Dear reader,

There are many important things I don't know, but I know I'm tired of being scared, and tired of pretending to be things I'm not. This is probably one of the most honest things I'll ever do. A few years ago, I was struggling with who I was. I still am now, of course, but there are so many needless feelings of disgust and shame that I've finally begun to move past. Many things were important to me during this time, some turning points, others representing the flaws in my thinking. I write this in hopes that I can be seen for who I am, and that if anyone like me is out there, they can know they are not alone. I am here, I went through these issues, and they can be survived. I'm starting my blog with this long post.

With that preface out of the way, I have a simple request. I want you to understand my story the same way it was made–one step at a time. I'll explain some of the context for each work, but I ask that you don't simply read this letter all the way through and then go to them. I want you to experience each one at its time, rather than knowing where I go next. Quite simply, go to the work after reading the context. Come back when you're done and ready. You can read the poems together though, they're the same work.

The first work is the turning point. I met my friend that day, and had a long talk with them. The page was written in code, so I've retyped it to make it readable, as well as inserted the correct tones. This little code I made with them back when I was in elementary school, and it is quite nice, mainly because it has tone indicators built in. You can emphasize, admit pain, sadness, happiness, and more, on each individual word, and even put multiple at the same time. I've marked which lines were me with O, and which were my friend with F, and made some needed notes in paranthetical.

Go give it a read.

The second work is one that's hard to present, but I'm going to anyway. This is me, just a day after that argument. I wanted to prove my friend wrong, that I wasn't lying all the time, blending in, and that I was actually normal. I don't really know if I kinda knew they were right at that point, but I do have my original lie journal. I was going to run it for a whole month, but, made a different decision at the bottom. As for my parents, I don't want to speak too badly about them, but we're still not on the best terms. I should've hated them more for the abuse I suffered at their hands. At the time, I agreed with its reason, I had to blend in, had to be normal. Even that doesn't justify the amount of yelling and even hitting. You gave me no safe space to be myself. Sorry, that's barely even mentioned in the work.

Go give it a read.

The third work is a bit too "straightforward," but I decided to include it anyway. I had an assignment, just a few days after the lie journal, telling me to choose an emotion, and then explain what makes you feel it. You had to come to some conclusions or something at the end, I don't know, it's not too relevant. I didn't turn in this version, obviously, but when I got it, especially after that lie journal had left me quite worried about who I was, all I could really think of was hate. I wrote this one in that anger, saying over and over all the things I hate. I made a more sanitized version for like, wonder, filled with lies, to turn in. What I'm presenting is my raw one, the one I wrote in just anger and hatred. It's hard to look back on it and realize I was like that, but it's true.

Go give it a read.

The fourth and final work is a pair of poems. The first poem I wrote when I was very young, about a time spent with a crow. I didn't know the difference between a raven and a crow at the time, I was 7 or so. The poem may be a bit plain, but it pretty faithfully depicts what it was like that day, listening to a crow. Animals languages are… weird. But I can learn them much easier with shapeshifting. The second one is more steeped in metaphor, also using a raven instead of a crow just to aid the metaphor. It was written in response to the first poem, but importantly, I didn't have that poem at the time. You can clearly see how I misremembered, and also can see what I thought at the time after I found the original poem, nearly 3 weeks later. I'm lucky to have something which so adequately depicts how I forgot what it was truly like to be myself, how I felt about it. Also, yes, both poems aren't that good, but in one I was young and in the other I was stupid.

Go give them a read.

And here we are, at the end. You've read my works, I hope, and I appreciate it. I hope it helps you understand. I hope it helps you see the value in being yourself. I hope if anyone out there is even like me, they can understand too. I've left some contact details on my blog. I am here if you need to talk. Thank you.

With my own two paws,

Otto