Saving me from Myself
Growing up, I was afraid of most things and had never extended a hand to the then terrifying world of wizards. The sight of Fluffy and a dementor (when I didn't know their names) scared me out of my wits when I was younger.
After much convincing from a very dear friend, the fall I turned eleven, I started to read about Harry. The story was surprisingly not scary, but witty, adventurous, and profound. The writing was beautiful and the word choice was clever.
As most Harry Potter fans do, I battered my poor copy of Sorcerer's Stone, leaving a billion spine lines and creases in the paperback book. As the secrets untied themselves, they also untied a new world and thought process. Within eight months, I was finished with the books. It only took that long because I didn't want the amazing curve balls and secrets of the stories to end. But as all good things do, it did.
Reading this amazing series helped me greatly to grow up. I learned valuable lessons from Harry and I loathed Twilight for quite a while instead of becoming one of those awful brain dead fangirls. My thought process became much deeper and I stopped making my existence depend on buying clothes from preppie stores and listening to meaningless music.
I realized that I really hated everything about myself and decided to become a real person, and that I needed to stop being selfish and stupid.
Thank you, Harry, for changing my life for the better, giving me a great story and even some nightmares, and saving us from You-No-Poo