I’m a kid, soon to be an adult and there are many things I don’t even know about myself. Every day seems to be agonizingly slow, and when returning home from school on the shameful, large, striped Twinkie of a bus I contemplate my existence. Questions such as why do I destroy my life voluntarily and at the same time regret every messed up action I make? Such as at this second I am writing this, because I can’t focus on the snore fest of an online assignment that I have been blessed to partake in. You may think I am rambling and I can’t structure a paragraph well, and I don’t use punctuation properly. You would be right and wrong at the same time, I am rambling but I choose to write this way. I won’t sit and behave myself and stay within the lines. Why is it that someone can come up with a proper spelling of a word or the way we write? We claim to be free, but as humans we can never be free. We are enslaved by our sex drive and our desires for more money, food, and attention. Why do we need all these things? I for one always feel a strong urge to stuff my face and engage in gluttonous activities, only recently have I been able to resist the urge.
I have been called pig headed, stubborn, a pain in the a** teenager, selfish, and a failure. The sick thing is sometimes I take pleasure in these wonderful titles. I see my titles as medals upon my chest just like the ones daddy would wear on his spiffy dress blues (sarcasm not intended but may be taken that way). I could almost swear my name isn’t Jordan but dumb a**, as my father so lovingly calls me. Example of him calling me down to dinner would be, “Dumb A** dinner is ready”, when he is in a good mood “Doofy come down to dinner”. I am not sure if you are familiar with the scary movie franchise, Doofy is in the first movie. He is what seems to be a mentally challenged person in the first part of the movie. However my father never likes to think about two parts of a story, in the end Doofy was just acting and he rides off with a beautiful girl in a convertible. There are always two plot lines, two stories, two antagonists, two protagonists, and two totally different endings in my family’s point of view. Unless an alien regularly abducts me every night and changes my memories just for his own amusement, my parents must reassure themselves they weren’t as terrible as I say they were.
I have been blessed with many injuries. There have been mainly two mistakes that have led to injuries that I regret every day of my god forsaken life. The first happened in sixth grade I fractured my pinky playing volleyball (I have never told anyone this I always said it was from a motocross accident). As much as it hurt, and I must say it hurt I calmly walked over to my P.E teacher and asked him kindly to pop my finger back in place. He wasn’t paying attention really but when he saw my pinky fixed in a nice cute ninety degree angle with my ring finger he sent me to the nurse. I thought it was a waste of time, four weeks in a cast with the most horrible story to tell for it. The next would be when I ruptured my spleen. I had been racing for a while then and my family was behind me one hundred percent. We had been planning for months to go to World Minis in Las Vegas. It is a huge race where lots of people come to watch and there are fireworks and it makes you feel like a pro, or so I am told. I never made it there; one day before we were going to leave I was on my friends practice track pounding in laps trying to sharpen up a little more. There was a jump on the track that I never could completely clear. Let me paint a picture for you of what it looked like, ^-^---^ (you thought I would use descriptive words, silly you). (You would start the jump from the left incase you aren’t familiar with the English language in which case you are reading my essay backwards, right to left people). (I am not insulting you, my dear reader I am insulting the last person who proof read this paper). Anyways with my luck I thought the best confidence booster for the big race would be to clear this massive jump on my last lap before I went home to pack…….. Everything that goes wrong happens during the last minute. I came charging through the corner to approach this monster, my challenge, an obstacle in the path of my destiny, with the throttle wide open and my butt cheeks squeezed shut I pre-loaded the suspension and took off. (I know you are waiting with bated breath but you already know I don’t make it) As my one hundred and ten pound body went soaring into the perpetual bliss that can be described as flying I looked at the landing, I was going to come up inches short. My heart stopped and this sickening taste filled my mouth. I bounced on the very lip of the last part of the jump. It pains me just to think about it, going a pretty good speed my body got knocked forward putting me over the handle bars. I fell about fifteen feet like that in roughly a second and slammed the mid section of my body on the bars and knocked myself out for a second. When I woke up a split second later I was laying in rocks. The all too familiar feeling of a broken bone crept over my wrist. I walked back to my dad and told him to look at my wrist, he concluded as I thought, it was broken. My dreams faded and a piece of me died that day as I realized there would be no show girls, a trophy girl to kiss, no watching knights ride around on horses fighting each other, and worst of all what I wanted most, was to hear my name over the speaker and feel like people knew who I was.


Here are some of my failures that stand out. One and most recently was I told my grandpa I would help him out at his ranch, but as the date approached I found myself becoming homesick. After fighting sickening feelings I now know what I have to do, go down there and help the Broken Old Man. It is hard to feel any strong attachment to a man who for being my grandpa has spent miniscule amounts of time with me. I know I disappoint a lot of people but I don’t make promises just for the sake of knowing it will make the person I am making it to feel better that moment, while in the back of my mind knowing I won’t fulfill them. For some reason for how dishonorable a person I have been in my life, I feel a strong obligation to fulfill a commitment I agreed to even though I wasn’t in a sound state of mind at the time. The reason I count this as a failure is I whined and bickered about going down there. I know this sounds pathetic but I am so attached to my girlfriend that I can’t go a month without seeing her. We have been dating for about a year and a half and there have been many ups and downs. Like the time I ruined what we had left of a relationship. For some reason I didn’t like anything outside my house, I have anxiety and huge issues with depression. Getting to the point I distanced myself from her house and refused to do anything with her parents. Over time a person doesn’t usually like the significant other disliking their parents. This led to nonstop feuds between me and her. She finally got fed up and broke up with me. Now this is the good part, instead of being a good boy and accepting it and staying friends in public and stuffing my face with ice cream and crying over the good times, I proceeded to ruin her life. I told her she was ugly (total lie) and told her I would spread embarrassing rumors about her. Afterwards I proceeded to indulge pain pills and other substances (luckily I threw up) I’m telling you this because I want everything I am writing to be totally honest. When my mom asked if I would like to go see the doctor to talk about getting anti depressants I thought she was crazy. After long hours of her sobbing and begging me to go because I at that moment was probably at risk of hurting myself, I agreed to go try and medicate my depressed soul. Upon filling out paper work they gave me a form to fill out that asked me how I was feeling. I was a bit angry at the fact that I had told them my whole story and now I had to circle numbers to tell how badly I was feeling. The questions were for example, “do you find yourself depressed 1 2 3 4 5”now I am not a genius but if I’m telling the doctor I am depressed to the point of hurting myself I think it is self explanatory. I completed said form and upon completing was left in a room with my sobbing mother for about an hour. A police man and an EMT came into the room, (scared the crap out of me) took my blood pressure and remarked at how high my blood pressure was….. I have never been in trouble with the law police officers scare me, the EMT doesn’t bother me though I have plenty of experience with them, so you add this all together plus a stretcher with belts all over it and I wonder why my blood pressure was high. So then I was wrapped in a blanket, strapped down to the stretcher, and carted out through the waiting room in front of everyone. I just wanted some happy pills and now they were giving me a full treatment O’boy! Then I was put into a section of the hospital for “hostile people” (laughter) that need to be watched all the time (no privacy at all) while I was exposed in this room I had to change from my clothes into a gown. I hope that nurse enjoyed the show I gave her. My spa treatment continues I had to get my blood tested so they could tell what was in my system. Somewhat understandable, I know you are thinking that but I have incredibly small veins, shots and getting my blood taken is a huge ordeal. They used an incredibly large needle and stuck my veins eight or so times bruising me everywhere. I couldn’t help but to think that they had mastered making people recover from being depressed. After waiting around for six hours I was pleasantly surprised with a contract. I had to sign it to return home. It stated, “I will not hurt myself again” (Excuse me but isn’t that why I went to the doctor in the first place?) I quickly signed the stupid thing after finding out I would be hospitalized if I ever tried it again and be under constant supervision. I guess they want you to try harder next time. The last failure of epic proportions, MY GRADES. (No story required, if you are one of my teachers reading this, you will understand)

My past with my demons and depression you will find most disturbing or slightly funny depending on what kind of humor you prefer. I came into this world like every other baby except I was born behind a sand dune affectionately known as Twenty Nine Palms. A happy, spastic, soon to be good Mormon child. At about five I decided I wanted to play basketball (beginning of my father’s and my issues). My dad (Ex-Marine, I would like to include the fact that against my wishes my father has read my rough draft of this piece, he was furious that I did not capitalize Marine)decided he wanted to coach my basketball team while balancing working full time and going to college (an admirable feat if you ask me). Well I don’t know if you know how marines are. All the stereo types are totally true. They eat nails for breakfast (he preferred his from the local home depot), they take everything seriously, mean as hell, and aforementioned nails they are as tough as them. Now imagine with me, if you can an extremely tired over caffeinated Marine coaching a bunch of children. IT WAS HELL! I would go to practice with him and ride home in his white Toyota truck listening to all the things I did wrong at practice. (he wonders even to this day why I never wanted to practice) Most of the time if it even made it to my ears if they weren’t bleeding at the time from him yelling at drills, I used selective hearing this is how it would play out, “Jordan why didn’t you try harder?! THIS IS A GREAT BIG WASTE OF MY TIME!” (In case you didn’t know the bold is him yelling) This is what I would hear “Jordan you try hard, this is a great time.” Much more enjoyable don’t you think? This new found talent of selective hearing however somehow made its way into everything else in life. I thought I was doing a great job at cleaning, homework, Sunday school, and anything else I did. In reality I was terribly irresponsible, messy, and a bad Mormon, My cousin took the liberty of telling me I was going to burn in hell because I didn’t pray enough. (Mormons are wonderful). After telling him calmly (not really) that he should go visit said place he proceeded to pester me about his thoughts of my Jack Mormonness (don’t know how else to describe it). The whole time my aunt and uncle were standing pretty close, and seemed to have no problem with the religious beating I was getting. I would like to say god told me to do it (laughter) but I assume because I’m going to hell that it was the devil, I punched him square in the face. If you ask my mom she doesn’t remember it, my aunt and uncle don’t as well (please refer back to my response about aliens). I have had multiple thoughts of suicide. Some over stupid things like getting my toys taken away when I was a little kid. I spent an hour or two hanging out my window from the second story window (pleasant memories). I believe I have a chemical imbalance in my brain. Recently I got my wishes and began popping happy pills prescribed by my spa day planner. They have unlocked my past ability to think clearly instead of having a clouded mind all the time. However it has opened my eyes to the ghost reality I have been living in. In seventh grade one of my friends committed suicide by jumping off a bridge. Until recently that fact hasn’t really hit home. I find great difficulty accepting everything in my life, I spend hours when I get home meditating in my room asking the higher being what I should do. Of course I don’t get a response, I guess the big man is too busy to answer his SGP (spiritual guidance phone). I never get enough sleep, I average around three hours. Too many things are on my mind all the time. I see everything I have done wrong, the past I can’t change. As for the future mine doesn’t look so well. I don’t have a snow balls chance in hell of getting into college let alone probably even graduating high school. I find great pleasure in writing but I find that everything I write would disturb the average soul.
As for the very distant future of when my body reverts into a pile of carbon and is recycled back into the earth (I think I will be very good at that). I don’t know what you think about when you think about “the end” but I am very skeptical about it. What if by some chance we were a freak accident and we serve no purpose but to take up space on a planet and convert one substance into another. This is what I ponder, when you die and your brain turns to mush and decomposes, is that everything you are? In that case there will be eternal nothingness. A vast and endless blackness, the thought is maddening. But there also would be no perception of reality or anything there would be literally nothing you would not exist at all. When I think about the end I would love to float out of my body and meet the magnificent maker. I heard his voice would be too much for mortal ears, so a being as wonderful as it made us, then what made him? How does he exist? I would love for all my family to be waiting by those magnificent pearly gates and look Saint Peter in the eyes and just hug him, to know there would be something. But everything must end eventually so wouldn’t our “heaven” end eventually as well? So many religions have risen and fallen, and our time on this earth has been far less than that of any species. I want to know these questions. This is what takes up my time, this is why when I get home I can’t think about doing homework, I love to end the thoughts, those terrible thoughts, I put myself into a video game so I can rid myself of my thoughts, to live in the character’s state of being just for a break from mine. I am angry all the time and I cause conflict with everyone, because I want the answer to man’s oldest question, “why am I here?” I do everything I can to get my mind off of this. A task such as homework makes my mind wonder it doesn’t harness my attention. Many things in my life have come to me relatively easy, but the hardest thing for me is trying to understand why I constantly just want love, the warm feeling that I strive for. I find the things man has accomplished tiny and insignificant, we can’t stop people from dying, we can’t save the three year old who has cancer! Why does everyone have to die eventually and why would any person want to kill another person at all but the most disturbing thing is killing for a religion and dying for it. Who knows maybe the person who knew why we are here died during the crusades, the plague, world war two, or September eleventh.
If I do live in my own world as everyone likes to claim I do I sure as hell messed up in its creation, in the future I would like to remove religious tyranny, starvation all over the world, aids, cancer, and the list goes on. The end for now…..