When I was little, I wanted to be an actress. I wrote my Oscar Award-winning speech at my desk in the third grade, thanking all my peers and my four children. Then, after taking one acting class at my local library, I realized I was too much of a wuss and there was no way I could pretend to be someone else in front of people. I was way too embarrassed.

Then, I wanted to be a teacher. My mom is a special education teacher at a junior high, and she always gets summers off. She got a lot of gifts for Christmas from her students, too, and it seemed like an easy job. Then as I grew older, I realized that she affected lot's of people just from a year of being in a classroom with her. Sometimes she had old students come over, so that was pretty cool. I liked that she could affect a person, even if it was just for a minute, or an hour, or maybe a month.

As I entered my senior year of high school, I joined my high school newspaper. In the beginning of my rocky four year journey, I had an English teacher who graded me so harshly, and it went from being my favorite class to my least favorite. The same happened the next year. I was writing boring essays and structuring them was really annoying for me. I wanted to be creative, I wanted to write about something that people would want to read.

When I entered my junior year of high school, it seemed as if my American Literature teacher had come down from the heavens. She exposed us to fabulous books like Into The Wild and The Great Gatsby where we had discussions about the themes of materialism, visions of America, love, etc. I was able to voice some opinions I had about certain topics in assignments, which I hadn't been able to do in school for years. One day, my mom came home from a teacher conference and had met with my teacher, Mrs. Graham. With tears on her eyes, she sat on my basement couch, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Mrs. Graham thinks you're talented. She says you have a real gift."

It took that one sentence for me to believe in myself and just go with it. One person thought I was good enough at something that I truly enjoyed doing. I made that class my #1 priority; there was no turning back now.

After ending junior year, I was ready to join my high school newspaper with focusing on the column section. Like I said, I was very informal with my writing and this seemed like something I could be good at. But by the time school rolled around, all I was writing about were small features on people and writing about things like Homecoming being too early. I felt like it was fluff, and I wasn't getting any attention (which I love to get. And if you don't, you're lying. In Drake's words, "Yeah I said it!").

But of course, whenever something upsetting in your life happens, it makes for a great story. So after I got my heart broken by a boy I had loved (typical story), my best friend at the time (who was also the editor-in-chief, so she knew her stuff) suggested that I write a column about my post-heartbreak and my outlook on the situation.

I went with it. It was published on October 7th, three days after my eighteenth birthday. I wasn't in school. I was at my grandparent's house in my grandpa's pajamas watching "Law and Order: SVU." After I had promoted myself on all my social media, shortly after, my phone started to blow up. I was getting Twitter mentions from girls I hadn't known saying I was such an inspiration for the positive, resilient words from a confused, melodramatic, high-school senior. It didn't feel real. How can I be an inspiration? I thought. Obviously (insert you know who) didn't want to be with me, so I can't be that special. As I look back on that young, long-haired and fifteen pounds less Gretchen, I want to kick her in the face!! Or the toe, I know you have a bad tolerance for pain.

A text, a tweet, a Facebook message; that's all it took for me to feel like I was actually making a difference. A 2,000 word article was impacting young girls around my high school (and even farther!) and it felt good, and I didn't want it to stop.

Why did I love it so much? Is a question that pops up in my head sometimes. My writing has caused a lot of drama because I don't sugarcoat or censor anything when I write articles on my personal blog. When I was a freshman, I had to mess up and make mistakes by myself because I didn't know any better. There wasn't a voice of reason, or someone out there who was expressing their thoughts and feels on boys. I felt alone when I went through those situations. All my friends were gorgeous, so they didn't have any problems with boys. I was the skinniest out of all my friends and wore a one piece in a group of girls clad in bikinis.

Why do I love to write? Why is it worth all the drama and negative backlash I get for it? I do it because I love having the ability to make a difference, especially in young girls because, key words I know how it feels. I know how it feels to find out the guy you've been hooking up with isn't being loyal to you. I know what it feels like to be called "fat" in public and having to contain crying in front of your friends. I know what it feels like to have people call you names on the interweb and having to pretend like it doesn't bother you when in fact, it feels like you'll never be able to get out of bed again.

Through writing down my personal anecdotes, experiences and reflections, I feel like I'm able to at least leave my readers thinking, or screaming "YAAAASSS" out of being able to relate. I want them to know that they're not alone, because that can make all the difference in a person's self-esteem, personal health, or overall life.

I love being able to sit at my computer, type like a maniac about how my life just plays out and the lessons I learn from these incidents that make me reflect. And the best part isn't being able to call my ex-boo a dick out on the internet or make anybody angry; I do it because I want people to know the real, raw truth, because chances are, I'm not the only one.

I'm lucky enough to be able to study what I'm passionate about for a living at a school that I love, and will hopefully get a job in in the future. Passion can't be explained sometimes. Artists try to explain it through their work, and that's what I continue to do for the rest of my life. Find that passion, take it by the horns, and ride it until there's no more roads. I promise, the view will be great.