September 11 2005
I had my life figured out at the simple age of sixteen. I was strong, determined, I made my own fate. On the path of becoming a doctor, surrounding myself with other students of ambition, determination, and self-confidence. I faced adversity if it were merely a rock that I'd have to hurdle. I entered the college life, insanely in tune with myself. I faced every new comer as a new friend. I easily dodged all the punches thrown in my direction. Those who had it out for me, due to my actions, the actions I was able to achieve and they were not. The friendships I made that they couldn't establish. Facing the death stare with a smile and a "I was the one for the job".
To actually witness the day I fell apart must have been like watching a train wreck. Every free moment was wet in the eyes. Nights were sleepless and loud. The poisoned blood came more often. Dangerous epic adventures were thrilling. Hate seeping through me and poisoning my whole being. Night time pleasure was insisted, falling in love each time, falling out of love with the sound of the alarm clock, his or min, sounding quite different. The noises reminded us of the crime we committed to our hearts, and the awkward good morning of friends making a mistake. But knowing this would define our interaction. The prickeling sensation of the cold that woke us each moring in our excersises, reminded us of what it was to feel, or submit to pain that made us remember we were still alive. It never did, however, convince us this was the best choice.
The last words said "I'm not staying". The crying to sleep, alone, in the echoing room, solitude in a hateful city. This day is when the transition was made, I am not one of you now, I am one that fights myself. I am my own worst enemy and I will die by my own affliction.
To actually witness the day I fell apart must have been like watching a train wreck. Every free moment was wet in the eyes. Nights were sleepless and loud. The poisoned blood came more often. Dangerous epic adventures were thrilling. Hate seeping through me and poisoning my whole being. Night time pleasure was insisted, falling in love each time, falling out of love with the sound of the alarm clock, his or min, sounding quite different. The noises reminded us of the crime we committed to our hearts, and the awkward good morning of friends making a mistake. But knowing this would define our interaction. The prickeling sensation of the cold that woke us each moring in our excersises, reminded us of what it was to feel, or submit to pain that made us remember we were still alive. It never did, however, convince us this was the best choice.
The last words said "I'm not staying". The crying to sleep, alone, in the echoing room, solitude in a hateful city. This day is when the transition was made, I am not one of you now, I am one that fights myself. I am my own worst enemy and I will die by my own affliction.