In the clouds-Phan

Chapter 01

(This chapter is more of a character development for Dan, I literally wrote this like 10 minutes ago so I have no idea what direction this story will be going in. It is currently in Dans POV and Phil won't be introduced into the story for maybe about 2 or 3 chapters. Thanks for reading!)

(Also the song really doesn't relate much to the chapter, its just a hella good song)

                  

I never understood why we look to the sky when we don't have the answers, what did we think? Are the clouds supposed to pour wisdom instead of rain? Would the rays of the sun bring us hope? What are we doing? Of course I ask many theoretical questions, many unanswerable and many that result in confused and wary looks. People just didn't understand how my mind works.  I don't think they ever will, I heard it's hard enough to even find ourselves, much less the answers to bullshit questions.

I'm not one for self-discovery, my minds a scary place. I ask a lot of questions, but I never ask about life's normality. Normalness leads to sadness, someone once said to me and I had never forgotten that. It was the one thing that reassured me. When my family asked why I didn't go play baseball with the other boys I just shrugged, and looked to the ground. I didn't look to the sky for guidance, I looked to the sky when I was sad. I shouldn't be so sad, at least that was what I was told. What did I have to be sad about at age 14? Nothing, except the fact that my life has no purpose, and I was just one in 7 billion. My mother called them my "existential crises."

Of course I never told her what I was thinking, but she could tell when my questioning became frequent and my eyes glazed over in thought. I didn't want to think though, so I looked to the ground. The sky brought my thought process to an all-time high and it was quite torturous sometimes. So I looked to the ground, many people look to the ground when upset but I look to the ground to silence those haunting thoughts. Sometimes at home id even lay face first onto the carpet, maybe even sleep there right in the middle of the hallway. It annoyed my father quite a lot and really pissed my sister off seeing as my favorite place was right outside her door. They even bought me a mat to lay on, but it felt wrong to me. We should experience life to the fullest, the rawest and dirtiest. We would never know what's inside without destroying it in the process, our animalistic nature could never let us back away from self-satisfaction. It's said, "we love the things that kill us." And I fully believe in that notion.

Most people hated school, it required active thinking and we all know that many would much rather be doing something other than finding that x=4 or why the Tigris River was so important. I for one did not, if not said already many times I have an infinite love for knowledge. Even if they couldn't answer my unending stream of irrational questions, they could tell me that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. One thing that always clung to my mind were the other kids that enjoyed school, my mind tended to automatically assume the worst. Why did they come to school every day? Did they truly just love school? Where they running from their demons? If so, who or what? It was a never ending thought process that I couldn't stop.

I never thought much of the way my mind works, I just thought of myself as overly inquisitive. But recently I have noticed the looks on my family's face, the ones of concern. I couldn't understand why at first but slowly began to see what they saw, the dark circles under my eyes from constant lack of sleep and my once tanned skin slowly turning pale. The power that thoughts had over people's physical abilities never ceased to amaze me.

I had adjusted to my irregular schedule of eating and sleeping, saved every spare second I had for thinking and slowly tore myself apart. I was 17 when they sent me to the treatment center, my insomnia was so bad I would doze off at seemingly inappropriate times and not wake up for hours. It scared me, to know doctors were looking at my brain and judging me by my habits. It almost seemed as if my thought process turned against me and it was no longer a good thing, but a weapon.

Word count-791
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