Trigger Warning: Slightly graphic mentions of past suicide

There's something therapeutic about watching the world fly by from the window of a plane, but there's also something very frightening about seeing the place you know to be so big looking so small.

It's an interesting thing to think about, but giving it too much thought can make one feel insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A house seems massive compared to the size of human being, but a skyscraper seems even bigger. When you think about your city's place in your state, it's almost impossible to truly understand what a small part of the world it takes up. The same can be said for the state itself, or even the country, or the continent, or the very planet itself. Out there in space, there's millions of astral bodies that are larger that Earth in a way that makes one want to disappear from the feeling of being insignificant in the universe.

I've never enjoyed flying; every thump of turbulence, every quiver of the walls, every vibration of the seats causes my heart to lurch up into my throat, making it very difficult to swallow comfortably. If I'd had a more fortunate childhood, I'd have gotten used to flying to some extent from vacation flights and such, but the only time I'd ever been on a plane before this was for two funerals.

This was a much different circumstance than a funeral. I could see the city skyline of New York approaching from my viewpoint in my plane seat. That was my new home; I didn't exactly want it to be, but there was too much weighing me down in Gainesville. I couldn't stay there anymore. My father passed away in a car accident while on a business trip when I was seven, and thus caused my mother to fall into alcoholism. It brought out a whole other side of her, it made her truly speak her mind. I had to live with the fact that the woman that had brought me into the world, now wished she could take me out of it. She reminded me of that fact nearly every day of my life, and I honestly can't blame her for feeling disappointment whenever she looked at me.

I wished I could just disappear for five years of my life. I was thirteen when I realized I was gay, and I was thirteen when I experienced my very first beating for being homosexual. More would follow in my remaining five years of childhood. They stopped after I graduated, purely because I never saw the kids behind them anymore, but the ridiculing continued whenever I left the house for the last three years I'd spent in my home town of Gainesville, Florida. Three years I spent giving fifty percent of my income to my mother and trying my best to help her.

The day before my twenty-first birthday, she went out for a drink and never came home. I found her body in the alley next to her favorite bar, a smashed bottle on the ground beside her, and a shard of glass still in her hand after using it to slice open her wrists.

I didn't cry.

A week later, here I am, sat on a plane bound for New York City and designated to land in just under an hour. The concrete jungle is meant to be a city founded on the belief that opportunities were around every corner, and that business could still thrive alongside dreams. I had to leave the baggage of Gainesville behind, I had to escape before I ended up with the same fate as my late mother. New York City was too busy all the time to care about one person with some trauma and an instinctual urge of self preservation. I could try to start over here, and if I struggled as I did so, no one would notice.

I mainly chose NYC because of one of its most famous streets: Broadway. I was on the crew for every single show for all four of my years of high school. Despite my anxiety for the stage, I felt a strange pull toward it. Musicals and plays, they made me forget just how insignificant I am in this world, because even if only for a little while, I'm apart of something bigger than just myself.

However, it was wishful thinking to assume that I'd obtain some sort of position working on a Broadway show within the first month of living in NYC. I'm not an optimist, I know better than to hope for things that won't happen.

I let out an exhale, blinking slowly as my eyes focus on the city below. My new home. It doesn't look welcoming. It most likely won't be welcoming.

~

The first thing I'm faced with upon landing in New York is the fact I that I have nowhere to stay for the night, and I don't much money to figure it out. Not only that, but I had nowhere to live for the next who knew how many years of my life. This meant that my first location I'd be exploring after finding a cheap hotel would be an apartment complex, or complexes, depending on the rent prices and availability.

I let out a heavy sigh as I walk through the airport, desperately trying to avoid the crowds of both tourists and locals walking back and forth on all sides. Just a brush of someone's shoulder was enough to make my entire body flinch.

You see, I'm an anxious person by nature. Blame it on simply my inability to socialize as a child and a teenager or the trauma of my father's death and my mother's suicide, but it doesn't really matter why. I've been unable to make comfortable conversation with other human beings since I was in elementary school. I could never fit in, the other kids never wanted to talk to me anyway, and I was honestly happier just doodling in my notebook than sharing snacks with some preps I'd never even bothered to fully memorize the names of. It has, however, made my confidence in conversing with other people gradually drop lower and lower over the years. With all the new faces and people in such a crowded city, this wasn't going to be an enjoyable few months of getting used to my new surroundings.

I make my way through the airport,  skipping the baggage claim on purpose. All I'd had was my backpack and the suitcase I'd stored in the overhead compartment. The cold air of New York City hits me in the face as I step outside. It was August and easily fifty-five degrees, making me shiver as I wrapped my arms around myself.

A cab pulled forward in front of me and I got inside as the driver exited to put my suitcase into his trunk. I keep my backpack on my lap, not trusting the contents to anyone, even for the few moments that it would take him to put it in the trunk. That wasn't to say that the man looked suspicious. He actually looked kind for a New York resident, but I suppose it was possible that he wasn't originally from here. The man had short blond hair that was carefully combed to the side, and a cap was on his head. His chin was recently shaved, smooth and looking soft to the touch, and his lips looked healthy and full. It was as I had this thought that I realized that I might be crossing a line when analyzing his appearance, but it's not as though I have experience with attractive men.

"So, where you goin' mate?" the driver asks as he gets back into the cab.

I chew on my bottom lip as I rack my brain for a response. I didn't have a place in mind. I pick at my nails as I open my mouth to speak. "I'm kind of new in town," I say, my voice just above a mumble. "I guess you can drive me to the nearest hotel... preferably a cheap one."

Understanding filled his blue gaze as he nodded and pulled away from the airport. We talked for the first few minutes, but eventually he caught the hint that I wasn't the talkative type. He turned on the radio, asking me which station I'd like to listen to. I respond saying he can listen to whatever he wants, that I prefer listening to my headphones anyway. He smiles at me and nods understandingly.

I watch the world fly past from the cab window as Brendon Urie's voice fills my ears. I could always count on Panic! At The Disco to calm my nerves, whether it was Brendon's voice or Ryan Ross's gorgeous lyrics, it always made me feel more at ease.

I needed to feel calmer at the moment. The city was growing closer and the buildings seemed to be getting even bigger with every moment we drove toward it, making my heartbeat steadily jump up with each passing sign telling us the amount of miles until reaching the actual city. I wasn't ready to live on my own with no one to fall back on, but I had to. This was my uncertain fate that I was forced to embrace.

~

I look up at the clearly deteriorating apartment complex. My eyes were narrow and my hands were twitchy. This place didn't look like a nice place to stay, but I'd gotten lucky enough to find someplace that didn't seem too expensive without having to waste some of the limited money I had on a hotel.

There was the sound of a bell jingling above my head as I entered the first floor. There was a bored-looking woman sitting behind a desk who I guessed owned the building. "Excuse me," I say, swallowing.

"Afternoon sir," she said, looking up with an obviously forced smile. I don't take it personally, she's probably extremely exhausted; I know I am. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like to live here," I say. "This is an apartment complex, correct?"

She nods and pulls out a record book with what I assume is the name and information of who lives in what apartments of the building. "The rent is $200 a month," she informed me. "We provide the electricity, water, and there's utilities and furniture already set up in all the apartments. You have to handle anything else."

"That's manageable, I'll hopefully have a job before the end of the week," I say, mostly to myself. She gives me a look with a raised eyebrow, and I hurry to explain. "I just moved here, I mean."

"Ah, okay, well, in that case, I believe the coffee street down a block and half is hiring," she says as she pushes the record book toward me to sign my name and fill in my information. I sign on the line and pull out my wallet to pay for the first month of rent. I hand her a couple hundreds that I took out of my savings account before I flew in from Florida. She nods, offering me a key with the number 19 on it. "Thanks for choosing this place to stay, I appreciate it."

I nod and tell her thank you as I head up to my new apartment. I open the door, being greeted with a quiet, empty apartment. It looked a little shabby, but other than needing a bit of life put into it, it didn't seem too bad.

"Well," I murmured to myself as I put my bag down and parked my suitcase. "I guess this is where my new life begins."