Crowdsourcing Stories

I Am Terrified Of My Own Dreams: Prologue

Prologue: How I Became

Hello, I'm Kat, short for Katherine. Or maybe not. Over the years it's changed so many times. Once everyone I knew called me Katie, but I don't like that anymore.
When I reached middle school I wanted to change, so I did. Sixth grade it was Kate, seventh it was Kathy, eighth was Katherine with thoughts of going by Kert (a anagram for my full name). By nineth grade I finally settled on one, Kat. So that is who I am, I suppose.

What does it matter what you call me? I'm not sure. But for those years it felt like if I just found the right thing to call myself I could right everything in my little world.
I was wrong of course. Even after I astablished myself with the cool new name I chose I still felt the same. Something was still missing. But what?
Was it a style? I dyed my hair blue and started to wear lots of black then I got bored of that and started to wear parts of costumes but even though I felt better the weirder I dressed I still didn't feel right.
What was I missing? Maybe it was my attitude? I tried not to care, I told myself I hated everyone because they hated me. Somehow this made me feel worse.
Eventually I discovered the internet, that I could just be while there. It didn't feel any different at first. I was just as nervious about meeting people. Worried, no terrified that I would be judged by these strangers hundreds of miles away. Why? I still don't know. But it was there, on an avatar based game, that I found the first person ever I felt I could talk to earnestly.
He was an older guy on the other side of the world while I had still been a teen but he listened to me like I mattered.
I don't know how we moved from the robotic Q&A of introductions to him being the sole person who's opinion mattered to me, but that is what happened. For months we would talk all hours of the night or day. I would wake up just to see if he had messaged me and I wouldn't go to bed until he insisted I do so.
During that time I felt, for once, like the judgment of others couldn't hurt me. On good days we would sit in a chatroom and just talk about anything. On bad days he would listen to my pain, my trauma, and just be there for me. He would tell me how beautiful I was without needing to see me and he would remind me the world was larger than my school with discussions of world events. He seemed to instinctively know what I needed. He was always there. Until he wasn't.
I don't know why it changed but one day he simply wasn't there as often. He had become so important to my life that his absence was numbing. For a while I could understand it, he was busy. Life happens after all. But as the intervals between our interactions lengthened my hope faded. When it finally dawned on me I felt betrayed and I wanted to hate him. But I couldn't, not really. He had been my first real love after all.
With him I had become more confident, even made progress making friends, but once he was gone things changed.
With the disappearance of my first love I closed myself off more than ever before. Interactions online became about getting attention rather than meeting people. Most of the people didn't matter as long as I could get them to say what I needed to hear.
Slowly my avatar started to wear less and less as I came to the realization that the words I needed to hear were given freely to those the other person was aroused by. It became about sex. It became about me. My need to feel good. My need to feel wanted. But in the end I felt neither.
But why? What was missing?
They said the right words. They said a lot more too. Their words made me blush and made me feel strange, embarrassed and hot. Wasn't that what I needed?
In times of turmoil I would seek a sympathetic ear. I would complain of my troubles and request they distract me from them. They were always happy to do so. So why did it feel so bad? So wrong?

Are you ready to watch her anxiety grow? How should it affect the next stage of her life?