Confusion, we've all delt with it before. It comes in many different shapes and sizes, ranging from things as small as "Where's the bathroom" to larger "Why are we here?" And dealing with it varies from person to person. Some will take the problem and solve it head on, some may avoid it or turn their back pretending its not there at all, or some will find help from whoever is available. Well, I had a rather perculiar battle with confusion in the past and still here in the present, but more on that later. For now, let's get into some important details like who I am.

	My name is Dude, You, Hey, or even Dragon, but more formally Cody Wilthrope. Now my more common names were not given to me at birth, nor nicknames of my choice, but the names my friends and most strangers preffer to call me. Now this is probably a tell tale sign of the stereotypical "loser" kind of guy, but turns out I'm not, or wasn't at the time. Now I'm not saying I had never experienced that outcast feeling, hell, through my first six or seven years of school that's what I dealt with is being just that stereotype, but not since eighth grade. I had managed to flawlessly pull of the near movie style make over...how you ask? By just doing what they say and being myself, somewhat, more than I had been before. And up till two years later, I felt right at home.

	That is until something happened. Moving across town sucks, across the country even more, but across the world; now that's just plain miserable. I had gone from my home back in the souther end of Canada and found myself planted in the middle-of-nowhere town, Trisillmo. How'd on Earth did it come to this? Well my dad, er, step-dad lost his job back home and found a pretty high pay job over here, so he followed his ever-so-greedy nose and dragged us along. I begged and pleaded for him to reconsider, but to no prevail.

	There we stood,my mother, father, sister, and I, amongst seemingly hundreds of boxes staring at an empty house. "Well, let's get to it" my father said. And then we did just that, got to it. After lugging in box after box, I felt like my arms were stretched down to the floor. It was late, thank goodness, so we had to stop and give it a brake no matter how much dad wanted to keep going. I basically crawled up the stairs to my room and plopped down on the bare matress ungracefully. I sighed and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. "Why are we here?" I asked myself. "Because of some stupid bull shit job" I replied. A feeling of emptyness was building up inside of me.

	I stared at the blank ceiling for what felt like hours. When it's paleness was to much I turned on my side to see the piles of boxes, but also saw the ceilings twins, the walls. The barren room seemed to suck the happiness out of me. It was like a vaccum only with emotion. Yet it was pumping sadness and lonliness into me. My eyes watered as I thought about those expressionless unforgiving walls. Then I thought of what I had to leave behind, friends, school, shops, everything was gone now. A fresh slate...what a dumb metaphore. Tears began to spill from my eyes as I found myself crying now. I was ashamed...wasn't I too old for crying? Men don't cry, not at 15. But there they were, tears. The gut wrenching saddness was enough to knock me out cold for the rest of the night and well into the next day.