"We need your help, Mom. Please help us. We’re not okay." A letter from Gerard and Mikey telling their mother that they're not okay...
I don't know where the inspiration for this fic came from, but it's basically a letter from Gerard and Mikey telling their mother that they're not okay. Please enjoy, and maybe definately R&R? THANKING YOU VERY MUCHINGS! :D
Don’t worry, this isn’t a suicide note or anything, and we’re not running away from home to join the circus or move in with our gloriously amazing girlfriends – hey, can you remember the last time either of us even had a girlfriend? Cos I can’t, and neither can Mikey.
We just- erm.. We wanted to tell you, but quite frankly, we just couldn’t. You of all people should know that we are not the most confident of kids, even now at the ages we are, and we couldn’t think of the way to tell you. We had been hoping you’d notice; we thought the bruises and the black eyes, the scars and the fact that Mikey’s had seven new pairs of glasses in the past two years because he’s come home with the lenses smashed or the frame bent would be enough for you to know or at least suspect that something was going on at school.
Because it has. Bad things. You knew already that we were unpopular; I remember you telling me when I was a freshman to ‘stop whining about being unpopular – you have lots of friends and you’ll make more!’ But I am unpopular. I don’t have many friends; how many people do you know who’s fifteen year old brother is their best friend? Frank, Ray and Bob are our ONLY friends, and believe me, they get the same crap that we get, which brings me to the bullying.
Mikey and I didn’t think we would have to tell you that we were being bullied, because we thought that you, like most mothers, would notice the blood stained shirts and the bruises on your children, and the strange behaviour patterns – we don’t just hate school because we don’t like biology, Mom, and Mikey didn’t break down crying last week because he can’t cope with all the homework he’s getting. Not to be disrespectful, Mom, because we do love you, but it seems you can’t see past the end of your nose by yourself, so we’ll give it to you straight.
We are being bullied. Badly.
From my first day of freshman, I’ve been bullied and picked on. I’m ‘the emo fag’ for all the jocks to beat up if they’ve been put in detention – which they always have – and I’m the ‘weird, antisocial goth kid’ that all my teachers hate. Even my art teacher thinks I’m a creep. I’ve been strangled with my own school tie so many times that my neck is constantly sore and my tie has started to fray.
All those times I came home with the knees ripped out my trousers or my blazer torn wasn’t because I tripped on the way to the bus stop, it’s because I didn’t get to the bus fast enough and I was shoved down a hill.
All those times I can home with a bloody nose and a burst lip, it wasn’t because I tripped in the corridor, it’s because I didn’t get to class early enough and I was grabbed at the lockers by the basketball team.
That time we came home late and soaking wet wasn’t because we were held up in the rain, it was because the swim team shoved me in the pool and Mikey had to jump in and help me out before I drowned.
I know he doesn’t want me to mention this, but the reason Mikey hasn’t had a girlfriend since seventh grade isn’t because he hasn’t found the right girl. He found her last year in freshman, and he was totally in love, but she was... like them. Caked in make-up, a cheerleader. Sure she was good-looking, but she wasn’t right for him and I knew it. I told him that he was gonna get hurt, and I think he knew it too, but he still went ahead and told her. In front of the football team and the rest of the cheerleaders. Needless to say she shot him down in flames and the rest of them shattered his self esteem and confidence.
That’s why Mikey is a quiet kid.
Now I’m gonna shut up about this part, because I’m sure Mikey’s gonna read this before you do.
We’re not gay, Mom. You can see that Mikey’s clearly not from up there and I’m not either, despite the eyeliner. Well... Everyone else at school thinks I’m gay because I wear eyeliner and I know that you’ve been wondering about my sexuality – I heard you talking to Frank’s mom on the phone, and I just wanted to say that I honestly don’t know. I thought that I was straight, but now that the kids at school have called me gay so much and you’ve started to wonder, I’ve begun to doubt myself and I’m just not sure anymore.
Do you think we’re emos? Do you, Mom? I’d say we’re not – well it depends on your interpretation of the word ‘emo’, but either way, we kind of are. To me, emo’s always meant emotional and yeah, Mikey and I are full of emotion – emotion that you’ve been blind to for the past five years – but cutting ourselves too.
I wasn’t intending on telling you this, but ever since freshman, when it all started, I’ve been self-harming, and it’s all because of them. I’ve never attempted suicide – although I came close once, but you were away on business and Mikey didn’t think you’d appreciate being interrupted during your important meeting by your terrified youngest son phoning to tell you that his big brother was crying behind the locked bathroom door clutching a razor – but hurting myself, the razor was always there.
There’s a reason I’ve worn gloves or wristbands since I was fourteen; it’s to hide the scars. That’s the same reason that Mikey wants wristbands for his birthday. Subtle hint for you, Mom. I first found him cutting three months ago. We’ve tried to stop, I promise, but the pain of the cuts takes our minds off the pain we’re gonna face the next day at school, because it’s always gonna hurt the next day at school.
Those nights that you’ve come in late and Mikey’s asleep in my bed and I’m on the floor, it’s not because we’ve been fighting and he’s chucked me out – he’s not that much of a brat – it’s because he’s been so upset that he can’t keep it bottled up anymore and he’s broken down. It’s because he’s come into my room and I’ve had to comfort him while he's cried himself to sleep.
We've realised that if we want you to know the extent of what’s happening to us, we have to tell you, since you clearly haven’t noticed the terrible state your two sons are coming home in every night. We would tell you in person, but we don’t have the best relationship, you and us. So we decided it best to tell you in this letter that I hope you will read and not just toss away. This is us trying to say that... hell.
We need your help, Mom. Please help us.
We’re not okay.
Love, Gerard and Michael.
I hope you enjoyed that. LatherTheBlood you can stop facebook-whining now because I've posted it now... -.- Anyhoo, anyone who rates and reviews shall receive every ounce of my non-creepy love well into the afterlife, and I shall throw in a few cyber cookies if you're nice. Thanking you guys! :D