My Opening Statement

I can’t express how awkward it is for me to be writing again. I’ve gone months, practically a year, since I’ve truly written any of my own word. During the happiest years of my life, I couldn’t breathe without thinking of what I would write, what I would say, what my mind would dream for me. And then there was silence.

Nothing. 

It was an eerie silence, my own mind ignoring me, shutting me out. Not even I could see myself anymore. No one ever saw me. I was invisible.

Except to him.

I suppose this will take some explaining. My name is Katherine. I’m 22 years old, I’ve graduated in the top 5% from a top private university in Colorado with a Bachelor’s in Biology with a minor in Chemistry, and I’m in the midst of applying to dental schools. Yes, dental, not medical schools. Start the jokes now…

For four years I have done nothing but study for exams, write papers on topics I cared nothing for, and quietly earned a near perfect 4.0 GPA. I’m smart, yes, but those are the only memories I can truly take from my undergraduate career. I’ve never been to a party, I’ve never tried alcohol, I’ve never pulled an all-nighter for a paper, and I’ve never been asked on a date. 

I can count the number of people at my school who know my face on two hands, and use only one hand for those who knew my name. This is how most of my life has been, and I’ve hated most every moment of it. I lived in the shadow of a brilliant, athletic sister who threw away all her talents during her manic phases, who made it her life’s goal to strip me of any individuality, any recognition, any life. My father was absorbed with his career and money while my mother single handedly tried to restrain my bipolar sister from throwing herself off an imaginary cliff. 

And again, I quietly made my way through life, keeping my head down, working hard and doing as I was expected. 

There are few things in life more devastating than being completely invisible. The drug addicts still get their high, the popular jocks from high school may have grown fat and bald after college, but their glory days are still shining bright in their eyes, and the assholes still enjoy being assholes. When you’re invisible, you lose all hope, if you were lucky enough to have any to begin with. 

The Invisibles are only seen when they are needed, their acts of kindness are never reciprocated. Strangers’ eyes graze past your face to settle on your attractive neighbor in Biology, and the teacher is always surprised when you speak in class, almost as if she believed you to be mute. 

It’s lonely. Even your own dog can forget you’re there, unless you happen to have food. 

So imagine how entranced I was when I met this boy online when I was 16. He taught me something new and exciting: how to create a whole new world. 

Lots of online nerds know what roleplaying is, but I will not associate myself with that term. Older generations think it’s some kinky sex game, young newbies think it’s the perfect venue to show off your newest Mary Sue** creation that they created in five minutes and NO, they tell you, it is absolutely NOT a replica of a certain Twili--- I mean, ‘vampire fandom character’. 

No, to me, what we did together was write. True, concrete, real writing. We created characters with huge backstories and complex storylines set in a world that we created from scratch into something so tangible I would dream about it each night. 

Every night, for hours on end, we would write and create together. It was the most beautiful escape. It distracted me from the nightmarish tedium of each day and made me feel, if just for a few hours each day, like I was someone. This character, this world, this story would never have been created without me, nor him. I was part of something. I felt like I belonged in that world, that I mattered. 

Years we wrote, thousands of pages were written. Characters were created, and destroyed, and then revived as we bounced around from one idea to the next. It was fun, and I was genuinely happy.

And then he started to slip away. I started recognizing it about two years ago. He stopped logging in to our faithful messaging system, and the daily emails slowly dissipated. In my anguish I tried to cut him off, thinking it would be easiest if it just… stopped. I was naïve and selfish. I wanted to hurt him, for him to tell me how much he needed me. I wanted, desperately wanted, for someone to tell me that they needed me.

It didn’t work, not the way I had planned. I was weak, and he too kind. 

He promised we would write again. Better yet, a new idea emerged. A book. We would write a book together. Something we had dreamed of, but had never had the courage to admit.

It seemed this was it, this was the cure to mending our disintegrating friendship. We were determined and happy again. Together we finished the first book of our planned three. I was proud, so proud, but it wasn’t exactly what you would call ‘good’. It was long, uninteresting, and tedious. I adored each word, saw each sentence as my own child, but it would never be considered by any agent let alone a publisher. 

Devastated, I insisted we try again, that we do better. But things were slipping through my fingers again. I could see it, but I couldn’t change it. Not this time. 

About a year ago we stopped writing. Granted, I tried every once and a while to pull something out of him, but it was obvious he didn’t have the same drive and passion I did anymore. He was creating a life, a proper one. He had school and a full time job, and friends, and obligations—most notable a new love in his life. 

I tried to be strong, and encourage him in his relationship. He talked (vividly) about his sex life and the happiness he shared with his new boyfriend (yes, boy) and all the nifty little things they did together. I was blinded by jealousy, but I did my damnedest to hide it. At times I would slip and become a passive little bitch and say things I still regret. 

But we still weren’t writing. 

I can honestly say it’s been almost a year since I’ve written anything for myself. It’s so much easier to hide everything away and pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s what Invisibles do. We know the technique works, to a point. 

So things change today. I don’t need him to write with me. I don’t need him to hold my hand and show me the way anymore. I can write by myself, even if I’m the only person to ever read it.

I may have lost him, but I will not lose what I spent so many years creating.

So this is my cure. I’m invisible every day unless I am before this screen, typing the words I know I must write. When I’m here, I’m whole again, and seen by the invisible world I created. It’s fitting, isn’t it? An invisible writer in an invisible world. 

And there… no, here, I am no long invisible. 

** I may include definitions for those who are less informed. For example:

Roleplaying: A writing game in which two or more persons create 'posts' on forums or messaging systems with their own characters. Together they create a plot or story by writing together. Most roleplays can last between a few hours to months but all lack a clear plot to all the writers. Instead, it is created as you write together. 

Original Character: Often referred to as an 'OC'. This is a character whose personality and physical characteristics are created by a person and are used in a roleplay situation. 

Mary Sue: Mary Sue is a name given to a specific type of original character. Mary Sues (or Gary Stu for the male version of this) are typically exceptionally pretty (even though they think they're ugly) and are very 'vanilla' in the personality category. They're usually very smart and (sometimes) invincible. Their only flaws include the infamous 'clumsy'. ("Oopsie! I tripped! Aren't I so clumsy? But I'm super duper adorable by doing it and the boys just loooove fawning over me when it happens!") These characters are often times created by newbies or beginners. The most famous of all Mary Sues is Bella from Twilight.