I have always been passionate about writing, even since I was a child. When I came out in middle school and faced difficulties with my religious family, my writing became the outlet I could use to express my internal turmoil and the coping mechanism I took advantage of when I could no longer reach out to my family. As the oldest daughter, I carried the burden of all my experiences being of the first of their kind. My parents had no idea how to handle a child who didn't perfectly fit the mold they had expected. While my mom did her best to simply ignore that part of me and pretend she had no idea, it was something that could no be discussed with my dad at all. I was terrified that if I said anything, that he would become one of the monstrous fathers I read about online and that I would be facing physical abuse or homelessness. At the same time, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression, which led me to developing a very anxious, paranoid personality. This came out in my writing. I often found myself turning in long works of fiction when my teachers didn't set a stated page limit. I would spend any free time I had during class jotting ideas in the margins of my assignments. When I started high school, I had no close friends. In addition to struggling with social interaction, it was difficult to know who I could be close to when I didn't perfectly fit the standard expected of me in a town made up of a largely religious population. With no friends to vent to, I threw myself into my writing. I spent much of my time in the library, becoming close with the school librarians who made a point of being friendly to all kinds of people. I began exploring with characters who more closely resembled myself. Characters with deep internal struggles, who were outcasts in their worlds. Fantasy plots with grey morality and women who defied the rules to marry those they loved instead of those they were obligated to be with. I began reading books I had never seen before which urged me to question the world around me. I lined my shelves with stories of women falling in love and corrupt governments falling at their feet. When I was nearing the end of high school, my younger sister came out to me and it occurred to me how many more people there were in the world who faced the same struggles that I did. While we were never the best of friends, there would be no one else in the world who understood me quite like her. My coming out had allowed my sister to tell my mom without fear of repercussions, and my mom began to realize that the God she cared for had called her to love others above all else, and swore to stand by us even against our own father if needed. There will always be a world that my parents hold dear which I will never be able to enter. I may never have the kind of relationship with my dad that my parents dreamed I would have. I have long acknowledged, and grieved, and accepted the affection I may have felt for him in another life. Instead of mourning, I write that world into existence so that other twelve-year-old girls who are facing an uncertain future can see a world worth fighting for.