CPCoulter.com

(original post)

There’s a reason I don’t turn off anonymous comments in FF.net, Tumblr, and Livejournal.

You see, when I started writing Dalton, as most of you know, it wasn’t something that I thought was going to be anything that people would pay attention to. And somehow, as Dalton grew, it became just a bit more special…more valuable. The little world I had created became so much more important to me—and not because of the hits, the two thousand reviews, or even the fact that the Warblers were reading it

Those are wonderful, wonderful things, and I so deeply appreciate all of that, with everlasting gratitude. But the truth is, there is one thing above all others that keeps me writing Dalton:

The people who saw themselves in it.

They’re almost always Anonymous, when they write to me. And each and every time, their stories make me cry. They make me realize that Dalton had become something else: the small world I had written was something other people could see themselves reflected in, and maybe, just maybe—just like I did—saw a shred of hope.

And they went out of their way—these beautiful, strong, amazing people, to tell me their stories. It didn’t matter that I don’t know their names, who they are, where they lived, or what they did.

I don’t write Dalton for the hits, the reviews, the compliments—

I’m writing it for them now. For these beautiful people who were strong, who are still holding on, who saw it in their big, wonderful hearts to tell me, just some girl who sat in front of the computer and wrote, how they saw themselves in it:

For the people who saw themselves in Blaine’s story, those who told me that they had told the truth to the people who were supposed to love them for everything that they were and were not received as warmly as Kurt had been.

For those who saw Dwight and told me that they knew what it was like to lose a brother, a sister, a mother, a father who was so dearly loved.

For those who saw David and knew that long, drawn out vigil over someone they loved so much in the hospital.

For those who saw Erin and knew what it was like to love another girl and to be threatened for it, to be all but driven away for it.

For those who saw Logan and knew what it was like to be so angry and to be unable to do anything about it. And those whoknew that medicated numbness, that feeling of nothing, of no emotion, which is even worse than being so angry.

For those who saw Jude and had felt first hand what it was like to lose a friend, or a brother or a sister, to that rampant homophobic abuse—to that terrible hatred that we are now seeing, awakening to, and are now working to quench.

For those who saw Windsor—who saw Dalton—and told me that they saw themselves in it, and wish that this world could be real for them; to have friends who never saw you for how odd or unusual you were, or what gender or preference you had, the way Kurt, Blaine, Wes, David, Ethan, Evan, Dwight, Reed, Shane, Logan, Derek and Julian did. They saw you and they supported in ways that—let’s face it—is just not the way it is done everywhere.

Those people—ALL of those people—are those who I value the most. And I’m writing this now to THANK ALL OF YOU, for being so strong. For being so amazing. For still being here and giving me your stories, no matter how short or how long. For opening your hearts and for being so damn courageous.

THANK YOU, for being here. 

THANK YOU for telling me your life and letting me and that story that I started on a whim be a part of that life.

YOU will ALWAYS be wonderful.

And though I don’t know you, and I don’t know where you are, I—with all my heart and everything I have—LOVE YOU.

THANK YOU.