I would never find someone who could love me– after all, it didn’t seem like anyone in my family could. As a child, I knew the importance of finding someone who you could share things with, someone who you could talk to for hours and still have more to say, someone who you dreamed about every night and were overjoyed to see everyday. Someone whose hand was always there to hold, and whose arms were always warm and open. And I found that, if no one else in my world could find it, how the hell would I? I couldn’t even speak without saying something that didn’t even make sense, and I was seriously high in the list of hated people at school.
I began to grow up, and I changed into something slightly different. In high school, I discovered that not everyone was so terrible. I was never ousted from the group, was never chased away, but I still felt alone. I finally found relationships, but I made the emphasis on how I could change myself to make them happier. In return, I ended up giving up on dating entirely. It seems that abstinence wasn’t cool with my first boyfriend, so he lied about “the many things we did” that never happened. Imagine my humiliation! My second boyfriend was still caught on his ex, and left soon after we’d got together, however we remain on very good terms.
I had given up on relationships, and was at an all-time low. I felt that gaping hole in me, that void that had been present since childhood, and nothing could ease it. I was bitter, jaded, and hateful. I traded glare for glare at everyone who had ever angered me, and at this time, my truly volatile temper took a most fiery form. If I didn’t write, I would have been in tons of fights– but I had plenty of restraint, and anyone who has ever written with passion knows for a fact that the best stories, the best ideas, they form when you are absolutely beside yourself with emotion. Anger was my productive emotion. I would write four or five pages, front and back, in a class-period.
But not even my characters’ antics could distract me from the void I felt.
It was my sophomore year, and my temper had been getting gradually worse. I was stuck in classes in which I had no friends, and I couldn’t stand even waking up in the morning, forcing myself to go to hell. The top annoyance became that a guy who would usually make fun of me was in one of my classes. He was in our circle of friends, but he just… well, he pissed me off. He was in my math class, and we had to have partners through the entire class. He asked to be my partner, and, grudgingly, I said yes.
I quickly realized how smart he was, and then how funny he could be. I think he made me smile for the first time in days. I found myself finally looking forward to going to that class, and then we started hanging out throughout the day. I found myself thinking about him, and telling my step-mom about him, and I was starting to realize that there was a problem. A serious one.
I thought he was gay. And I was starting to really like him. When I would tell my friends, they would laugh, asking, “You like him?!” and I would just shrink away and nod. After all, he was goofy as hell, and you just couldn’t take him seriously. I was terrified that I was going to have my heart broken because I wasn’t his gender of preference, but I couldn’t help but call him all the time, hang out with him at school, and laugh with him whenever I could.
I began seeing that maybe my assumption was incorrect– he seemed to be taking an interest in me. I could see it in how nervous he became. I knew he’d never had a girlfriend, and that was part of what made me wonder– the other part was just how he acts, sometimes– and I was becoming confident that, perhaps he was straight, but even more, perhaps he liked me! Now, I understand how hilarious that seems, so I won’t have to explain to you why I couldn’t just come right out and ask him if he was gay or not.
At last, after waiting until the point where I was considering asking him out, myself, he finally made the move I’d been waiting for for weeks. He was walking me to the bus after school, and he slipped a flashcard into my hand. As we walked, I read it and I felt like fainting and screaming. I will probably post a picture of it sometime, but what it said was along the lines of “Every time I see you I get nervous and sweaty and I feel an ache when you go away. I’ve been gathering my courage to say this, but I love you.” and with that, he sent me onto the bus, and I showed it to everyone who would look, floating all the way.
In March, we will have been together for 4 years.
By now, I’ve graduated high school (thank God!) and moved out on my own. He has supported me in everything I do, and has been the one who has told me to look to God instead of sitting in my self-loathing. He has been there for me when I felt I had no one left, and he will always be there– I know– no matter what happens.
But yes, that is my story so far, in a nutshell. Now, there is a LOT of stuff I’m leaving out, mainly because it would be way to depressing/horrific, and I don’t want to eat your whole day up, making you read this ridiculously long page. But thank you for doing so! I can’t help but laugh at how much has happened in the past five years– it has been a full-circle kind of thing. After 19 years, I’m finally able to breathe without hating myself for it, and I found what I’d always wanted, to boot. I believe that can happen to anyone– and I hope it happens to everyone.