Santa 1

Dylan Santa

Ms. Gardner

English 10H/Period 6

30 January 2017

Delta Ward

The brainstem, Mr. Simon paused, is the oldest part of the brain--the foundation--the single

most important piece. It performs the absolutely essential actions--heartbeat and breath--and is the base of

all other structures of the brain.

As I sat there in Psychology, futilely trying to arrest my heartbeat, my thoughts drifted to my

early childhood, my foundation, where events beyond my control poured concrete ideals and reinforced

emotions into my very core.

Divorce triggered the downward spiral of quality of life in my early years, with the legally

inevitable yet necessary action of moving on to new friends, a new school, and a new life always looming

dismally on the horizon of the leases dotted line. Weve got to moved again, Pickle, Mom would say

every year and a half. There was nothing that I could do except cry, pack my room, and say goodbye to

my friends. In less than two weeks we would be in a new place, the abrupt change merely a mandated

heartbeat in my memory.

My young life, indicative of the early brain, cast in concrete, had hardened, beyond my control;

without it, however, my heart would stop beating, my lungs would stop breathing, attuned me to the

suffering of others as well as to my own; it sponsored my growth, unhindered by demands and

expectations from the outer world, from outer thoughts. Without it, the house I was to build around the

brainstem, around my genetically prefabricated scaffolding, would collapse. Without the past, without a

base, life would become uninterpretable, ungrounded, and cracked.

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As I grew older, the foundation of my brain--the brain stem--cured, and the wall were ready for

construction. My amygdala and my hypothalamus, the two cerebral masters of emotion, now fully grown

as I entered fifth grade, allowed me to cut off the precarious flow of concrete emotions before they

overflowed by building walls of desensitivity, of control, of disgustingly literal, cold-hearted, six inch

thick steel glares. Although I regained control of my emotions, and partial control of my life, I sealed

myself within a cranial prison shrouded with an iron curtain--the capstone of a pharaoh's tomb-- and I

could no longer see myself.

Having finally moved into a long term rental in Petaluma, California--one town over from where

my mother reared me, life sprouted its roots and I gained stability. The oobleck that was my unsettled

foundation had dried, wholly reinforced by trying hardship just as the more intense bloom of a tulip after

enduring the frosts of winter, and I was blessedly able to attend Old Adobe Elementary School for far

longer than a year. Unfortunately, the nearly traumatic events of early adolescence had left me profoundly

vulnerable to the slightest disappointment, to the most imperceptible papercut. Embarrassingly, on the

first math test of Ms. Buckleys fifth grade class, I scraped up an A-. Instantaneously, I burst into tears,

humiliating myself.

At that moment, the threat of high winds from wild mood swings sounded like a nuclear siren,

and the only way to dull the noise was to hastily build into my mind solid, unhewn walls topped with an

alarmingly heavy, lead roof. Regrettably, I built no windows; I lost my ability to vent, for smoke cannot

rise out of a nonexistent chimney. No light, no fresh air, no door to the outside, no candles, no lights, no

flame of passion--only darkness. Only the cold, steel interior of lifeless, opaque walls. I was cut off.

Emotionally, as Mayo Clinic defines it, I had a severe stroke, A stroke occurs when the blood supply to

part of your brain is interrupted or severely reduced. Within minutes, brain cells begin to die. My

relationships died, my quality of life died, and at one point, my will to live died.
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By the end of seventh grade, I had amassed enough bare neural connections, enough bare wiring,

to catalyze its insulation. My pituitary gland, master of hormones and commencer of puberty, reached

critical age, aside from clear physical changes, began to optimize my thought processes, including the

power of my grievances and reflective questioning.

From four metallic walls, a bare concrete floor, and an immobile roof with no light--now seeming

like more a prison than a home-- to a room strung with wire and bulbs, the lights of introspective

comprehension were installed, and turned on. I could see myself, for the first time in years, but it was not

a pleasant sight.

From very early in life, I have had thoughts wrack my mind day in and day out without a valid

answer to what their questions asked. Only when I gained the capacity to comprehend highly abstract

ideas through the rewiring and insulating of my brain could I begin to decrypt them and understand that

their meaning was paramount to my health and well being; however, their light was harsh. They showed

me my inner demons, inner doubt, my homosexual proclivities, and I could not hide from them for once

the light switched on,the only way to turn it off would be to turn everything off.

When I was twelve, I started staring at the wrong gender, and I went from emotionless to

depressed. I could see myself, yes, but all of my flaws and irregularities as well. The lights turned on, but

they were not bright. They showed not happiness nor peace of mind, only an empty room rife with stains

of the past. Why cant I be normal, I said to myself, which I now see was the cry of most teenagers, Am I

unnatural? I said, which I now see were dangerous thoughts. Only after I began to clean, forced to by the

continuous scrutiny of self-reflection, could I come to an armistice with my consciousness, and with it the

stains of time faded with age.

I was still alone, however, regardless of inner peace, for I could not see past myself, past the

impassible metal SHU I had built around myself. I continued to grow, but on my knees with my neck

bent. My bones were cast into a six sided metal beast, and my psyche reflected it, but as my prefrontal
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cortex, the ultimate wielder of consciousness, the region of the brain which holds full control over the

rest, finally developed. With its maturation, I gained the confidence to stand up under my own

scrutinizing introspection; I slowly gained the strength to tear down that wall. I punched the wall with

reason and logic until my knuckles shattered, but bones heal stronger after they are broken. How can one

have unnatural thoughts if they come from nature itself, the brain? I argued. Every successive attack held

more determination, more resolution. A year of fighting, healing, fighting, healing, until a crack formed

not in my hands, but in the walls of my past confinement, and out of that crack came hope--pure,

unadulterated hope--coming from outside along with unstained sunlight, and laughter, and stimulating

conversation. After five years of nothing but the sound of my own breathing, I could hear laughter. God,

could I hear the laughter. I could once more sense the world. I had achieved true consciousness.

My oppressive and depressive attitude towards my sexuality, above matters of political alignment

or insecurities, obligated me to remain inside a dismally dark shell of my own unhappiness. I had not

come out to anyone except myself and then just barely; however, I fought this confinement, and I, with

the development of my prefrontal cortex, could stand against, and eventually, fight it. The fallacy that was

my self-oppression, after years of losing against it, began to crumble, and through the thinnest hairline

fracture in the wall, I came out, in a whisper, to Celeste. Immediately, the hairline fracture chipped to

make a hole in the wall. I came out to Mikayla in a quiet but firm tone. Quiet for the walls this was not,

for they split open to reveal four bay windows, one on each wall, and I yelled to Bailey, to Kevin, to

Ashley, to April and Tara. The door, which was not merely locked but nonexistent, tore open, and I was

free to leave. I stepped outside, nearly blind from the light, and I could see. God, could I see. I could hear;

God could I hear. I could feel. Oh, God could I feel.