Frank Iero hasn't been okay in a long time, will Gerard be able to change that?
Tasteless, bitter air, the kind that when it touches your skin, you feel like someone is stabbing you repeatedly with tiny little needles. It’s uncomfortable and unbearable but it reminds you of why you’re here. I didn’t come here seeking peace. Hell, it’s probably the opposite. As I take a deep breath, I watch a grey cloud form from where I had exhaled.
It’s freezing, so much that I feel like my whole body has become totally numb. Like it’s not mine at all. I take out a cigarette, lighting it and exhale. That cancer stick, even if people tell me it will kill me, I won’t stop. It’s a way to shake loose all those troubles and just forget everything.
It’s pleasurable, for me at least. I used to drink a long time ago. But I began to spiral down to a bitter end. I was drinking so much, getting drunk so much, getting absolutely wasted. I didn’t listen to friends, they warned me, of course they did. But there were things I just couldn’t deal with and I wanted to forget them all.
If I hadn’t nearly died I’d probably be drinking still. I always had a few dangerous scrapes. Like nearly walking into cars, or riling up people with my idiotic giggling. But this was worse. I was dying, slowly departing.
I don’t understand why I’m still here. I drank so much because of depression. I had lost someone I loved, they broke my heart. I couldn’t face it, I didn’t want to think that the next day I wake up they wouldn’t be smiling at me. They had left me. I ended up sitting on the floor, puking so much that I choked on it. If someone’s not there to help you most of the time in this situation you would be dead.
I knew that I died, for a split second. I could feel it, my soul being ripped apart from my body. But then I woke up, lying in a hospital bed. The doctors told me it was a miracle I woke up. I was dead for half an hour; they had already pronounced me dead. They had come back seeing that I actually did have some vital signs.
I was breathing.
My brother came in, crying, hitting me. He told me hated me, he told me that if I ever scared him likes this again; he’d follow me down to hell. I knew he wasn’t lying. I was the only person he had that would be there for him. At that point, I knew I had had enough. I stopped drinking alcohol and instead I drank coffee, quite a lot to be honest.
Now why am I smoking? After such a life-threatening experience, I am now throwing away my life once again. Things happened. I couldn’t deal with everything. I couldn’t go back to drinking, that would betray my brother. So when a friend of mine offered a cigarette, I took it. Of course, I was hesitant at first; I knew my brother would not be happy. But I took it; I tried to forget about my brother’s tears that day.
I just never want to see him cry for me.
That’s why I moved away, I told my brother it was to find something new. To start my life again. I was broke, I needed a job. When I was offered one I just couldn’t say no. So I took it, without a second thought. My job was simple; I was a psychiatrist and psychologist, someone who sorted out other peoples’ problems. It was ironic how I got this job when I had so many problems of my own.
Never had Frank felt more helpless in all his seventeen years. There had been many times when he had felt that way but they were nothing compared to this. His life up until that point had been semi-normal, just bareable and enough for him to stay sane. Then everything began to fall apart.
Maybe it was the premonition he'd been having, that horrible feeling that something was going to go wrong. And of course, he was right. His hands were limp by his sides, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and disbelief. He felt a lump form in his throat, the kind that made him feel that he was choking.
He really couldn't do anything to help. He watched his father loom over his mother's frail and unconscious body. He had knocked her out after she began to argue with him. As he recognized Frank's presence, Frank could smell the reek of alcohol clinging to him.
Of course, he was drunk. His father was always drunk these days. His father stared at him, like he was trying to get a grasp over the fact that his son was actually standing there in the room. He scowled at him, a scowl that showed pure hatred.
"Ah, faggot. You come 'ere to get beaten like your mum?" his father sneered at him, his voice slurring.
If this was a normal situation, Frank would have yelled profanities at him. But it wasn't. His father meant every word he said. From the faggot to threatening to beat him up. Frank wasn't one to be afraid. But now he was absolutely terrified. His whole body was shaking from the fear. His father noticed it too.
"You're a disgrace, acting like such a girl when you're supposed to be a man. I'm not surprised at how they treat you at school. They have every right to beat the fuck out of you! Actually, I encourage it," he held up a fist as Frank screwed his eyes shut knowing what was about to happen.
The first hit felt the worse. But as his father hit him more, he became numb to the pain. At that point, he wanted nothing more than to die. He felt so low, like the dirt on his father's shoe.
As every kick and punch fell he began to realize just how little his existence meant to the world. He wasn't even worth saving. Usually, his father would have stopped. But he didn't, he became angrier as each blow hit and harsher.
Frank felt himself slip away, he had no energy, no will to fight back. He wanted to be beaten so badly he wouldn't see the light of day again. So he let the darkness grab him. He didn't shy away from it, he greeted it with open arms. Anything was fine, if he could just end it, end it all.
He could hear the sounds of sirens, their screeching deafening to his ears. He had no idea where he was, no recollection of how he got there. But he knew about the excruciating pain and the blood trickling down his cheek.
It was like he wasn't the one who was beaten. It was like he was above all the chaos, just watching it unfold. He couldn't feel any life in his body, he couldn't control his own limbs. He tried to clench his fists, but his fingers just twitched.
His breathing was heavy and hoarse, he tried to speak to ask what had happened to him. He opened his eyes, slowly taking in the situation around him. His vision became clearer. Now he could see two people wheeling him in on some contraption into a large building. As he passed a sign he realized where he was being taken too. A hospital.
The memories of how he ended up in such a place flooded back into his mind. His father, his mother, the cruel words, the horrible pain that his father inflicted. He didn't want to think about it and he wished he stayed unconscious for a little longer.
"We're losing him!" someone shouted, their voice sounded so tiny and far away.
They were right, he was leaving. He had wished for the darkness and it was coming for him. His breathing became worse, his heart slowing down. Beep...beep...beep.
Frank was sure that he was going to die. He'd imagine he'd be in the tabloids the next day, a question still needing to be answered: Who had nearly killed him? No one would know, they would never suspect that it was his father. Not that anyone would care about him. He'd become yesterday's news quickly. Most of all, he knew his father would never even think to atone for what he had done.
"Come on, come on, don't you want to live? Don't die...like this!" he recognized this voice now to be his mother's.
She did care but she was too frightened to protect him. Besides, she still believed his father loved her. She was crazy, completely and utterly delusional. She just didn't understand. It was better for him to leave this world, it was for the good of everyone.
He could see it again, that darkness, beckoning him. He wanted so much to go towards it, but something was holding him back. He saw a figure in the distance, just an outline of a person. But they were smiling, somehow he could tell. They wanted him to carry on, to live his life. He was going mad, of course he was. But he decided to follow the figure into the light.
There was no other thought in his head than, 'It will be okay.' But he had little confidence in his own words.