Open These Doors, Daniel Topash [thriller book recommendations txt] 📗

OPEN THESE DOORS

When I look at you, I see nothing. No offense, that's just what I see in almost everyone. But what can I say, I'm not normal... At least that's what I think. Actually to tell you the truth, that's just how I feel. I've never felt apart of anything or anyone. I am the guy you see sitting there, reclusive to society, as if it were some incurable disease. I'm the guy you see on television shows who have no business for being in the show at all, except to watch a lonesome creature drink and smoke himself into depression, eventually cutting himself to death; the guy who the main characters want to avoid being.
I've seen your world:
Birth, happy childhood, middle school, high school, collage, work towards a degree, a masters or something to put on a piece of paper to prove to your own society that you're worth something. Or maybe to prove it to yourself... it takes all kinds.
I REALLY don't want to come off sour to my readers. I count my blessings pretty much every day. I work hard in school to become that stereotypical American Citizen who most people try to be. Which of course makes me a hypocrite, but at least I know it.
I've never really been able to accurately describe myself to this day. I can only tell you of what I've been through, what I've seen, who I've met and who made the biggest impact on my life, as far as creating my own personality goes.
I think the best place to start is when I passed my 6th grade year in elementary school and started the road towards middle school. I believe it was the summer of 1998 and if I can remember properly, I was 12 years old. I want to begin here because I think that it was in this year when I began to question everything about everything.
I was at a friends house one summer day, while his mum and step-dad were away at work. My own mom gave me strict orders to never be at a friends house without parental supervision, but, of course, I was a kid and could care less that mom knew best.
Eli was my friends name, and don't ever forget his name. We had a busy day getting into all sorts of mischief. We had just caught ourselves a gardener snake and were pretty excited over our new pet. We brought the creature back to Eli's place where we made the reptile an acceptable habitat.
While Eli was making a few adjustments to our new snakes home, I decided to step out of the window and on to the roof of his house to pick some mulberries from his tree. A few minutes went by as I snacked on a few purple fruits when Eli called for my assistance. I laid the berries on the roof top and started, quickly, towards the window.
(Please bear with me; this is only what I can account for)
I stopped myself inches from the window, raised my arms and started to knock on the glass with my fists, asking Eli what he needed while I collapsed through the window and sat/fell back onto the roof top. Seconds felt like hours as I tried to comprehend what had just happened, and the sound of breaking glass echoed in my mind Not two seconds go by when I realize that my left arm was bleeding profusely.
I witnessed a large gash inside my elbow joint spill tablespoons of blood from it's mouth. Just moments go by when my mouth started to go dry, my face became extremely pale and my body started to feel feverish and clammy.
Nearly two pints of blood, two days, 27 stitches, two hours of surgery to stitch up the nerves, tendons, artery, and other blood vessels up, later, I found myself lying in a hospital bed asking why I couldn't feel my entire forearm. Most importantly I started to ask why it had happened to me and what will happen in the future, as far as my left arm was concerned.
The day came, when I could finally go back home to rest. But the homecoming was bitter-sweet. The house we lived in at the time had no air conditioning. I'm living in southern Colorado, in the middle of the hot, dry summer, after getting out of extreme surgery. I started experiencing migraines and had extremely high fevers which landed me back in the hospital for dehydration.
About a month later, my arm gains most of its feeling back, but my index, and middle finger and half of my thumb, to this day, have no feeling in them. Going through the therapy to get them that way, was extremely painful. I remember my grandma shoving her thumb into the scar of my arm to massage it. A painful, but necessary experience.
After painful rehabilitation, I finally started my 7th grade year; a year which would begin to define my personality.

Middle School:

I entered the middle school doors without knowing what to expect. Kids I've known for years were there, but what frightened me the most was that there were twenty times more kids I've never seen than who I knew walking eagerly through the halls. The first time I felt completely out of place was this day.
I immediately hid my weaknesses, blocked my emotions and walked toward a group of kids, I thought, would make me popular.
While in 7th grade, I tried, desperately to find my place in the pecking order, but also refusing to be an out cast. I started to wear baggy pants with words with the likes of Jncos, and Mammoth, layered to the back pockets of the jeans I chose to wear at the time. Playaz 69 was sown on to the jerseys I wore. Yes, unfortunately, I was trying to be apart of the whole gangster fad. In retrospect, though, this time of my life meant a lot to me.
I started to tease my old elementary school friends just to earn the respect of my new found, fake friends. I made myself look like a complete jack ass in front of the people I loved the most during that time. I bullied those who were inferior to me and fought those who were weaker than me, just to earn a pack of wolves their gratitude.
8th grade finally came and I befriended a girl named Ashley.
Ashley had black hair, stood decently tall for her age at the time, and wore nothing but black, Gothic clothing. Honestly I can't remember anything she use to talk about, but what ever she use to say, it always caught my interest. Or maybe it could have been the other way around? Or both?
All I knew was that what ever she said made complete sense to me, so I started to fallow in her foot steps. I started wearing black, and I never cut my hair. I started listening to bands such as Korn, and Marilyn Manson. You know; the whole “Goth” thing... Or what ever the fuck it is. This was also the time I started taking notice in the classic rock band Pink Floyd. Their work spoke to me in secret. A way that no one else could. I could understand them, feel their music and sympathize their lack of social understanding. At least that's what I got from them during that time.
After coming to a weird conclusion that I was officially Gothic, I now found myself sitting in the High School lobby, towards the end of the summer of 2000. I was a fresh freshman.
All the friends I had in middle school had either dropped out or moved away. I was alone. Friends named Amber, Mario, Jessie Lynn and Eli were my only escape from what I never knew: Me.
90% of the time as a freshman in High School I would sit on a bench in the front lobby, early morning before classes began, watching everyone that walked through those doors... Watching everyone who would hang out in the lobby before their first class began. Observing them as if I was suppose to.
During lunch hour, with or without friends, I would aimlessly walk through the hallways gathering different personalities, learning each one... despising most of them, creating my own. Unaware of who I would be four, six, eight years from then. Walking, ignorantly towards the future I love being apart of today.

High School:

Going through high school was a dreaded nightmare for the most part. Expected to be the perfect, straight A student, expected to do as I was told whether or not I liked it. I truly despised sitting in the middle of a stale classroom, pretending to give a fuck about the teachers who didn't.
Hopelessly watching every student around me sore through class with flying colors. I felt left behind, afraid to ask questions that may end up in another stupid, needless lecture from a hypocritical instructor.
“Why weren't you paying attention?” the teacher would ask.
“Because the doctor said I have AD fuckin' D, so it's in my nature to not pay attention... fuck bag. Or maybe it's the fact that your class is so fucking boring that the ant peddling across the nappy carpet seemed more worth my time.”... That's what I wanted to say every time I was asked that in class.
I could care less about teachers, homework, grades, or who was going to be the next home coming royalty. Why should I? I wasn't them, I chose to stray away from them after middle school. To me, they walked around the halls like robots, programmed by the school faculty to play football, date the quarter back, love pep rallies and other obnoxious activities to help boost teenage hormones and raise male testosterone. A breeding ground for hate.
The bully had become the bullied now. I had been bullied before, but once I had stepped foot in High School, and realized how much of an ass I had been in the past, it was too late... I was now the inferior one. Being (generally) the peaceful, non-confrontational, person that I was, I allowed jocks and hicks to walk all over me, taunt me, threaten me, etc. Needless to say, as these years went by, my anti-social nature grew more and more alienating.
My sophomore year gave some relief to me at the time. My best friend, Eli had returned from Idaho and was attending the same High School as I was. Due to the lack of care for education, such as myself, Eli was one year behind me now. I finally came to terms that he was more like a brother to me than anyone had ever been, so I decided to treat him with a lot more respect than I did in middle school.
A new love interest had sprung up in the winter. The first time I had ever tried to treat a relationship seriously was during this year. Of course, all experienced lovers would know, I really knew nothing about serious relationships, let alone how to keep them serious. To stress the fact more, I was new to the game of “love”.
Just to get this out of the way now, and to make room for the next positive journey, I must mention a depressing issue to the story: My parents had filed for divorce during this year. The both of them had new love interests themselves.