Post by Danny Dubois on Dec 17, 2012 16:38:21 GMT -5
Full Name: Daniel Christian Dubois (Doo-bwah). He goes mostly by Danny or Dan, though. He personally will never refer to himself as Daniel, but his dad always does.
Age: 18 years old. Danny is a senior this year.
Gender: Danny hopes that he is clearly a male..
Sport/Club: Football. That's pretty much all he does.
Appearance: Danny is pretty full of himself. He never really used to be, but as of this year, he's become a new Danny and he quite likes it. If you can't tell by looking at him, he sticks to the 'skater' trend, though he'd rather call it 'dancer' (because he's no where near being a skater). As far as general looks, Danny has light brown, very big eyes, a short, angular nose and some pretty big lips. On the upper right side of his top lip, Danny has a small mole that he hates (but refuses to remove) so you can often catch him throwing out the ever so beautiful duck face. His teeth are almost perfect, but he rarely sends out the full on smile because he hates his gums and thinks that when he smiles, he looks like an idiot. Make him laugh, though, and you're bound to see those pearly whites. His hair is usually kept at a medium length, cut in a choppy fashion so its short in the back and longer in the front. Danny loves his hair with all his heart.. its his pride and joy.
Danny is a pretty big guy. He stands tall at six foot two with long legs and a long torso. But he's not a noodle. At all. Danny is quite the tank when it comes to muscle thanks to his years of dancing, football and dedication to the gym. If you asked him, he'd tell you he's practically Arnold Schwarzenegger. But, in reality, he's really not. He's muscular, yes, and probably bigger than most guys.. but he's no where near body builder. He just takes care of himself.
When it comes to fashion, Danny isn't all too fond of the latest 'hipster' trend. He thinks that guys in combat boots and scarves and sweaters is really girly. He doesn't think they look bad.. but he's certainly never wear it. He's almost hypocritical, though, because he does own a few pairs of skinny jeans that were bought in the girl's section. Only one or two, though. Usually, you can find Danny in basketball shorts and a form fitting tee. If its a little colder out, he'll probably be in sweats or maybe a pair of baggy jeans. Atop his head you can almost always spot a snapback.. unless he's having an amazing hair day. But one thing that's certain is he'll always have a pair of big, clunky, colorful sneakers on. Y'know, Supra, Nike, Osiris, shoes like that. He calls them his 'dance' shoes.
Personality: If you don't know him, Danny can come off as sort of shy. He doesn't talk much to people he doesn't know.. he always waits for them to come to him. Unless he likes you.. like, LIKE likes you. Then he'll definitely approach. However, if you're just some kid in the hall, he's probably not going to talk to you.
Upon first introducing yourself to him, you'd probably think he's pretty rude. Danny isn't all that fancy with his words when it comes to talking to people he's not comfortable around a thus sticks to short answers. All you gotta do, though, is break through his shell and you'll find that he doesn't shut up.
Friends know Danny as the childish goofball with a temper. His favorite T.V. show is Spongebob Squarepants.. but the minute he's pissed off, someone's head is getting smashed on the ground. And its not a "look at me I'm a bad ass" act. Its quite honestly because he can't control it. Now, its not like he has serious anger management issues.. well, actually yea, that's exactly it. Just don't make him angry and he'll be your best friend.
Other: If you haven't guessed, Danny is a dancer. He's not into, like, ballet or jazz or whatever, though. Danny does straight up hip-hop crump. If you're ever wondering what that looks like, just ask him because he's got about a million videos of him dancing on his phone.
Danny is allergic to cats. Its not horrible, but they make his eyes all itchy and his nose runny.
If it weren't for football, Danny would be a swimmer. He's a fantastic swimmer and grew up with a pool in his backyard that he was constantly in. But football takes up too much of his time.. and he'd rather not be involved in two sports.
Danny has glasses.. but wears contacts more often than not.
Danny is French and Bulgarian. Neat, right?
Danny currently struggles with his sexuality. He is in fact gay, yet he refuses to accept it. He's struggled with this since he was about thirteen years old and often tries to cover it up by "dating" girls. He hates every minute of it, though.
He smokes pot.. yea.
Background:
Not much ever happened in my life. Or at least, I never thought it did. Life was shit to me. I hated myself, my life, my everything. Makes me feel and sound really emo to say that. But hey, depression gets the best of the best.
It lasted forever. Started forever ago, too. Probably since about seventh grade. Nothing really mattered to me, nothing made me feel happy. Sure I laughed a lot. Sure I smiled. It wasn't like I wore all black and cut open my arms in the bathroom. I wasn't that kid. And in my mind, I was worse. I look back to think about it now.. and it hurts to think that I WASN'T like that. Cuz maybe if I had worn all black, maybe if I had physically hurt myself, someone would've noticed me. Someone might've helped.
I thought I had learned to deal with it. I thought that it was normal after a while. I didn't really see how it was possible to be happy.. so I gave up. Junior year of high school came around though and something changed in me. I wasn't just sad anymore. I wasn't just lonely. I didn't just cry at night. Junior year came and I was done. Just done. I didn't want to be alive anymore because I didn't understand why people could be so happy. And above all, I didn't understand why I couldn't be too.
It was a Monday. If you asked, I could tell you everything I did in school that day. Everything I thought about. How many breaths I took. I was on edge all day, seemed a bit more bipolar than usual. I bit everybody and anybody's heads off.. but did my best to laugh at what I could. To me, this was my last day. Why? I didn't and I still don't know. The past few weeks I'd felt especially distant from everything.. and when I woke up that Monday morning, something just told me "it's your time to go". I cleaned out my locker at the end of the day, left all my borrowed text books at my teacher's doors, brought back all my football pads. I left a note in my best friend's, a boy named Ted Freeway, locker that just said "i'm sorry. please don't cry". I spoke to no one as I got ready to leave school.
No one was home. I always got home first cuz both my parents worked at least an hour and a half away and my younger siblings all had after school activities. I left no note for them.. it didn't feel right. There was nothing to explain, nothing that could've been explained anyways. I know, it was horrible of me to not tell them. Not leave a message. But I didn't care then.
We had a knife in the kitchen. A big, sharp, butcher's knife. We didn't use it much, it was for carving on Thanksgiving or something like that. For holidays. It seemed like the best choice.
So as to not gross you out, make you feel sorry, cry or anything like that.. I'll skip to the point. Within a half hour of being home, I took that knife. Took it upstairs to my room. I put on some music to ease any pain that might've been left even though at this point, music didn't do much for me. Hadn't in a long time. Closing my eyes, I put my forehead against a wall and thrust the knife into my chest, just under my rib cage. The pain came next. More pain than I'd felt in those past five years. I bashed my head against the wall next. Then I was out.
I don't remember much after that. I don't remember my parents finding me, I don't remember my mother's screaming sobs, my father's disappointed, lost look. I don't remember if they even cared or if it was even they who found me. For all they knew, I wasn't here any more. Thank god my dad finally called 911 or I wouldn't be here to tell you this story. And thank god I didn't aim that knife somewhere else.
Its embarrassing to tell that story. I feel really.. little when i tell it. I feel like a four year old confessing to doing something wrong. I feel weak. But every time I tell it, I grow stronger than I was before. Every time someone listens, every time someone hugs me and says they care, I grow, I learn, and I get stronger. Now its not like I feed off of their pity.. I don't want them to feel bad for me. I mean, I do want them to feel for me, but I don't just tell them my story so that they'll tell me it's okay and give me a "glad you're still here" or "good thing you're still alive". I want them to see my pain and learn from it like I have. In fact, I guess I tell them my stories to scare them. I don't want anyone to feel what I felt, but when I tell them these stories, I DO want them to metaphorically feel what I felt. I don't want them to ever have to PHYSICALLY feel what I felt. And in a way, I feel like after telling them, I'm helping them, which gives me a tremendous amount of joy and makes me feel important... which is something I don't feel very often. So no, don't think I tell you this to make you want to cry and hug me and make me feel better. That would ruin my reputation, silly. All I want is for people to learn from me.
Yes, I do still suffer from depression. But not nearly as much. I'm still under constant watch because they think I'll try it again. But with the scar that thing left... I don't even touch knives anymore. Never will.
I'm scared of knives.
Age: 18 years old. Danny is a senior this year.
Gender: Danny hopes that he is clearly a male..
Sport/Club: Football. That's pretty much all he does.
Appearance: Danny is pretty full of himself. He never really used to be, but as of this year, he's become a new Danny and he quite likes it. If you can't tell by looking at him, he sticks to the 'skater' trend, though he'd rather call it 'dancer' (because he's no where near being a skater). As far as general looks, Danny has light brown, very big eyes, a short, angular nose and some pretty big lips. On the upper right side of his top lip, Danny has a small mole that he hates (but refuses to remove) so you can often catch him throwing out the ever so beautiful duck face. His teeth are almost perfect, but he rarely sends out the full on smile because he hates his gums and thinks that when he smiles, he looks like an idiot. Make him laugh, though, and you're bound to see those pearly whites. His hair is usually kept at a medium length, cut in a choppy fashion so its short in the back and longer in the front. Danny loves his hair with all his heart.. its his pride and joy.
Danny is a pretty big guy. He stands tall at six foot two with long legs and a long torso. But he's not a noodle. At all. Danny is quite the tank when it comes to muscle thanks to his years of dancing, football and dedication to the gym. If you asked him, he'd tell you he's practically Arnold Schwarzenegger. But, in reality, he's really not. He's muscular, yes, and probably bigger than most guys.. but he's no where near body builder. He just takes care of himself.
When it comes to fashion, Danny isn't all too fond of the latest 'hipster' trend. He thinks that guys in combat boots and scarves and sweaters is really girly. He doesn't think they look bad.. but he's certainly never wear it. He's almost hypocritical, though, because he does own a few pairs of skinny jeans that were bought in the girl's section. Only one or two, though. Usually, you can find Danny in basketball shorts and a form fitting tee. If its a little colder out, he'll probably be in sweats or maybe a pair of baggy jeans. Atop his head you can almost always spot a snapback.. unless he's having an amazing hair day. But one thing that's certain is he'll always have a pair of big, clunky, colorful sneakers on. Y'know, Supra, Nike, Osiris, shoes like that. He calls them his 'dance' shoes.
Personality: If you don't know him, Danny can come off as sort of shy. He doesn't talk much to people he doesn't know.. he always waits for them to come to him. Unless he likes you.. like, LIKE likes you. Then he'll definitely approach. However, if you're just some kid in the hall, he's probably not going to talk to you.
Upon first introducing yourself to him, you'd probably think he's pretty rude. Danny isn't all that fancy with his words when it comes to talking to people he's not comfortable around a thus sticks to short answers. All you gotta do, though, is break through his shell and you'll find that he doesn't shut up.
Friends know Danny as the childish goofball with a temper. His favorite T.V. show is Spongebob Squarepants.. but the minute he's pissed off, someone's head is getting smashed on the ground. And its not a "look at me I'm a bad ass" act. Its quite honestly because he can't control it. Now, its not like he has serious anger management issues.. well, actually yea, that's exactly it. Just don't make him angry and he'll be your best friend.
Other: If you haven't guessed, Danny is a dancer. He's not into, like, ballet or jazz or whatever, though. Danny does straight up hip-hop crump. If you're ever wondering what that looks like, just ask him because he's got about a million videos of him dancing on his phone.
Danny is allergic to cats. Its not horrible, but they make his eyes all itchy and his nose runny.
If it weren't for football, Danny would be a swimmer. He's a fantastic swimmer and grew up with a pool in his backyard that he was constantly in. But football takes up too much of his time.. and he'd rather not be involved in two sports.
Danny has glasses.. but wears contacts more often than not.
Danny is French and Bulgarian. Neat, right?
Danny currently struggles with his sexuality. He is in fact gay, yet he refuses to accept it. He's struggled with this since he was about thirteen years old and often tries to cover it up by "dating" girls. He hates every minute of it, though.
He smokes pot.. yea.
Background:
An Essay by Danny Dubois
I'm Scared of Knives
I'm Scared of Knives
Not much ever happened in my life. Or at least, I never thought it did. Life was shit to me. I hated myself, my life, my everything. Makes me feel and sound really emo to say that. But hey, depression gets the best of the best.
It lasted forever. Started forever ago, too. Probably since about seventh grade. Nothing really mattered to me, nothing made me feel happy. Sure I laughed a lot. Sure I smiled. It wasn't like I wore all black and cut open my arms in the bathroom. I wasn't that kid. And in my mind, I was worse. I look back to think about it now.. and it hurts to think that I WASN'T like that. Cuz maybe if I had worn all black, maybe if I had physically hurt myself, someone would've noticed me. Someone might've helped.
I thought I had learned to deal with it. I thought that it was normal after a while. I didn't really see how it was possible to be happy.. so I gave up. Junior year of high school came around though and something changed in me. I wasn't just sad anymore. I wasn't just lonely. I didn't just cry at night. Junior year came and I was done. Just done. I didn't want to be alive anymore because I didn't understand why people could be so happy. And above all, I didn't understand why I couldn't be too.
It was a Monday. If you asked, I could tell you everything I did in school that day. Everything I thought about. How many breaths I took. I was on edge all day, seemed a bit more bipolar than usual. I bit everybody and anybody's heads off.. but did my best to laugh at what I could. To me, this was my last day. Why? I didn't and I still don't know. The past few weeks I'd felt especially distant from everything.. and when I woke up that Monday morning, something just told me "it's your time to go". I cleaned out my locker at the end of the day, left all my borrowed text books at my teacher's doors, brought back all my football pads. I left a note in my best friend's, a boy named Ted Freeway, locker that just said "i'm sorry. please don't cry". I spoke to no one as I got ready to leave school.
No one was home. I always got home first cuz both my parents worked at least an hour and a half away and my younger siblings all had after school activities. I left no note for them.. it didn't feel right. There was nothing to explain, nothing that could've been explained anyways. I know, it was horrible of me to not tell them. Not leave a message. But I didn't care then.
We had a knife in the kitchen. A big, sharp, butcher's knife. We didn't use it much, it was for carving on Thanksgiving or something like that. For holidays. It seemed like the best choice.
So as to not gross you out, make you feel sorry, cry or anything like that.. I'll skip to the point. Within a half hour of being home, I took that knife. Took it upstairs to my room. I put on some music to ease any pain that might've been left even though at this point, music didn't do much for me. Hadn't in a long time. Closing my eyes, I put my forehead against a wall and thrust the knife into my chest, just under my rib cage. The pain came next. More pain than I'd felt in those past five years. I bashed my head against the wall next. Then I was out.
I don't remember much after that. I don't remember my parents finding me, I don't remember my mother's screaming sobs, my father's disappointed, lost look. I don't remember if they even cared or if it was even they who found me. For all they knew, I wasn't here any more. Thank god my dad finally called 911 or I wouldn't be here to tell you this story. And thank god I didn't aim that knife somewhere else.
Its embarrassing to tell that story. I feel really.. little when i tell it. I feel like a four year old confessing to doing something wrong. I feel weak. But every time I tell it, I grow stronger than I was before. Every time someone listens, every time someone hugs me and says they care, I grow, I learn, and I get stronger. Now its not like I feed off of their pity.. I don't want them to feel bad for me. I mean, I do want them to feel for me, but I don't just tell them my story so that they'll tell me it's okay and give me a "glad you're still here" or "good thing you're still alive". I want them to see my pain and learn from it like I have. In fact, I guess I tell them my stories to scare them. I don't want anyone to feel what I felt, but when I tell them these stories, I DO want them to metaphorically feel what I felt. I don't want them to ever have to PHYSICALLY feel what I felt. And in a way, I feel like after telling them, I'm helping them, which gives me a tremendous amount of joy and makes me feel important... which is something I don't feel very often. So no, don't think I tell you this to make you want to cry and hug me and make me feel better. That would ruin my reputation, silly. All I want is for people to learn from me.
Yes, I do still suffer from depression. But not nearly as much. I'm still under constant watch because they think I'll try it again. But with the scar that thing left... I don't even touch knives anymore. Never will.
I'm scared of knives.
