Esther in "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath. Even though she was from a different era and my circumstances varied greatly from hers, I understand her Soul. This book was published as a fictional novel, with the superficial details of names, dates, and locations imagined, but the heart of it, the Soul of it is autobiographical. I used to humor the idea that I was Sylvia's Soul incarnate. The description of her feelings in "The Bell Jar" made me feel like she was in my head, assembling my thoughts into written words.

The transmutation of suffocation from mental to physical, the sincerety of a synonymous duality, the mirthful disdain towards humanity, the healing haven of a hot bath, the tired desperation of despair...she has translated my Soul through her words...

It's...ironic?..that she died by way of her head in the oven, sucking all the oxygen out of her, such as one of the scientific usages of a bell jar, which is to create a vacuum to suck out all the air.

It's probably cringe to some of you, but a character I've always found comfort in and related to was Ticci Toby. I have been in the creepypasta fandom since I was 11, And Toby was always the one I saw a lot of aspects of myself in. Even as I've aged, I still see parts of myself in him. We both have Tourettes, are survivors of abusive parents, and have been bullied heavily. We both are very pale and have crazy wavy dark hair and natural dark bags or shadows underneath our eyes. We have many differences, but in many ways, I see the reflection of myself in him.

A. Their name's A.

Whenever I tell people my favorite book, they struggle to understand why.

My favorite book is Every Day, by David Levithan. A is the main character.

Circumstances lead A to change, lead A to want more for themselves.

It's okay to want change for yourself, it's okay to mess things up. But God, it is so much easier to leave it all behind.

I like the idea of perfect, Amy. I too chase perfection. In my lying mind it isn’t for a man it’s for me. It’s to one day look in the mirror and be happy with who I am. But I can never be perfect. And therefore I can never be happy. I resent that imperfection in me, like your parents resented that in you. It made you mad. Lucky for me I was born severally mentally ill (mad). But the cute manic pixie dream girl kind. I hope. I lie. I like the idea of perfect, because perfect women get happy endings. Perfect women don’t skin pick their legs until walking is painful. Perfect women don’t cry themselves to sleep. Perfect women don’t starve themselves then binge eat. Perfect women perfect. And perfect can be loved. I cannot be loved. But I can foster an idea of the perfect me maybe others can love?

I lie. I hope

I identity with the velveteen rabbit.

In a way, like him I want to be “real”.

In spiritual terms you can say ascend.

I long for the familiar feeling of my Mother and Grandmother, that special love from family.

The velveteen rabbit also longed for that kinship. He admired the freedom the real bunnies had outside, not being confined to just the playroom. The bunny felt wonderful when he was picked by the boy to be his favorite toy.

I too want to feel special and safe and loved. Like the velveteen rabbit, I have come to a hard realization.

That this world is cruel and I am expendable at the whim of the government, or whatever ruling class there is and I can be thrown away just like he was.

This is why I don’t want to be here anymore, life without meaning has no joy and without joy what is the point?

Though a gorgeous princess

with flaming red hair, thought

to have everything, name's...

Ariel. She sang that she

wanted to be part of their world,

but a mermaid was she. Her

world was supposed to be limited to the water - human,

am I, so what about me?

Usually, the shy reserved cautious type, a human being,

I live on land. But am often held back by overthinking, often caught in a web fear has carefully weaved in my own head for my destruction. Broke through a majority of the webbing, that held me captive, by finding my break-through, Jesus Christ, savior to me right as I needed him then and there. Some webbing still here, links attached remain but day by day, I resolve to not quit - to take part, be part of my world. Socialize interact with other humans, I ought not be afraid, whatever it is. I'll live as I want to...I'll live for God. This is my world, I live in it, I'll take part, live my life too...I'll live it the best I can.

A character I have loved since I first meet them, some two months ago, has been Shallan Davar from the Stormlight Archives. While the only physical traits we share are our red hair and blue eyes, she has captured me in every single moment that I read her story.

I am constantly in awe of is Shallan's strength. Not physical, but mental. She has so much of it. While she has a troubled past with much death and destruction, she still manages to stay afloat. She still manages to live a life full of the things important to her.

I resonate with Shallan's uncertainty about who she is and who she wants to be. When I start to think of the future, I can't decide. I want to do so much and I, metaphorically, want to be so many. This is one of the problems that Shallan has. As this is a greater problem for her, that manifests in more extreme ways, it really makes me respect her.

Shallan is such an interesting character, with many different challenges. But each of these challenges only serve to make her strong and more ready to beat the world.

I probably most relate to Stan Uris from IT (the movies didn't do him justice, but I enjoyed them none the less). Stan was always quiet, liked to read, was pretty mature for his age. I can relate with all of that, along with that he's skeptical and anxious. He deserved better.

There's so many, so many characters that I've written that I vibe with. Rarely have I ever been in tune with anyone else's written characters, so much so that it was more like watching a drama unfold rather than being joined with it, strung along for whatever event might transpire.

So, I suppose the question is which fictional character that I've written do I identify the most with?

I suppose, Duke.

Duke Dunnigan is probably the most honest, blunt and straightforward man I ever created. He is a vampire, though in all likelihood if I were to have a choice, I'd be a Lycan, and he's got the eye color of my grandfather [a color I wish I had] of deep crystal blue eyes that look like blue beryl gemstones gleaming softly in the lowest light against smooth mocha-brown skin. He's got black hair - to which mine is brown - and he's the tallest motherfucker in the series besides Zaleska, Sven, and a few unnaturally large people. He grew to that height as a human, so it's much different than the supernatural height the others have.

Duke is also kind of a dick. He's not exactly the smartest - we are not similar there - but he's street wise - which I am not - and knows his way around the neighborhood better than most. He's good at cleaning up, even better at rustling people's Jimmy's and always itching for a fist fight (much like I wished a motherfucker would when I was in high school).

I love him, he's probably the most fun character around, but once you've gotten past all that, he's probably the fiercest and most loyal friend you could have. He'd probably kill someone for you... No, he definitely would, and he'd enjoy every second of it and not in a psychopathic kind of way, but that it was humorous in seeing someone think that they might get away with whatever bullshit they wrought on him or a dear friend.

Sal Paradise from On the Road by. Jack Kerouac is truly the first character I've met and knew instantly that I related to on a spiritual level. Sal is a young writer, fresh out of college, waiting to take off on top and soar into the sky of fictional fantasy. He's hungry, innocent, infatuated with girls, and loves to write whenever he can, no matter the circumstances or the materials he scraps together. Now, with me living eighty-five years in the future, I have a little more of an advantage when it comes to writing resources, and the ability to keep my information stored in a computer rather than a few scraps of paper in a notepad in my pocket. But, like Sal, I enjoy writing and it almost takes over my body when it comes to the rush I get when the words are just right and the story is open enough for immense expansion. Sal has a recurring habit of always hesitating about doing things he knew he shouldn't like taking drugs, or sleeping with multiple women in a night, so I can testify that I am exactly the same way. Sal wants to make it on his own; at least to be given a few chances at making his way at life, and wants to know the true hardships about why life is set out to be so hard at first. Sal lives his own novelistic storyline throughout the three or so years that he sticks around in On the Road, and he loves the women he met, and the friends he made, and the writing he did. I know truly that Jack Kerouac wrote On the Road as an autobiographical piece, making me seem like I relate to the author more than the character, but Sal does technically count as his own character. I love Sal, and I love his ambition and his conquests, and his friends and neighbors and women and his aunt and anyone else that comes in contact with him. Kerouac wrote this character with intriguing memories of his own fruitful experiences, and the ability to conquer that in so high a magnitude after nearly ten years of passing, it can go without saying that it truly was incredible. Sal Paradise is forever now one of my favorite protagonists from novels, going on the same list as Holden Caulfield, Jonah (Cat's Cradle), and Dennis Guilder (Christine).