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Published:August 18th, 2009 18:47 EST
"The Big Apple and Little Oranges" A true narrative. First Chapter.

"The Big Apple and Little Oranges" A true narrative. First Chapter.

By Mark Freedman

  

              INTRODUCTION:

The only time I feel normal is when I am manic, and the only time I feel abnormal is when I am calm. Excitement intrigues my imagination, giving me adrenaline, absorbing my pain and calming my insecurities. I choose to follow my impulses, so that I can grasp every moment that I have breathed. How will they understand me? How will people know? My imbalance has caused me to run away from my frustration, and chase passion, desire and inspiration. I do not look for anyone. I look for the one I dream about.

 

            There is no cure, there is not fault. Everything that we are, God has made. The experiences I have been through in my life have given me much hope in helping other people with the same disorder that I have. Hope is for those who are going through trials. Faith is what gets us through them.

 

            Deep down I feel that I am just a piece of us all living in a world of hope. "

 

Chapter One: East Bound "

 

I moved to New York City on May 1st 2001.My sister drove me to the train station in San Diego where I caught the eastbound Amtrak. All I had with me was an orange and five dollars.

 

Time is remembered by the smell of the air, and the sound that we hear, even if the sound can only be heard by ourselves. I remember what it felt like to be nineteen years old and moving to New York City all by myself.

 

            I hopped on the train with my little duffel bag and my orange, with not a care in the world, except where I would live and how I would eat. The impulse of randomly deciding to go to the greatest city on earth overwhelmed my hyperactivity disorder and left me numb in a state of pure euphoric disbelief.

 

Fueled by impulse, I headed east across the United States on a train with no air and no idea of what would happen to me in the next few years of my life. The climate, which is a controlled weather pattern, soon began to change as our train traveled farther and farther east. The sky became dark and the horizon soon stretched beyond my point of vision. It was this adventure that gave me a reason for anything. I was going somewhere incredible and I didn`t even know why.        

   

            Being in trouble my entire life, it was easy to find a way to justify my problems. I would just leave. Start over. Going to New York was my way of starting over and clearing my head of all the problems that had come along the way -up until this point.

 

            Half way across the country, I was completely broke and hungry. My five dollars had lasted the entire way to Chicago, partially because I didn`t spend all of it. Friends I had made were nice and offered to help take care of me and buy me unhealthy train food, mostly bagels and Mountain Dew.

 

            By the time I got to Chicago, my head was spinning so fast. The pace of life was faster than I had imagined. Every inch of the pavement was covered with persons crossing the street during red lights, and people racing at a steady gallop to the train station for their evening ride home from work. It was the biggest city I had ever seen, and with no money, became quite boring very fast.

 

            I walked around Chicago all by myself because I was alone. Intrigued by the high society, I began walking over the rivers bridges and easing my way into buildings that I`m sure I was not supposed to be in.

 

            In one hotel I found a cookie. It was on a tray, in a ballroom where I sat down to play the piano. No one was in the ballroom, and so I pretended to recite a classical composition written by myself for hundreds and hundreds of people.

 

            After eating my cookie and playing the piano, I explored the elevators and stairwells. There is nothing too interesting about elevators and stairwells unless you are using them to get somewhere. That also became quickly boring.

 

            I had almost an hour left before I had to be back on the train to New York City. Eagerly I waited on the floor in the waiting room of the train depot. Homeless people and crack heads where walking around in the dark shadows. Beggars waited on the outside of the train station, hoping to receive what little money they could obtain.     

                  

            At once I knew that I would not encourage this behavior. My philosophy is that if a person can ask for money all day, then they can also ask for a Job all day. There are plenty of employers that would help someone in need. I too would love to help someone in need, not with money, but with true support and love.

 

            Chicago was like something I had never seen before, so many people adapted to the population. This was the life for me, and I knew that right away.

            Everything interested me and caught my attention. I later told my mom that big cities were like play-lands for bipolar people. The pace of an extraordinary life will consume your thoughts and channel your imbalance.

 

            Now the train was leaving, All aboard! " shouted the conductor. Just like in the movies, it was time to continue my adventure to the greatest city on earth. I found my seat on the coach, and settled into my little area. Put my luggage on the top rack, and nestled in for an adventure to New York City.

 

            By the time I got to Pennsylvania, I was bored out of my mind. The only thing to see was Amish lands and sheep. There is nothing more boring than sheep, except maybe a piece of wood.

 

            Amish people were now passengers, in search of technological value I presumed. I did not really know what to think, other than that which I saw. I believe what comes to our mind first is always our sense of creativity, and then it is our sense of knowledge and fact that captivates our mind.

 

            It was late at night, and I was slipping in and out of thought. My mind was racing with excitement as I approached Newark New Jersey. Newark is a town about twenty five miles from Manhattan and a few miles from my Aunts home in New Jersey. There I was picked up and driven to my families house in a nice rural neighbor hood.

 

            I smelt like glue and bagels from my four day trip across the country. All that I had with me was one bag of clothes, and my wallet. Everything I had ever been given was lost in California, and I left my mom and siblings to travel this far. I was all alone in my life, with nothing to call my own, but I felt alive and free as if I was being taken into a cloud and soaring around the world. I felt completely invincible to society. This was undoubtedly an amazing feeling.

 

            Later that evening on May 4th 2001 after I arrived in New Jersey, my Grandma from across the town came to visit me. She is a very nice woman who teaches at a local college. Her and my Grandfather came to see me and welcome me to the east coast.

 

            Up until this point I had never been in real trouble and I had never seen the world like I was about to see it. My whole idea on life was centered on me at this point. I would be forever changed as I spent the next three years in New York City. I was about to enter a world of adventure, beyond my own dreams. Love was all I wanted, and all I wanted was to love someone who could capture my heart and channel my inspiration for writing music. At nineteen all I wanted to do was explore, and play the piano. With no focus I was surely going to fall to my knees eventually.

 

Two: The Big Apple