I never really knew anything about the world around me and once, when I was a teenager, I realized I didn't know much about myself either.

I walked through the halls of the high school in mid-October. It was like any other day and I walked into my English class. Sitting in my seat I got out my note book and my writing book. I loved that class so much. For the longest time I believed I didn't have a talent. I couldn't sing or dance; I played piano but it wasn't much of a talent, it was a hobby.

On my sixteenth birthday my friend's parents got me my first sketch book and my life changed forever. Yes, I was good at drawing but my talents stretched much further than that. Anime characters from my favorite shows were my favorite things to draw but soon that wasn't enough for me. I began creating my own characters with their own stories. I had thought I had found out what I was good at and in a way, I had but not exactly.

I had a dream about one of my characters in one of my shows and I woke up and thought, "Woah, I can't just leave it at that". I picked up my pencil and that's when I started to write fan fiction. I was good at that too! I even started to get requests to help others with their fan fictions.

It was half way through my grade ten year that my life became consumed with the art of writing. I loved seeing my thoughts out on paper. It gave me a sense of pride and adventure that I would likely never see in the real world as long as I live.

Before I got my sketch book, I was dead-set on being a Robotics Engineer...that has all changed! Now I can be found every day in front of my computer or the TV contemplating what I was going to do next in my stories.

One day my mom came home and looked at me and told me, "You should be a writer." Being the Idiot I was, I never thought I could make something out of my hobby. ..No... It was stupid.

Months past and I struggled in school, all my time being consumed in my own mind. Claire- land I called it. That was my biggest mistake. I started to lose a lot of people who I cared about because I was too busy in my own fantasies to really care about what was actually going on. The worst part was that I never even noticed. I was content with just my computer; I figured I didn't need anyone. Oh how wrong I was.

There is only so much you can do with just your own thoughts. Being social is important because the experiences of life and/or with others is how any good artist gets their inspiration whether they realize it or not. I had lost all of my inspiration and now I sit at my desk, before the start of class, staring at a blank page before class starts.

Sitting there reflecting on when the last time I actually talked to friends I never noticed the bell ring or the teacher walk into class. I finally looked up when she stood in front of me with a stern look on her face. She asked me a question about the book we were reading but I didn't know the answer. I never read them unless there is a worksheet involved. Even then I would just scan through it the night before a test.

This time she let me off with a warning so I returned to staring at the blank page. I had heavy writers block and I knew it but refused to accept it.

I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't notice that class was over. I was just pouting in my seat. My teacher walked up and sat in the desk in front of me, turning to look at me. She asked why I was so distracted so I told her about my writers block and how writing was what helped me relax.

"You don't seem very calm right now." She had told me.

I asked her what she would do and she replied, "I would live. A writer gets their inspiration from the world around them, not from staring at a blank page."

With those last words she left the room and I was alone. The irony was that I really was alone. I don't talk to the ones I had once called friends and I usually spent my free time at school in a stairwell near the back of the school.

I sighed to myself and put my things in my bag and headed right for the stairwell. The walk was lonely and my thoughts weren't consumed by ideas like they once were. No, they were of memories I had with my friends. I never knew how much I missed them until now.

The worst part about it was that I would never have even noticed I didn't have them if I hadn't of had writers block. "How do I handle this situation?" I thought to myself. I had no idea

I walked into the stairwell and sat down right under the stairs as I did every day. Taking out my laptop I searched; how to deal with writers block. It wasn't surprising for me to see that most people suggest that getting out in the world was great for getting your creative juices flowing. However, it gave me a dose of reality; cruel, cruel reality.

I couldn't go back to my friends. It would feel like they were second choice to my writing. Tears were dripping down my face as I put my laptop back in my bag and hugged my legs close to my chest. I looked around the stairwell where my friends and I once hung out. A painful reminder of the fight we had and how they never told me they were moving hang outs.

It was painful to know that I had abandoned my friends for the fictional characters I had created in my mind. I thought writing had defined me, I thought it was who I was. Now I realized that I let writing control me, trapping myself in the pits of my own imagination.

I wiped my tears, not deserving to feel sorry for myself. I'm the one who did this and I'm the only one who can make it better and snap out of this world inside my head.

Grabbing my bag I left the stairwell and went on a hunt from room to room. All I knew was that I had to fix what I had broken. I needed to find them... my friends.

I searched through the halls of the enormous school until I came to the library. Students were sitting at tables and couches around the room. I walked through the massive book emporium , carefully scanning the groups to find that one familiar one.

There... at the very back! In a cluster of comfy furniture were the people I needed most. They were laughing, talking and eating. Out of seven seats, only five of them were filled and only one person was missing. It was the one person I hurt the most with my fervent addiction.

I stood mere feet away, just watching them but I couldn't go any further, to ashamed of my own mind to even converse. One of them, a blonde boy locked eyes with me... the one I used to call my best friend. His expression was pained before he returned this attention to the group. That was enough for me, I just couldn't. The situation was too far gone; it had been over two months now.

Quickly I turned to leave but someone ran into me and we both fell to the ground. I looked in front of me to see the face I feared most. The fight we had ended when this small, brown haired girl ran off in tears. It left us both single, with no one to comfort our sorrow. The huge fight that had left this small, brown haired girl running off in tears and both of us single with no one to hold when we cry.

When she met my eyes I could almost see the gears turning before a tear strayed down her face. I studied her as she just stared. My eyes were drawn to her blue shirt that now had a big stain on the center of it. There it was...I messed up again.

The girl in front of me snapped out of her trance, dropped her stuff on the ground and ran out in tears...again. s The girl in front of me snapped out of her trance and ran from the library with tears in her eyes; leaving her stuff on the ground. I sat there in shock at the blonde boy walked over to pick up the other girl's things. Without even a single word to me he started out the door to find the girl. without a word to me and started to walk after me.

It was like the stairwell all over again; I make her cry and he goes after her while I just sit there with a blank look on my face.

"No." I growled at myself, "Not again."

I got up and ran after her just like the boy but before I passed him. I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. He raised an eyebrow.

I gestured for the smaller girl's things, "I can take it". My tone was sad and hurt but I was determined to not mess this up. Not again.

He looked at me with an unsure expression; like I was some stranger, "Claire, I..."

"Please." I begged, looking at him with pleading eyes, "I made a mistake and I need to do something."

He sighed and handed me her stuff. "I don't know if she wants to see you."

I gave a sad smile and walked down the hall. I knew exactly where she would be. I followed the familiar path to the third floor stairwell entrance. It was the entrance to my sanctuary the stairwell I usually went to but not inside. This is where we met. She and I met there. I was sitting beside the door writing when she was heading down to meet her friends.

A feeling of regret washed over me when I heard sobbing from down the hall. No one was up here but me and the sobbing girl. I cautiously walked towards the girl until I saw her sitting by the door. Her head was buried in her knees and her shoulders were trembling.

I froze a few steps from her and I doubt she noticed me. Her shoulder length hair was in a straggly mess and her blue shirt had some sort of green blob on the front of it. I could feel the tears starting to sting my eyes. It was horrible to see her like this again and even worse; it was all caused by me.

I swallowed my pride and walked up to her and knelt down in front of her, setting her stuff down next to her.

"May?" I spoke softly. I could hear her breath hitch in her throat at the sound of my voice.

She slowly brought her head up, revealing her puffy green eyes. They were filled with anger and hurt. I felt as if I had just hit a puppy.

"I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to treat you like that." I told her.

Honestly, I wasn't sure what I was expecting but as my luck would have it, her fist connected with my nose. I heard a crack and I was on the ground with red liquid coming out of my nose.

"You're sorry!?" She screamed at me, "I cared about you and wanted to spend time with you! You blew me off and broke up with me because of your stupid stories!"

Tears streamed steadily down my face as she yelled at me and not just because of my broken nose. It stung; listening to the girl I care so much about pointing out my one mistake that ended our relationship.

"I'm sorry." I was whimpering now but I didn't care. I was broken and needed someone to help me pick up the pieces. I coughed as some of the blood from my nose went into my throat; some splattering on the floor, "I was stupid and lost in my imagination. I didn't even care about the outside world."

"What do you want me to say?" She asked.

I shook my head at her, "Nothing. I just needed to tell you I know my mistakes. I never meant to hurt you." I tried to stand but the pain in my nose was so great I took a knee, "And you have a hell of a punch."

"I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"I deserved it." I told her, "See you later." I stood again and supported myself on the wall.

I didn't even make one step before I started to fall. I braced myself for impact but it never came. Instead, a hand wrapped around my stomach and another grabbed the back of my hoodie. I took this opportunity to kneel on the ground, grip my nose with one hand and turned to the person who saved me from falling.

Before I could react, I was almost tackled to the ground with a hug. My eyes widened and became blurry when May buried her head in my neck.

"No, I'm sorry for letting you be alone." She cried. We both sat in the hall crying into each other; not even acknowledging my bleeding nose.

That was the day I realized that you should never take fantasy over reality. Reality hugs you, and cares about you. However, if you ever stray from reality, just remember it has a hell of a punch.

AN

Wow, this was...not my best work. But I refuse to change it! It really shows how I've grown as a writer. I wrote this...3 or 4 years ago. Thanks for reading!