This isn't how it ends. This is how it begins.
I just finished the seventh Harry Potter book for the second time.
I'm not sure how I feel.
I've grown up with these books. I have lived the most important years of my life reading them. And now it's over, and it feels a little empty.
Don't get me wrong, I think the books ended at the right time, in the right way. But I'll miss it, you know? I get extremely attached to fiction. Sometimes it seems more real to me than reality, and I cling to it, because I need that. It's a constant; it's something I rely on. Fiction - books, anime, etc. - is my drug of choice, and by God I am addicted. And don't tell me it's stupid, because it's not. I get attached to fiction because sometimes it feels like that's all that is real in my life. I cling to it because it keeps me alive. And, hopefully, relatively sane.
Where does Harry Potter factor in to all this? Simple. Harry Potter is the reason fiction has become so important to me. My life, like most peoples', is a series of ups and downs. Different people have different ways of dealing with their downs. For most, they seek comfort from other people. I've never done this. Why, I don't know. This hurts to admit, but I've always longed for that, longed to confide in and find comfort in other people, but I never have. I'm too scared. I'm not a brave person, and I never have been.
I was too afraid to seek comfort in other people, so Harry Potter become my solace. It helped me find my path through life when I was confused, and made me cry when I wouldn't let myself cry. I've gotten very attached to other works of fiction in my life, but none has ever been so important to me as Harry Potter.
For a long time, I've been depressed. It's only just lifted, and I think I finally know why. Lately, instead of turning towards my usual less productive methods of dealing with my emotions (which is what I've been doing for the past eight months), I find myself perusing one of the Harry Potter books that, for the last year or so, have been collecting dust on my bookshelf. Deathly Hallows has awakened in me the memories of times when I used to turn to books for comfort. I've found myself doing it again, and to my amazement, it still works just as well as ever. When Deathly Hallows came out and rekindled my love of Harry Potter, I finally found a way to remove myself from the destructive cycle my life had been follwing for the past eight months.
It's no secret in my mind that Harry Potter saved me. This may seem silly to you. I don't care; it's true. I can't deal with reality sometimes, so I remove myself to a different one, and in this one, I can let myself laugh and cry and feel and live. And maybe, after a while, I'll be able to do that in this reality, too. But until then, I'll turn to fiction. I'll turn to Harry Potter.
After all, as Dumbledore says at the end of seventh book, "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"
I'm not sure how I feel.
I've grown up with these books. I have lived the most important years of my life reading them. And now it's over, and it feels a little empty.
Don't get me wrong, I think the books ended at the right time, in the right way. But I'll miss it, you know? I get extremely attached to fiction. Sometimes it seems more real to me than reality, and I cling to it, because I need that. It's a constant; it's something I rely on. Fiction - books, anime, etc. - is my drug of choice, and by God I am addicted. And don't tell me it's stupid, because it's not. I get attached to fiction because sometimes it feels like that's all that is real in my life. I cling to it because it keeps me alive. And, hopefully, relatively sane.
Where does Harry Potter factor in to all this? Simple. Harry Potter is the reason fiction has become so important to me. My life, like most peoples', is a series of ups and downs. Different people have different ways of dealing with their downs. For most, they seek comfort from other people. I've never done this. Why, I don't know. This hurts to admit, but I've always longed for that, longed to confide in and find comfort in other people, but I never have. I'm too scared. I'm not a brave person, and I never have been.
I was too afraid to seek comfort in other people, so Harry Potter become my solace. It helped me find my path through life when I was confused, and made me cry when I wouldn't let myself cry. I've gotten very attached to other works of fiction in my life, but none has ever been so important to me as Harry Potter.
For a long time, I've been depressed. It's only just lifted, and I think I finally know why. Lately, instead of turning towards my usual less productive methods of dealing with my emotions (which is what I've been doing for the past eight months), I find myself perusing one of the Harry Potter books that, for the last year or so, have been collecting dust on my bookshelf. Deathly Hallows has awakened in me the memories of times when I used to turn to books for comfort. I've found myself doing it again, and to my amazement, it still works just as well as ever. When Deathly Hallows came out and rekindled my love of Harry Potter, I finally found a way to remove myself from the destructive cycle my life had been follwing for the past eight months.
It's no secret in my mind that Harry Potter saved me. This may seem silly to you. I don't care; it's true. I can't deal with reality sometimes, so I remove myself to a different one, and in this one, I can let myself laugh and cry and feel and live. And maybe, after a while, I'll be able to do that in this reality, too. But until then, I'll turn to fiction. I'll turn to Harry Potter.
After all, as Dumbledore says at the end of seventh book, "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"