jotting down stuff.... not finished or edited... horrible... needs critiquing.

I've added to it.
I need to edit it insanely, but first I needed to get it off the scraps of loose-leaf paper and onto a computer screen where I can look at it clearly.

I have declared myself sick. Troubled, though I am young and ordinary. According to James, I'm older than my age, because nobody wants to date many years their minor. The doctor reported that I'm not sick, and my parents agree I'm just going through a phase. Supposed by my teachers, I'm far from ordinary; they say I'm "talented" and will do "great things."

I began to feel it right after I watched a news special on how a dog was put down for biting a 7-year-old boy. I remember immediately agreeing with my mom's verdict "what a relief" it was that the monster would never harm anyone else ever again, but later that night, I couldn't dissuade my thoughts from pitying the owners of the dead dog and silently accusing the bitten child of provoking the animal to react in violence.

That next morning, I was aware of something hard growing inside my stomach, trying to surface itself through my skin. Just the odd familiarity of the sensation made me panic, and I racked my brain as to why I knew it. At first I thought maybe it was just a bizarre recovery process in dealing with how James moved away, but the pain was different. Abandonment makes my head throb; it is an ache and it creeps between chest bones, but the new sickness began as a thick, heavy feeling, and grew into a physical square shape pushing sharply through my stomach. It seemed to be attaching to my ribs and suffocating my organs, and whenever I heard about another's situation, frigid air penetrated through my shirt aimed at it. Even now, if I lie on my back, I can see its outline, but when I tried to show my mom, she misunderstood that I was calling myself fat. Apparently, I am the only one who could see it, which is why I believe myself crazy.

One of the times when I felt it the most was when I was visiting my sister at college. I was missing one of my team's last regular season soccer games in order to see her. When my team called me after the game was over, I couldn't believe how apparent the sickening pain in my stomach was. We had lost by three points, but Jenna assured me it was an awesome game despite the outcome. Of course, she had also scored four of our five goals, so obviously it was a good game in her eyes. I could hear our goalie crying in the background.
Each time they recounted another detail about the game, the metal box inside me grew significantly. I tried to listen and to react relatively, but finally I couldn't take it anymore. I hung up the phone and ran top-speed to the bathroom with extreme nausea. When my head finally cleared, I saw my sister's feet at eye-level as she stooped over me.

We stayed up all night discussing what I was experiencing and why I had only recently become aware of it.


When I went back home after the weekend, I decided to look at old pictures to see if I had ever had it before. Sure enough, in the pictures it's possible for me see its outline faintly underneath my shirt.

It has taken me about four long months to come up with a diagnosis for my condition: I have a screen inside me.

Everyone has one, although everyone has a different representation. I figure that after James left, I began to notice it because, for the first time in a while, I didn't, and still don't know how to react. My best friend says I'm lucky and should be glad for the time spent with him. I am.

My brother asks me if I wish I'd never met him. Sometimes, I do.

My protective screen clothes have become dirty and faded. Screen clothes or protective mind-clothes are things we have been taught, advice to remember, that we must put to practice in order to broaden our perspective.

In general, human beings are self-orientated and thus unintentionally sift through every experience in order to pick out the good or bad according to how it may affect us. Based on these results and possible benefits, we evaluate an experience.



....... will continue/cut/edit/rewrite?