... it's day 3.
Did I do it right
Did I remember to sleep in
Take lots of pills
Commit irreversible sins"
("I'm Dying Tomorrow" - Alkaline Trio)
A/N: In case you haven't guessed so far, I'm not going to pull any punches with this story. I'm talking about everything – all the sweat and the puke and the blood and the shit and the piss and the fucked up emotions ... it's all going into this. That part of it, for me, is not fictional at all. And I know it wasn't fictional for Gerard. There's locations (and of course the MCR bits) and shit like that in this story that makes this fiction ... so that's the way it's being presented, as such – fiction. Take that with a grain of salt though, eh? I hope if nothing else, this story, more than any of the others I've written, really makes you think because it's not just a story about someone getting clean.
DAY 3: AROUND 2AM
"S-s-stop it ... fu-fuck. Ju-just ch-chill. Yeah. Ahhh!"
Fuck. I'm going fuckin' crazy. Look at the clock. That's fucking angry L.E.D. right there ... it's burning those numbers into my mind. Like, I'll never forget this shit ... the night in the hotel in Japan where I was just losing my shit for the whole night. If I could just like ... disappear right now. Fuck. Don't say that kinda shit.
"G-get it to-together fu-fucker!"
I don't need anyone sitting here telling me what to do. I'm fucking losing it. I'm talking to myself. I need one of those fucking Xanax. Can't remember the last one I took. Before the concert? That shit was a blur. I could've taken fuckin' anything. I don't remember. I went to the fucking hospital. The hospital. I hate hospitals. I don't wanna die in a fucking hospital. What if I can't get through this? I don't wanna die right now. Fuck. What if this were my last night on earth? My heart feels like it's gonna explode. What's my pulse rate? Keep ... still .. fingers ...
"Y-you are n-not gonna die tonight!"
134? That's too fast ... that shit is too fast. Oh god. If feels like ... like my heart just flip-flopped in my chest. What the fuck? What if I need to go to the hospital again? I'm not sick ... I'm fucking dying. Where the fuck did I put that Xanax? Don't pass out. Oh god. Just go in the bathroom. Wait. Water bottle. I need that shit. Wait. Xanax? Fuckin' suitcase ... why didn't I bring my favorite pj's? Oh fuck. I didn't think I would come back. I was almost my own self-fulfilling prophecy. I thought I would die here. What if I fuckin' do? There's that bottle. Fuck there's only 4 left. How many of these have a fuckin' taken? This shit ain't gonna do shit, I know it. What if it makes it worse?
"S-stop fucking shaking!"
I'll take half. I'm not stupid. Fuck. I am fucking stupid. I feel this way right now because of nobody but myself. I'm too much of a pussy to deal with the real world ... too fucking dramatic ... oh poor fucking me. Somebody for god's fucking sake feel sorry for me. I hate myself. There's that 5th of vodka. I'm downing the rest of that shit right now. Stop shaking ... get the fucking cap off. Why does it feel like someone is tapping a hammer on my forehead? There goes that feeling in my chest again. Shit. Just admit it. I am fucking scared. I'm fucking crazy too ... Sweet burn ... down to my stomach you go. It's gone now. There wasn't that much ... quarter of a bottle? Couple shots? Is it enough? Everyone else is asleep. No one can see me. Oh god ... I feel fucking weird. I don't feel good at all. My stomach still hurts. Fuck. What if there's something wrong with my stomach? Maybe I need to puke? This shirt has to go. I'm overheating. Maybe if I just try to curl into a ball ... make myself smaller ... I can hold on that way, right? Where's that water bottle. I need something to hold on to ... maybe my hands will stop shaking ... maybe if I can get my hands to stop shaking the rest of me will. How long can a human body hold out like this? I need to smoke ... like right now ... where's my jacket? And the lighter? Just one smoke ... c'mon light you fucker ... suck it in ... that's it. Get all that black fucking dirty smoke into my lungs. 'Cause I need another way to damage myself right about now. Shit. I don't think I'm supposed to smoke in this room. I'll put it out in the sink in the bathroom.
Oh fuck. That is the face of the lowest of the low right there. Ha! No make up needed to look like a zombie today ... done a pretty good job of that yourself. I don't wanna hate myself. This was the big pay off though. Paid. In. Full. All those years of drinking. I fucking did cocaine. Co-fucking-cain. I really did think I was gonna die that one night. I didn’t want to die od'ing on drugs and alcohol in a puddle of my own puke and piss. What if I've really screwed myself up ... like internally? I'm only 27 for god's sake. I don't want to go to that fucking doctor's appointment Brian set up. Shit, that fucking Xanax isn't doing anything. Fuck that shit. I swear if some other fuck doctor wants to put me on some shit I'll shove that prescription pad up his ass. I feel nauseous again. Just keep down stomach. I shouldn't have eaten all that shit at dinner. What the hell was I thinking? I hate feeling dizzy ... when I'm not wasted. That's unnatural. What the fuck is making me feel dizzy? My heart beating too fast? Fuck. I didn't even think about my blood pressure. Don't think about it ... don't think about it, just ride this out. God I'm cold now. I'll get in the shower. Just take off these pants and get in the fucking shower.
If I squeeze my eyes closed tight enough, I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Where would I rather be right now? Where's that water bottle? Fuck, it's on the bathroom floor. I need to get it. That's my one constant. I need to hold on to that. Ah, the water's nice and hot. My whole body seems to ache.
Shit ... who is that?
"You okay, dude?"
Frank. He's checking on me. His room's right next door. He must have heard the water turn on.
"Um, I just came over to wake you up. Our flight leaves in about 3 hours, but we have to get to the airport within the hour."
The airport. Fuck. How the fuck can I do this shirt right now? I can't even hold the soap in my hand. This is bad. I need to get out of here. I don't have any clean clothes. These fucking reek. I'll be covered in sweat again anyway.
"Okay. Just ... come back for me in like half an hour."
"Okay, well I'll leave the door in between the rooms kinda open in case you need anything."
Planes. I fucking hate planes. I hate airports. I hate everything to do with air travel. I'll just put my dirty clothes back on and sit here with this water bottle. God, I smell like shit. I look like shit. I feel like shit. Yeah, I'm pretty much shit.
DAY 3: AT 6:18AM
I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate ... like I can't breath. Walking all this way to this terminal didn't help I'm sure. Just ... don't ... lose it. I need to get back on that plane. What am I going back to though? Things are pretty shitty right now. I think we're kicking Matt out of the band. The fucking guy I started this shit with and we're gonna tell him to fuck off. He's changed though. He thinks everyone makes special accommodations for me. I don't try to act like an asshole. Am I an asshole? I'm fucking pathetic right now. I still live in my parents fucking basement. Going back to Jersey right now is like going back to a funeral. I can't look at shit like that though. If I'm going to get through this, I have to change the way I look at a lot of things. God, we're boarding now. I'm gonna be stuck on this fucker for the next 14 hours. I can't panic now.
DAY 3: AT 9:33AM
Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why did they stick me next to the window? I'm just gonna ask Mikey to trade with me. I have to be on the aisle. If I'm not on the aisle I'm gonna fucking die. I wonder how many people have died on long airplane flights? That's gotta be a shit way to go.
"Mikey! Switch seats with me ... please?"
"Uh, yeah, sure."
Mikey's too good. He's not like his older brother the fuck up. These seats are fucking uncomfortable. We're only 3 hours into this shit. Don't panic. Don't fucking panic. I wonder if anyone has some valium? Shit. How long is it going to take before I realize I can't have that shit ... I can't have any of that shit and get better.
DAY 3: AT 11:55AM
Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I'm having a fucking breakdown. A thirty thousand foot breakdown. I'm so tired. I've been puking and shitting my brains out for two days. I'm like fucking empty inside, but my mind is on overdrive. It feels like there are vice grips on my shoulders. I can't relax. Every muscle in my body has been twitching. This fucking airplane toilet is like the size of a coffin. What if I dropped dead? What if I've totally fucked up my heart with all the alcohol ... the pills ... the fucking coke? What if this is the last piss I'll ever take? I thought I wanted to die ... that it would make everything so easy ... just the pull of a trigger, or the slit of a wrist ... maybe I'd jump off a skyscraper ... but then, something made me want to change that. It was that puke encrusted trash can. That's what my life had become ... puke in a trashcan. I need to drink more water. I feel dehydrated. I'll splash more water on my face.
Day 3: AT 2:14PM
Fuck. I'm dying. My body feels like it's giving out. I can't stop shaking. I'm covered in sweat. My mouth is dry. My whole body aches. What do I have to live for? Think fucker. My family. My friends. The band. My art. My girlfriend. The comic I wanna make. Split pea soup. Girl Scout cookies. Fucking. Writing. Science Fiction. Horror movies. Video games. Fuck ... I'm just gonna ... pass out now ...
DAY 3: AT 4:47PM
"Take this bottle."
"I-I don’t want that bottle."
"You have to take the bottle. That's part of this. You see where you are?"
"I'm in a wasteland."
"You're inside yourself."
"What the fuck?"
"The fuck indeed. You've fucked yourself right up. Here, eat something."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Ha! Who do you think I am?"
"I don't fucking know! I've been walking for like, forever and then in the middle of this ... whatever ... wasteland ... I run into a guy who's set up a fucking picnic?"
"Oh a picnic! How quaint. Don't kid yourself, Gerard."
"How the fuck do you know who I am?"
"You puked me into existence. I'm everything you hate about yourself. Now sit the fuck down I told you to eat."
"What is this shit?"
"Liver ... go on, it's good for you. Well, usually. This one's pretty bad actually. Seems the poor thing has been damaged slightly."
"Fuck! I don't eat liver."
"Kidney's? How about a nice heart ... it's a little black though ... over cooked I think. I prefer raw myself ..."
"Get away from me."
"Oh you can run, Gerard, but you can't hide from yourself!"
"Dude ... language? There's like two little kids over there ..."
Can't ... breath ... fuck ... dream ... no ... nightmare ... gotta ... get to ... the toilet ...
DAY 3: AT 6:31PM
The fucking flight attendants think I've escaped from a funny farm. They totally do. I see the way they've looked at me this whole flight. They try to smile, but it's one of those pitty smiles. They think I'm a fucking addict. I'm not a junkie! I swear ... I swear ... At least no one can see me in the fucking toilet. I need to get a grip. At least I've got a water bottle now. Just take sips every now and then. You can't sweat to death if you keep drinking water. God it feels like poison is oozing out of every pore in my body. Thank you for the venom. Not. This is like the worst day of my fucking life. I've lost it. That grip thing? Yeah, that's down the fucking toilet now. My stomach muscles spasm ... my heart is galloping ... feel like I can't take full breaths ... and now the tears. The fucking sobs. God I hope no one hears me. How long have I been in here? I just want off this fucking plane. Right now I wouldn't even care if this fucker went down in flames ... it's like Chinese water torture ... that whirring noise of recirculated air. This toilet fucking smells. I fucking smell. I wish I could just close my eyes and wake up in 2 weeks. Would that be enough time? Two weeks? Is that piss on the floor?
"Gerard? You okay in there, dude?"
Oh fuck. I've been found out! They know I've just been hiding in here. I wonder if they know I've been crying ... crying like a little fucking kid for his momma. Just go sit back down, Ray.
"I'm not okay ... but I will be."
"Is your friend okay?"
Who's that? Who the fuck is he talking to?
"He's had a couple rough days. Been sick and stuff. I'm sure he'll be better once he's back home."
"Well, if you guys need anything, just let any of us know. These long flights are ... well, they're even hard on us, and this is our job!"
"Haha, yeah I can imagine. We'll definitely let you know though."
Long flights. I don't even know what fucking day it is ... or what time. I don't know when the last time it was that I had real sleep. The past two days it's just been one nightmare after another ... waking up covered in sweat ... wrapped up in the sheets ... gasping for breath like a fish outta water. Fuck. Now I need to blow my nose. Oh god. Look at my fucking eyes. Totally red. I wonder if anyone has any Visine? I don't want everyone to know I've been in here ballin' my eyes out. That's just fucking ... wrong.
A/N Part II: I was just thinking of a lot of dark shit all day. It was like I was mentally preparing to go back to "Day 3" here. I didn't have to spend my actual day 3 on a 14 hour flight (that's even hard for ME to imagine ... much like Gerard, I DO NOT like flying ... but feeling that fucked up while doing it? I'm sure that would have made me just insane).
You know what I like though? Old school Star Trek. I'd recommend you watch some of that. You may think that's some seriously geeky shit, but that show was way ahead of it's time. They dealt with some issues. And the sets were all just made of awesome. I've got the box sets ... so I can just bust that out whenever I want. I think I'm gonna go watch some of that. Then maybe kill some zombies. Yeah ... that's a nice way to round out the night.