I first started reading r9kElsa Is Suffering in the latter half of February earlier this year. I was browsing tumblr, looking for some Frozen fan-art, listening to “Let It Go” on repeat. I had just seen the movie and I was feeling thoroughly hollowed-out, like somebody took a big ice-cream scoop and just had a go at my soul. They must have been pretty hungry because I was pretty empty at that point.

It was the fan-art that stuck out to me first. A lot of it was Elsa in a hoodie sitting at a computer. “That’s funny,” I thought, “that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.” How little I knew how little that was.

The story is finished, now, so I feel like I can write about it. I feel like I should, too. I’ve seen things on my dashboard, people mentioning casually that EIS is over-rated: it’s a relentless wall of angst; it’s OOC; they don’t understand why anyone likes it… Well, not liking the fanfic, that’s their prerogative – but it’s a fair question they ask. Why do people like it? Why do so many people like it?

Why do I like it?

Reading something like EIS is so weird because, as a reader, you don’t generally expect to connect to the characters more than you put in for. That is, I put my quarter in the machine, I’m going to jump over barrels and save Pauline – and that’s it, contract’s up. Game over. It’s actually Mario jumping over the barrels, waving hammers and dodging flames, not me. I can make that distinction pretty easily. Jumping over barrels is a thing I hardly ever do.

I put my quarter into EIS. There I was, jumping over barrels.

Okay; hunched over a computer keyboard, playing Starcraft in a dim-lit room in my parent’s house, swearing in callous indifference at every remote interruption, filled with loathing for the world and, above all, myself. Room filled with petty, childish knicknacks, no square inch of it a thing I can be proud of. My accomplishments – such as they are – fated to be nothing more than a thin layer of broken plastic shards strewn across the fossil bed, sandwiched between the Burgess shale and an eon’s worth of mud. See there? I even make video game references in my Frozen fanfic reviews. I’m so cool, you guys.

A life without passion. A life of no beginnings, and no ends, of middles only. A life that goes on from day to day because I don’t have the courage to face oblivion. Yes – another day’s toil – and back to Diablo 3. No direction, no purpose. Will I wake tomorrow? Oh, yes, chances are very good. Will it matter? Not one bit.

This is ennui. Nothing exceptional. Nothing that hasn’t been written about before. But even the listlessness of aimlessness has a stoicism to it, a type of queer defining structure, a rigidity, a sense, a shape defined by its lack. It is a broad scaffold that goes up around everyone at some point or another.

What I saw in Elsa was not simply a lame dissatisfaction with one’s self or one’s world. What I saw was the dark heart of guilt at the root of it all, the small voice that said, “Why can’t you just be normal?” It was the self-hate around which all the other thoughts gravitated, and it resonated with me.

I internalized the character of r9kElsa and made her struggles my own. I couldn’t stop reading because her story had become mine. It was different from introspection. It wasn’t like putting your chin on your fist and furrowing your brows in consternation. It was like looking into a mirror where the reflection refuses to follow you. And you watch because you can’t look away. And maybe a little part of you thinks, “Maybe she’ll do something different.”

And she does, little by little. There is an arc in the middle of the story where Elsa befriends Kristoff and starts dating Belle. It is a gradual process of self-improvement, but it’s there. She stands, unsteadily, the world before her, and takes a first step, and then another, and then another. Slowly, but surely, she confronts the love of her life – the bane of her life – and embraces it. And though she is knocked down, she rises again, because now she has a reason to rise. A reason to wake up in the morning. A person to live for, and a life worth living it for.

It’s not a perfect world, but there are little bits, little parts of it, that are; they are the glimpses of Anna in the window that make the lawn a cakewalk. No, the world is not perfect. It can be hard to live in. But there are the parts of it that make you wonder why you ever thought you’d be better off without it. They’re out there, even if we can’t see them yet. It is easy to make an appeal to hope, to insist against evidence that tomorrow is coming just over that ridge. It is harder to believe it. But we can do it. We can crest that ridge. We can see the sunrise peek over the horizon. Maybe we need a little help, but we can do it. Every valley has a hill, and every hill has a top.

I made my peace with this five months ago, when I caught up to the story as it was then. Reading the last three chapters has been like exhaling after a long time holding it in. It’s a good job. Elsa stands tall, now. Chin thrust forward, head held high. It is like the past is a dream, now, a phantom memory, like some nightmare forgotten the moment you awake and feel the warmth in your heart. You did wake up, after all – and a good thing, too. The sun has risen.

Elsa can turn off her monitor. Not because it makes her “normal” to do so, but because there is light coming through the window, and she can see it now. Diablo 3 can wait. The sun is up, Anna is here, and Elsa is ready to meet her.

EIS has been characterized, by some, as nothing but angst. “What is the point of all this angst?” goes the cry. “What a dark and unappealing story.” I don’t think that’s fair to say. It is not a story about angst. It is not a story about windowless tunnels.

Rather, it is about the light at the end of the tunnel. It is about redemption. It is about standing on wobbly knees and declaring in a timid voice that you deserve to live. It is about feeling that you can cry. It is about knowing your time will come, even if you can’t see it. It is about thinking about tomorrow and smiling, just a little, at the thought. It is about cresting that ridge. It is about learning to love yourself.

And if Elsa can do it, well – maybe so can I.