tw: suicide, coma
For as long as I can remember, I have always loved writing.
I remember my aunts giving me white books so I could write and drew in them— I let my inspiration talks and wrote about cats, princesses, dogs, families. I was not 7 yet, but I still loved the exercice, even though it was more of a game to me.
I remember sitting to the big computer in our living room to write novels when I was 9 or 10, knowing that this time it was serious. I loved thinking of new stories to tell, finding a title and meet my characters. I wrote about twins, sisters, music, books, friendship— basically all I knew at this age.
I remember my 11th birthday and having my very first own laptop. The first thing I did was to start a new story— it was set in London in the 19th century and a man found a way to travel through another word with only a mirror. I re-read it a few months ago and even though it is, of course, bad, it was also sweet, pure and good enough for a 11 years old girl.
I remember being 13 and spending nights on the Internet to read more and more dramione fanfictions, until one day I decided to start my own. The whole thing grew fast and I had 1k readers in a few months— it was scary but exciting and I loved it. I let my French teacher read it and she told me that I was good, that I should keep writing, that I had something. And so I did it. And I created another blog, dedicated to Emma Watson, on which I wrote everyday because I couldn’t stop. That was all I was doing— I wrote during classes on a piece of paper and spent my nights re-writing the whole thing on my laptop and creating, writing, again and again.
And I remember when we discovered my diabetes when I was 14 years old. It’s a long story but I was in the South with my grand-parents and I spent awhile in a coma. When I finally woke up, I had to wait before being able to sit and to take a plane to go back to Paris in a wheelchair. I was scared, angry, didn’t know what was happening, but the only thing I asked my parents to bring me was my laptop so I could explain to my readers why I have been inactive. I didn’t want to eat nor spend times with the other children, so the nurses came to my room and let me talk about the books I was reading and my fanfiction. They were happy for me and they loved reading me.
When I left the hospital, everything started to change. And I remember stopping writing. Because I couldn’t. Because I was too tired and unable to understand what was happening to me. Because I was too depressed anyway to think about anything. Because I was too little to live this and that my emotions were too big, not letting me creating anything at all. And so I joined a Role Playing Game on Facebook which lasted two years. I was playing Lily Luna Potter and it felt good to write again, but mostly to be someone else. To play someone who was pretty, funny, intelligent, and not diabetic.
I tried after all of that to write again. I had tons of ideas but I couldn’t seem to sit down and think. My cyclothymia became impossible to handle and I tried to kill myself before turning 18. I didn’t want to be who I was and if I couldn’t play someone anymore, then I’d rather just disappear. But I survived and I did better. I am better.
I remember starting writing again and thinking about this project I started when I was 11. The one about an English man who travelled through words with a mirror. It took me years before finding the real story, the one I’m working on today, but I finally did. At first, I had some ideas there and then. I never really wrote but thought about it a lot, trying to meet my characters. And then, something happened. And I could write again. And I knew where I was going and I knew I could make it.
I’ll remember this day when I’ll be done writing my very first novel. I’ll remember being full of hope but also insecurities, having too many ideas in my brain, this feeling when you have to write or your mind could explode.
And then I’ll start another one.
And another one.
Because I will always remember to keep writing again and again and again.