You Don't Even Know the Beginning of It.

It honestly feels as if every one's got somewhere to be, like every one's going somewhere in life except for me. They're all beautiful, they're all smart, they're all twenty times more talented than I will ever be. I can never, nor will i ever measure up to the status quo. I'm not good looking, I'm not smart, and I know I'm talented, but there are 30,000 other kids out there who can do exactly what I do- if not better. I'm constantly beating myself up over the little things and too preoccupied to even begin to worry about the big things. Sometimes it feels as if I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and no one's there to help me. I give so much for other people, I bend over backwards for every one and never even get a thank you. Everyone else is so preoccupied with their own lives that they can't even see the train wreck in front of them. Honestly, sometimes it's like: What about Jon? What about me?

My Trance

Dreams take me to a completely different world. Sometimes I find myself standing in the middle of the room staring at a blank wall. To the innocent bystander, I may appear to be mentally disturbed and quite frankly, I may very well be mentally disturbed. But I don't mind; when I begin staring at that wall, I don't see white just as any innocent passerby. I find myself in a completely different universe- trapped inside a world of vivid movement. Before my eyes I see inter-choreography between beauteous shades of blues, greens, yellows, and the most vibrant shades of red. A world where my inner-most frustrations are set free and take flight. A world of my own, my own fantasy- nothing more than a dream.

Upon being asked to remember an afternoon my mind immediately takes me back home. No, not the house I live in now, but rather a street I spent one joyous year living on. I was only six then and had no intentions of growing any older. Instead of writing about only one afternoon of time spent living on that street, superbly named Caldwell, I feel compelled to share my entire experience. Looking back, exactly ten years later, I feel as if I grew up on this street; so much laughter shared with the neighbors, so many tears shed upon our departure. Although, one afternoon still haunts my memory.
The day was bright and sunny and a neighbor had stopped his car in the middle of the street to exchange conversation with my mother on his way home from work. Being only six at the time, the infamous call of "CAR!" from my mother seemed only too nonchalant. When the fellow neighborhood kids and I heard this call, we scattered from the middle of the street. My brother, sister, cousin, and a neighbor ran to one side of the street; as for my self and another neighbor, we ran to the other. I remember turning to suddenly see a flash of red rush past before my eyes and hearing a distant bang followed by the sound of screeching tires. I turned abruptly to investigate the sound, only to find my dear friend unconscious and bleeding on the street.
Instantaneously, screams of fear and anguish filled the air. My neighbor’s father had taken off his suit jacket and fashioned a makeshift pillow to help his daughter rest on the street, as well as absorb what it could of the blood that was rushing from her scull. “SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE! SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” was all I make out from all of the clamor and clatter of my world going into shock.
In the midst of all of the commotion I had completely ignored the pain in my now, severely swollen hand. In retrospect, I cannot believe how I could have withstood such pain; I should have burst into tears and fallen on the street, writhing in pain. Instead, I ran to the safest place I could find: my home. I broke in to a fierce dash for my front door, leaving all worries and troubles behind me. I tore my front door open, and in a feeble attempt to cope with fear, I jumped behind my couch, crouched into the fetal position, and wept.