The One Thing...

I set down my pen, looking at the filled notebook before me, the ink smearing across the page because of my known impulse to smear my writing. I turned through the pages of my notebook, filled with my heart and soul. The one and only thing I have been working on for the past three years.

Many said that I would never finish, that it was foolish of me to think that I might someday get somewhere with my treasure. That the one thing I really ever cared for was going to end up in the garbage can. But I didn't listen to them, I couldn't. Because if I did, what would keep me going? Why would I wake up in the morning if I didn't have my own characters and plot lines to look forward to?

Rain pattered on the window in front of me, as I let out a sigh. Getting it published. I've never made something that was my heart and soul before, so how am I going to take it when the last three years of my life are torn down over and over again?

My mother has been trying to get me out of the house. To get me to go be with friends and at least to try to make a place for myself in this world. She doesn't understand, what I've created is going to be the imprint that I left on this world. People are going to remember me, not because I didn't have any friends or because I drank excessive amounts of wine, but for the masterpiece I created and gave to the world.

Part of me wanted to keep my pride and joy to myself, so no one would ever discover the beauty that is this notebook. That they would never get to meet the characters that are now my best friends, or feel the anxiety when everything changes so quickly. But that would be selfish, not sharing what I created with the world. Not letting them see the one thing that truly defines my life...

I stood and started to pace around my room which was now strewn with wrappers, dirty socks, and empty wine bottles. I don't know how long it's been since I've been out of the house. Since I walked around my neighborhood and watched kids chase each other and birds peck at the bird seed that families leave in their front yards. I don't remember the last time I really just breathed it all in, really saw what was going on outside of my bedroom, outside of my notebook.

I know that soon, my sensation will be out in the world for all to see and that I will have to try to make my way in the real world. Soon, everyone will meet who I have created and understand why I locked myself away for its completion.

This notebook is going to be the thing that changes everything. That makes people realise what happens in the world, the make them realise how things aren't as shiny as we make them out to be. Not everyone's grass is green, not everyone's car is clean. And soon people are going to realise that. Or will they?

Will people understand what I've put out into society? Should I let the one thing that's been keeping me going out into the most dangerous place of all time, civilization? Should I allow people to tear apart and criticize the one thing that just might change everything?

The world is a dark place, and what's in the notebook supports that. But am I really willing to let all the light from that notebook go dark because I suffocate it with black?

The rain continued to hit the window as I sat down staring at the ragged purple notebook that held my life and soul, was I really willing to give that all away?

I stood again, looking around my bedroom. Was it always this messy? I examined my house, all of it as chaotic as my bedroom. Piles of clothes, dirty dishes on the floor, empty bottles and crushed cans on the counter, and overflowing garbage cans were just the beginning to the mess that that notebook had made.

I dared myself to look into the smudged mirror. My hair was much longer than I remember and it looked rather crusty. I looked much paler than the last time I looked in the mirror, but to be honest, I don't remember when that was. I seemed skinnier and my clothes hung off of my shoulders. I looked like a homeless person. What has that notebook done to me?

I looked around my house helplessly at the mess. I have no friends but the ones inside that purple cover. I hid from my family for the completion of something I'm scared to let other people see. I couldn't help but feel disgusted at the person I've become. Of what that notebook made me. The one thing that I thought was my pride and joy is laughing at me, for it has destroyed my life. And I let it.

I decided that maybe it was time for a change. My notebook has been filled, the story has been typed. All I have to do is press send to my publisher and the criticism will start. But will pressing that button make my life better, or will it send me deeper into the mess that I now call my life?

I went back into my room, the open computer sitting on my bed, my draft glowing on the screen, the send button burning into my eyes. What is on that screen and in that notebook has been the one thing controlling my life for the past three years. And I let it. Well I can't let it anymore. So I closed my computer, took that ragged notebook, and shoved them deep into my dresser. Maybe I'll come back to them when they have a harder time tearing apart my life.