Oneshot Per Day

🎂Anniversary🎂

Hi. I'm Nikkie. You know me because of this book. I like to write. Specifically, about anthropomorphic objects. That's what you're reading.

This isn't the actual anniversary of this book. It was made some day before this date. But I needed extra time to write this chapter. Yeah.

I struggled writing this. I know for some people they give a simple thanks for the number of views or votes they have and this and that. I wanted a little bit more for my book, though, because it means a lot to me. So much so that I didn't know how to simplify it. I couldn't make it fit in enough words for it to be a comfortable read for my viewers, to not be too long, but still enough to convey my feelings.

It took a lot of attempts. Here's to my, hopefully, final one.

I struggled a lot these last few years. For these reasons and those reasons. I don't want this to be a vent, so it's just a lot of factors that made me feel less extatic for the future. I didn't find myself hoping for the next days to come. I felt dull or maybe numb.

My health teacher taught us about substance. Substance is something in your life. Often times for the better things. Like art or music. Sometimes alcohol or drugs, but those often end in abuse of their substance.

I didn't have substance. When she gave us a paper and told us to put the substance in our life on there, I very dully and grungedly wrote "Art" and "Reading" and "Writing."

I never felt connected to those terms, though. My art was eyeballs on the side of my worksheets. My reading was the same select few books over and over again until I got so bored that I ditched it all together. My writing was an incomplete project that I worked on with friends I no longer had on a doc connected to an email I couldn't have bothered to remember the address or password to.

I didn't have a reason to write. I didn't have a reason to draw.

I wanted something, I tried to reel myself into Creepy pasta and FNaF, but I was never all that I to it. I hated those dandoms. They sucked.

Months would pass, and I still had nothing, but whilst in the midst of a doom-scroll on the cursed app of tik tok, I finally found something. It was a video of a taco with legs very loudly yelling the word "sprinkles."

For the hell of it, I watched the stupid show on YouTube.

Fuck.

To go back to those times. The euphoric feeling of that show, Inanimate Insanity, taking over my brain was just everything. My mind wiped clean of fucking Gacha Life and the stupid Slenderman. It was just Inanimate Insanity.

I loved that show. I lived it. I breathed it.

Every thought I had, every drawing I made, everything I listened to music, and eventually, whenever I wrote about something, it was them. Those characters. That show.

I no longer cared for anything else. I finally felt happy. I finally had a thing, a substance. Suddenly, my little group of friends was enough. The fact I was moving didn't matter. As long as I had Inanimate Insanity, I couldn't be bored.

After watching the last episode of Inanimate Insanity, Cheesy HFJ's "ONE" came on next. I laughed so hard during the first episodes. The lore was mesmerizing, the music was everything, the characters and complexities were fucking orgasmic.

I fucking loved these shows.

Summer hit and I dove straight into it. Deleted my pre=existing Tik Tok account to focus only on object shows, started a new account, started a Wattpad account, and started THIS VERY BOOK.

I was so happy. My art improved so much that summer. And when I had no friends because I was on the other side of the country, nothing mattered. I was reading again, I was writing, and that improved too, and drawing. I drew so much. Bless the girl who gave me a stylus.

All because of a taco yelling "sprinkles."

I have such a deep connection with this book. I have such a deep connection with this fandom. I fucking love object shows, and Inanimate Insanity especially.

Maybe I still don't have friends to talk to these objects obsessively to, or at least ones that understand what I'm going off about, but it doesn't matter.

That fucking Tik Tok video changed my fucking life, save it. I don't think I would be okay had I not had object shows. Call me fucking dramatic, I don't care.

I want to move forward. I want to keep writing. I want to keep drawing.  I want to keep thinking about these silly little objects. I want to get good grades. I want to make friends. I want to be kind. I want to get a job. I want to have I life. I want to keep going.

Death never seemed like the best option. It didn't ever seem like the escape, but maybe in another universe where the algorithm was just a tad bit different, it was. I don't want to know, I don't want to consider the chances. I just want to accept the fact that I am so happy. Maybe not as happy as I could be, but happy enough to create that betterness for myself.

Happy anniversary, you guys. This is to the many years to come. The better years to come.