Graves Library of Vul

Dear Conzilla,

I haven’t stopped looking for you. I have sailed far across this digital sea in search of a trace of you. Even if I do not find you, I will look for your footprints in the sands of data. I will ensure you are not forgotten like Ozymandias. If you are alive and you have forgotten me, then I hope it has brought you peace. Either way I dedicate this letter to what you have meant to me, my first real friend.

            I remember how we met. It was 2013, we were both in Middle School at the time. I’m not sure what life was like for you. I don’t know where you went or if you had any friends. I do remember that you were a year below me. I remember how rough it was for me; I spent a lot of time by myself. I didn’t have a lot of friends at the time. Those I kept in real life were people whom I always had to solve their problems, even at the cost of myself.

            I didn’t understand why I was left alone like that. I didn’t know a lot about myself at the time. I was never told about my autism. I didn’t even have a name for my eating disorder yet I just called my aversions’ allergies. Looking back, it was obvious, but back then, I chose not to look. I distracted myself with pettiness and other people’s issues to hide from the loneliness and insecurity about my self-worth.

            During this time, one of my teachers showed the class a website called Thinglink, she suspected we could use for class presentations. I never used it for that, I, the autist that I am, used it to talk about my special interest. My first post was for the game “No More Heroes”. I remember how each dot I put on the image showed descriptions and fan art of the 10 assassins you fight in the game. I did this for a few other games, but it wasn’t till I covered “Mortal Kombat” that we ended up meeting.

            You had asked in the comments what my favorite character in the game was. At that moment, the muses hit me with inspiration. I figured, why just tell you my favorite when I could show you my ten favorite. I quickly went to work on the digital altar that was the family computer in the living room. I was fully engaged in answering as I waited patiently for each image to load on Windows XP. In a few hours, I crafted an answer. I don’t remember who was on it, but I remember we disagreed on my top pick. You said it should have been Scorpion when I chose Sub-Zero. We argued about this point in the comments for days but eventually came to an understanding to respect each other.

            From there, you would like each and every one of my posts as I gained a reputation for making top tens on the site. I was the only person who did that, but it became popular with students who used the website. My grammar was god awful as I refused to use punctuation, but you were still with me every step of the way. I remember us celebrating when my most popular post, “Top 10 Hydromancers,” was liked by nearly half the website. About 2,400 out of 5,000 members. I think it was because I found a cool image of a match being lit by water rather than flames. The other users never said much, and even if they did, their opinion didn’t matter as much as yours.

            During these glorious days, you would post a lot. You were more set in your style than I was. You were a big fan of Godzilla and creepypastas. Your favorite creepypasta was of course, Red from the NES Godzilla game. We never really delved much into our personal lives. We learned that we couldn’t after Party-Panda tried to hand us her phone number, and she got kicked from the site. I still wonder how she is doing. I wonder about you more.

            Eventually, your posts became more infrequent. I thought it was because they’re was only so much to say about the King of Kaijus. Eventually, when you returned and liked all the images you missed out on. I learned the real reason why. You told me you had ocular melanoma, eye cancer. You never went into what stage, or if you were in chemo, but I remember that you had it. I didn’t think much of it at first. Out of sight, out of mind. If you were online, then surely you were okay enough for it not to be an issue. The gaps in time got longer, though. Weeks without seeing you turned into months.

During the gaps, I drifted away from top tens and branched out into reviews like Mysterious Mr. Enter. I had a love-hate relationship with his content; I had a love-hate relationship with a lot of things. Insecure about my intelligence, I copied his style and exaggerated my issues in the subject I reviewed. You seemed to enjoy this content, despite how cringe it was in hindsight. You had liked it enough that you made fan art of me fighting Deadpool based on a running joke in the reviews. It was my first piece of fan art. I wish I still had it, but I was young and foolish in thinking that the internet would last forever.

The fan art for my really bad sketches inspired me to actually start writing as a hobby. I started working on my own book series at the time. I hoped to send it to you eventually, but little did I know that it would be the last time we saw each other. You like my images every now and then but never comment. You stopped making content, so we never got the chance to talk again. I could only watch as the heartbeat monitor that was your likes flatlined.

I continued for a few years afterwards, up to halfway through high school. I got ambitious with my top tens and other content. They were some of my best works; In the end, it meant nothing without you. The original images were taken down, and by proxy, my Thinglink. I tried to maintain those by making copies, but without your likes, they were not the same. When the water match went out, I too was burned out and lost the flow of inspiration. It had been a year and a half since I had last heard from you, so I decided to leave the site. Checking in time to time to see if you liked any of my posts.

A lot has changed since then. I use periods now, as you can see. In all seriousness, I didn’t understand what you saw in me. I didn’t know who I was outside of petty. Learning about parts of myself only made me hate myself. For the longest time, I couldn’t see why you wanted to be by my side. As I learned to be less spiteful and set healthier boundaries, I also gained a deeper understanding of what it means to be on the spectrum. I kept you in mind. I wanted to find the person you saw. I was so reserved in the real world, and in many ways, I still am. But I have become bolder, sincere, open-minded, and inspired. I talk with love about the things I care about, like I am posting on Thinglink again. I’ve been blessed in finding others who care for me for me. Most importantly, I have started to learn to love myself.

I wouldn’t have been able to find the light in those times if it weren’t for you proving that I was worthy of love. I hope that in some way I meant the same to you. If you are gone, then I hope you know what I created, what you loved, was for you. What I continue to create is in order to fill the void that you left. I hope my writing can help others in the same way you’ve helped me. Our names may have been scraped from Thinglink, but the thing is, we are still linked. Each and every person, no matter if they’re names are forgotten, leaves an impact. Even if you are gone, you have still impacted me to be better and write for others to move them forward.

If you are still in the land of the living, I hope you are able to find this message in a digital bottle.

Your friend,

GravesMistake