Two Lies and a Truth

A Lie:

When someone asks me what keeps me up at night, what mistake from the past will haunt me till my dying day, what cringe cannot be undone, the moment that comes to mind is when I pretended someone else's writing was mine.

I knew better. I was seventeen and taking a creative writing class in High School. I wanted so badly for my peers and my community college professor to like me. I needed their validation over my writing so I could convince myself that there was a clear path set out for me. Basically, every bullshit excuse in the book was used for this crime to be committed.

What can I say? I was into the sad boi crime aesthetic before Kylo Ren made it excusable. Fortunately, I did not have an army of fangirls gaslighting on my behalf so I learned from my mistakes.

At first I did turn in my own work and the mixed reviews made me feel like the worst writer in the world. There was a girl in my class, Eduarda, who was both beautiful and talented thus I wanted to impress her the most. She was a friend of a friend but the two of us had never gotten along or made a connection. Her criticism of my work was fair but as I was a young person who would fall on her sword before accepting any fault of my own I took everything she had to say to heart.

So, I took an obscure fanfiction from an obscure anime/manga which I had thought was written beautifully and passed it off as my own. I changed a few things. I changed character names and a few descriptions but overall this work was praised by my teacher. Though Eduarda thought it odd, likely because of the fantastical elements that transferred over, she did say it was well written.

The guilt kicked in as soon as everyone's praises came in and has not really gone away since.

I never came clean about what I had done yet I think about it all the time! Who the fuck did I think I was? Somewhere out there was a professional that thought I had talent when I did not. Worse, somewhere out there was a fanfiction writer that did not even know I was benefitting off their work!

I am sure I have said worse lies but for some reason this is the one that hits me at 3am and makes me lose sleep. I suppose in your youth you rationalize matters differently. I was not a bad person I just did a bad thing that could follow me for the rest of my writing career.

I think the worst part nowadays is that I did not have the confidence in my own work to push it forward. It was so cowardly of me and I often think it will define me rather than the good original writing I have done since. I suppose all awkward kids make mistakes and I should just forgive teenage me for her actions.

I cheated myself out of an opportunity to grow as a writer in that class at least for that assignment. Never again have I stolen from anyone's work and I am even paranoid about being inspired by someone's work and not giving them their due credit. It was certainly a lesson learned in being honest.

A Lie:

This one is both funny and pathetic to me. I clearly did not have a lot of close friends in high school. I often ate lunch by myself or did not really vibe with others. It was a lonely existence brought upon by my general teenage intensity and inability to see past my own reality. I think all teenagers are rather laser focused on their own world. I, however, had a rather dreamy way of dealing with it.

I created another life for myself in my head. In this life, I had a cool gay best friend from childhood that was both a trendy emo boy and a struggling artist in the mean streets of New York. His name was Joseph, Joey for short, and he had startling gray eyes and jet black hair. He wrote songs that he composed with his guitar and violin (honestly, why did anyone believe me?!) and he sang like a mix between David Bowie and Bono. Obviously, once I graduated, I was going to go live with him in New York and start a band together. All of this despite me having absolutely no musical talent!

I suppose I may be selling myself slightly short. Though it may come as a shock to some, I was a theatre kid. I sang in musicals and half-assed danced my way through the likes of High School Musical, Aida, and Once on this Island. I don't particularly think I was very good. I could harmonize rather well and certainly had a love for acting but that an artist does not make. I never had real intentions to be any kind of artist but to dream about it was free.

As far as imaginary friends go, Joseph was the best friend a closeted bisexual could have. I could explore my sexuality through him in a way. If I was caught doing something strange like looking up gay porn I could just say "oh, Joseph sent me this" and confidently lie through the situation. If someone that cool and handsome thought I was worth his time then I did not need to care about all the real people in my life that were more or less ignoring me.

I talked about Joseph all the time and the few friends I had definitely thought he was a real person. I eased off doing that once I got to college and made real genuine friends that I had plenty in common with. I suppose I remember this cringe-worthy lie with some semblance of warmth and sweetness because it was not a lie that hurt anybody. It helped me through some lonely times to create this character and have him care about me.

A Truth:

Honestly, I have gone back and forth on whether I want to share this. I struggled because its not entirely my story to tell. It is however my most universally embarrassing moment and I have to say I don't regret it. Though I had a few short-lived crushes and love affairs in high school I came into college pretty green in that subject. I think about this India Arie song called, Ready for Love, because it really was my mindset then.

I went on a few embarrassing dates in freshman year and kissed plenty of people I should not have. Yet it was not till sophmore year that I met someone that I had the most unyielding girlish crush on. Garrett was not a student, he worked in the university in student affairs. Of course he was a handsome man of sandy brown hair, megawat bright smile and soft blue eyes stumbling through his late 20s. What struck me the most about him was that he was the kindest person I had ever met.

We met because he helped me with a few projects I had thrown together for the benefit of the gay-straight alliance school group I was the president of. This is circa 2010, meeting a guy that was not only perfectly fine around gay people but also had a desire to make sure this community felt welcomed and safe in the school was a rarity. He showed up to our little halloween party and though I was literally dating someone else I was smitten with him.

He was funny, he was sweet, he had the raspiest voice and he was always there to support any little idea I had. GRANTED, this was his job! Yet he made me feel seen and heard which I suppose was the root of the crush problem.

My friends were tired of hearing me gush about him and since I was single again they told me to just tell him how I felt about him. Me being the biggest baby in the world though could not for the life of me find the courage to speak about this out loud. Like many of the shining people in life though he was compensating for a deeply rooted sadness. I noticed this in him when I was not swooning over him, or finding ways to run into him on campus, or, WORST OF ALL, writing him very bad poetry.

So, I wrote him this letter. I have not edited this at all and it literally makes me want to throw my laptop out the window but here it is.

"Dearest Garrett,

It’s been a year that I have had the pleasure of having you in my life. With the little bit of interaction we have had I have come to see you as a very kind, sweet, generous, funny, handsome, giving, and driven person. Very rarely have I met a boy like you so I was instantly attracted to you. Granted I never really made a move because when we met I was in a relationship, we were kind of in a working together situation and I felt a boy like you was kind of not in my league.

You are a flirt. There is nothing wrong with that but it has confused me for some time now. I know it is all in my head but logic does not seem to want to be reasonable with me. I try very hard to be in your presence, have your attention and make you smile. It was more than me wanting to be your friend; I wanted to be part of your life. I am usually a very open and aggressive person. When I want something I make that clear but I was literally scared of making you uncomfortable and scaring you away.

You have a light about you, Garrett, and it fills people with positive energy and happiness. I did not want to risk that light because I wanted more of it, if that makes sense. I wanted to get to know you better because I really do not know you at all. That leads me to believe that these feelings I have are more for the idea I have of you rather than the real you. You are darling however so I can only imagine the real you to be just as intriguing if not more.

Like I mentioned however I know it’s all in my head. You are just a friendly person and I confused that for interest. I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable. I guess I just really want you to know that you are something special. That I am pretty sure I am not imagining. I don’t think people tell other people they are special enough. So this is me telling you. I know no one is perfect and that I really have no place to talk since I do not know you well but that’s how I feel. What I have been exposed to is wonderful, Garrett, and I wish you the best because you deserve it.

You probably won’t feel comfortable around me for a while, or a long time, or forever, and I understand that. I don’t like it, but I understand it. I do, however, want to be your friend. It’s nice having a positive influence in my life and you, my friend, are just the thing to brighten up my mornings. I’m sorry for doing this now with your grandmother being sick. I hope she is okay, I really do. You are probably stressed out enough. I hope you can forgive me for being so selfish. I wish I could explain why now but the only way I can get it into words is that I just need to get it out. I have reached some sort of limit. I am graduating soon and it seems a waste to not let you know how I feel and how awesome and amazing you are.

With all the greatest admiration and caring,

Nina"

WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I mean after I left it on his desk I immediately was hit with such embarrassment for being such an overbearing weirdo. I am pretty sure I even tried to get it back before he could read it but it was not possible. After much hindsight, I cannot believe this man ever spoke to me again. There is such a oh woe is me aspect to this that makes me want to never write ever again.

Anyway, to his credit, he wrote something beautiful to me back. I cannot in good conscience publish the letter he wrote back to me because of the personal things he shared with me but I will add this: he told me that I saved his life that day or at the very least saved him from a mental breakdown. He'd been going through some tough things and my words had brought him some happiness.

He let me down very gently and I was grateful for that. Yet it was knowing I made any kind of impact in his life that makes me not regret this moment of youthful vulnerability.

Garrett is perfectly fine. Last I heard of him he was teaching English in South America and having the best goddamn time about it. I, of course, still only wish him the very best in life.

The conclusion:

So those are my three top tier embarrassing stories. One I regret deeply, one I only half regret and one I do not regret at all despite the embarrassment caused.

I did always want to write about these moments in my life but never really knew how to frame them. It feels good to get them off my chest and out of my mind for a little while.

I look forward to reading your embarrassing stories so we can all commiserate!