Maria's Troubling Confession

Chapter 1: (Present Self)

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I sat at my desk, pondering how to phrase what I was thinking. It was on the tip of my tongue, in the front lobe of my brain, but I couldn't put it into words for some reason. I couldn't seem to do it no matter how hard I tried.

Writing about something you've experienced, or are currently experiencing, is more difficult than creating a fictional scenario for a character. Much more difficult, if you will, for our brains to imagine, to think, to put the puzzle pieces together in the correct order, to strive to think deeper and recall things that we may struggle to remember how exactly it went. It's far more complicated than it appears on paper from some authors who have written about their own lives, experiences, even their own fears, and traumas. We want to make sure that everything that is written down is exactly what we want to present to the world.

Because once it's out there, it's there for everyone to see. There is no "back" button to undo what has been said.

I sighed, annoyed with myself for failing to come up with anything. When I write something down and then read it, I end up highlighting the entire sentence and erasing it all.

"This is going to be a lot harder than it looks," I thought to myself as I watched the cursor blink at me. There was nothing that was coming to mind.

I rolled my eyes as I drew my chair in and began typing randomly to see where it would take me.

"My name is Maria Cooper, and if you're reading this, I'm going to tell you a story about my life. How I discovered something unusual about myself that most people don't know about."

I shrugged as I read and re-read what I had written. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either.

Out of frustration, I slammed my laptop shut and walked out of my bedroom to get some brain food and something to drink.

Too much thinking worked up an appetite in me.

As I made my way back to my room, I grabbed some water and an apple to snack on. I took a seat at my desk, but I never opened my laptop again.

I was just in a completely different world. If you will, I was zoned out. I was just thinking about how I wanted to tell my story. How I wanted it to sound, feel, and capture people's attention.

I didn't care how many people liked it, disliked it, or judged me as a person. But it was something novel, something unprecedented.

Someone telling the story of how they came to be. What their identities are. How they discovered everything. I was going to reveal my identity to the entire world. How I found out, and how afraid I am to even mention it.

I chewed on my apple, reflecting on my decision to write this story. I'm wondering if this was even a good idea, or if I should abandon it entirely.

This would not be the first time I attempted to write a book of this nature. And I don't think it will be my last. I did my best to think of different ways to write it. However, nothing ever sounded good. So I always pushed the thought to the back of my mind, where it would just sit. Every now and then, I would see something that reminded me of the idea, and I would try again, but fail.

As I sit here at my desk, half-eaten apple in hand, the realization that this is most likely another failed attempt creeps back into my mind. That I should just abandon the idea, but a little voice in the back of my head tells me that I shouldn't. That today would be the day when I finally came up with something.

Because this something will be a book about my life, not just a book that someone picks up and reads. Who am I? As far as I know, I may even be requesting a death wish at this point. Because what I'm about to tell you could endanger my life. But, every now and then, we have to come out and be honest with not only ourselves, but also with the people we meet on a daily basis. The ones we love, and to demonstrate that if people don't like or accept me for who I am, I should avoid them at all costs.

As a result of a very nasty recent breakup that resulted in the very thing I am, I don't care anymore. I'm tired of hiding, and I'm tired of people who find out who I am and despise me as a person because of it.

I'm simply sick of it. I want to be someone unique, different in the process of writing this story. You hear stories about knights in shining armour saving princesses and vampires and werewolves hating each other, but a vampire and werewolf fall in love like Romeo and Juliet. But you don't often hear people's stories. You hardly hear or read about someone going through something unexpected.

No one, as far as I know, has written this in the history of the world. Nobody has ever written a story like the one I'm about to write.

Everyone has heard stories about people traveling to another dimension and falling in love with half-human half-animal creatures, or about humans falling in love with half-human half-animal creatures. Or two half-human, half-animal beings in love.

What are you not hearing?

Is someone telling a story about being a furry? How they discovered it, and how they want to show the world how scared they were, how they lost their life's lover as a result of it, how they realized the toxicity of people, and so much more?

That's when it struck me. The thought struck me like lightning. I threw the core of my apple into the trash can next to me. I wiped my mouth and whipped open my laptop.

As my fingers flew across each letter, I began to tap furiously on the keyboard. I was typing exactly what I wanted. That's how I wanted it. My face lit up with delight, and an ear-to-ear smile formed.

This was going to be an amazing story.