AN: So in case you were not aware this story is almost completely based on my real life. Writing it out as a story kinda helps me process the whole thing, and it gives me a chance to practice writing, which I love. My story takes place over the process of months and even years, and it's still ongoing, so obviously stuff won't be word for word but it's mostly true. Things like the prologue are 100% accurate but I'm sure I'll never have any actual dialogue that accurate. If you want to follow along with my real life, Star is me and her parents are mine, and Marco is my best friend/boyfriend and Marco's parents are his parents. I'll add characters as I go along and see fit. This isn't really meant to be a serious story, more of an explanation to readers of another story as well as something to help me better understand what I'm going through. Because this will mostly be like therapy for me, getting out confusion and frustration, I will not be replying to reviews between chapters like I normally do. If you have a question or need a direct reply for something I do not at all mind you DMing me. That said, I do absolutely appreciate your reviews and while this is a story on my life I don't mind constructive criticism on my writing. I love writing and I hope to do it as a career. If you think you can help me improve, then by all means I welcome your advice. I hope that while I'm feeling lost and frustrated my story and writing still comes across clear. The characters will absolutely be out of character at some points and I'm not going to try and change that because while this is a fan fiction, this is my story. If you don't like it, you definitely don't have to read it, and I hope you find something you do end up enjoying. That said, I do hope you enjoy the story. I wouldn't be putting it out here otherwise. Thank you very much for reading.

Prologue - Glimpses of My Childhood

When I was really young, and I watched a lot of Scooby-Doo, there was a certain part of the original 60's theme song that always terrified me. Scooby is running blindly in a barrel toward the right side of the screen, and suddenly crashes into a solid pair of legs. He looks up timidly, and is instantly terrified to see the face of Charlie the Haunted Robot. Somehow in the theme song he was made much more terrifying than even his actual episode. His unnatural face and lifeless eyes grew closer and closer during a particularly unsettling pause in the singing.

I was so afraid of this short scene that I would look away from the television as soon as I saw Scooby running in that barrel. I knew that it was safe to turn back around the moment the singing started up again. I eventually did this in such a routine way that I had forgotten exactly what it was that I feared so much. I just knew when to look away and when to turn back around. However, even as I didn't know what I was looking away from, a strange feeling of horror and of being watched filled me for all the moments my head was turned.

Months and months later I began to wonder what had made me so scared in the first place. I finally built up the courage to keep staring at the screen, only to find Charlie's yellow dead eyes staring back at me. Horrified I looked away, hoping it wasn't too late to take it all back. But it was. And even though I one day outgrew my fear, I never forgot it. I still think about this every time I watch an old episode of Scooby-Doo, and stare back into those horrible yellow eyes.

I have very strange childhood memories, if you couldn't already tell. They are always so vague, and yet still so vivid. One time when I was three years old I was so sick I was throwing up every half hour. I had to go to the hospital, and they put an IV in my arm because they didn't want me throwing up water if I drank it directly. I remember begging my mother for water, but she couldn't give it to me, doctor's orders. As I began to cry, as a poor frustrated and scared child, she reminded me that crying would only make me more thirsty.

I remember visiting my mother's country and an uncle of mine took pictures of me in the bath. I was only three years old, and my mother was right there, but somehow the memory disturbs me. I remember seeing a spider whose legs made it look bigger than my head. I remember a blackout so sudden I screamed until my grandfather ran in with a flashlight in hand. I remember playing with candles and dripping the wax on the table so I could then peel it off. I remember watching geckos climb on the other side of windows. I remember tiny monkeys with wide eyes. I remember dancing in the rain.

I remember my great aunt who had a room full of porcelain dolls. Whenever we spent the night we always stayed in the guest room. Naturally, this room was right past the doll room. There was no other way in. So, every time we stayed at her house for the night I'd run through the room as fast as my little legs could carry me. I knew the dolls wouldn't come to life. I knew they couldn't touch me. But as logical as I was they still scared me. The only time I didn't run was when my mother was there with me. I didn't need to run then. Because she was protecting me. Even if they somehow came to life and did attack me, she'd be there to save me. But they wouldn't come to life then, would they? No, they'd try and catch me when I was alone.

I remember playing with a "Thomas the Tank Engine" train set. All of a sudden, in the most serious way a child no older than five can, I realized that I wasn't happy. This train, this toy that had brought me joy for so long, was no longer enough. I asked my self why. Why wasn't I happy anymore? What was happiness? What was life, and what was it even for? Why did I have to live? It seemed so difficult. Why couldn't it just, stop?

I remember a dream where I was with my mother in an aquarium, and we were looking at all the fish that surrounded us. We were in a tubed hallway with glass that protected us from the water and sea creatures. We rounded a corner and I turned around to see that my mother hadn't followed me. I went back to find her and suddenly she was a dragon, just like the fairy in Sleeping Beauty.

And then some things I don't remember. I just smell a specific kind of dust out of nowhere, and I'm transported back to my mother's country and I'm in a blue pickup listening to a favorite CD of my grandfather's. I feel a soft coat or blanket and I'm petting my childhood dog, and can almost hear her bark. I drink a certain bedtime tea and I'm eight years old and talking to my father about a book he thought I would like.

I look at pictures from when I was five and I'm suddenly transported back to the moment the picture was taken, and I remember my thoughts and my emotions and exactly what I hoped the picture would look like. The real thing always paled in comparison. I find young drawings and stories and remember exactly how many friends I showed them to and every single reaction.

And then there are lost memories.

Like the missing piece of the Scooby-Doo theme, sometimes you go searching for these lost memories. Sometimes you stumble upon them, like pictures you may not remember being taken, and yet you're sure it can't be anyone but you. Sometimes there's something familiar, like a song that you haven't heard in years, and suddenly that music takes you to a world you'd forgotten all about. And sometimes, for whatever reason, a lost memory will just appear in front of your eyes. You didn't ask for it. You probably never wanted to remember it. But sometimes you do. And if your memories are anything like mine, then nothing will ever be the same.