When I was 15, I was dying. I had been diagnosed with depression and I had no understanding of my illness. 2010 was a horribly traumatic year, there were family feuds that resurrected and I lost two people that I loved. My entire life was falling apart and I couldn’t cope. I contemplated suicide for a long while and once I hit bottom someone took my hand and was determined to pull me out. My head was filled with this idea for a book, it was a powerful force I couldn’t ignore. That story saved me- gave me a second chance to live as it healed me. Less than a year later, a second idea came to me. Both became outlets for me to express my pain and fury over the events that had transpired. I was able to take control of situations I never could and created worlds to represent events that actually happened in story tropes I’ve always loved. My first book was published in 2017, happiest day of my life. It was the happiest I had ever been to see my first born printed and bound. Unfortunately, many of people in my family didn’t approve of my career choice and made it known. I still went ahead with a book party with relatives who did care or so I thought l. No one showed up; they didn’t have a reason or even an apology. It’s a bitter pill to swallow when 90% of your family is unsupportive and could really care less. I’m on my the verge of publishing the second story. I already know who’s truly excited and who couldn’t give a damn and it’s exactly who I expected. I find the entire thing ridiculous especially after finding a message I had printed l out years ago. It was the last time my estranged grandmother had reached out to me. She said the usual love and missing me implication. Then wrote that she had the first book I ever wrote as a child. I’m not even sure how she knew I was writing a book (this was when I was 16 and just starting out). I’d never told many people I was writing a book and wasn’t sure how to tell anyone before I figured out what I was doing. Sure is a damn shame that I got more support from a grandmother who was so vicious and that I never wanted to speak to again. Looking back at it now as a twenty something woman rather than angry teenager, I feel free. Free that I know I’m doing something great and they are making the poor choice to not be apart of this and all that I’m creating.