Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Try to build a fence around the visions
5 reviewsWas the damge you inflicted. I've just spruced it up a 'lil. TRIGGER WARNING.
1Moving
Gerard stared in anguish at the photos he clutched tightly in his hands. Anger seemed to surge through all his veins, making all his muscles strain, his heart stop and his mind push away any thought that prevented him trying to comprehend what lay before his eyes. His original presumption was that what was inside the envelope he had received that morning was a reply from his lab partner and crush Cassie Wright.
He had only a few days ago asked her out and from the expression on her face she seemed quite pleased and flattered.
He had recognised the neat and perfectly formed handwriting on the back of the envelope to be hers. But in fact, it was not a written reply at all and definitely not the one that he had hoped for.
In the pictures was his gorgeous Cassie; being pleasured by what must have been her boyfriend. What made it still more hurtful was that she had made it explicitly obvious from the camera’s angle that she was enjoying it.
Tears started to fall down his cheeks onto the old oak table. He tried in vain to choke them back but he failed miserably. His chest felt heavy and tight and his neck ached from the effort of resistance against the stream of water that was now pouring uncontrollably down his face from his dewy, hazel eyes.
Rage eventually started to surface making him clench his fists. He grasped the photos more rigidly between his fingers and rapidly tore them to pieces. The tears ceased after that. He got up and feeling drained he lay down on his bed. His movement seemed to make his emotions spill out again and as before bitter, silent tears trickled off his slight, pale nose onto the duvet.
For what seemed like hours he lay there, but still he felt utterly crushed and heartbroken. A thought crept into his mind. A method in which, he could punish himself from being so idiotic and over- hopeful. He wanted to stop feeling the pain in his chest that wouldn’t seem to shift. He wanted to be able to breathe again. He wanted to hurt himself so he could just focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional. ‘It’s easier that way’ he thought. He considered it for a moment, letting the idea grow and then he stood up and began his self discipline.
Tactically and cautiously he climbed the stairs leading up to the kitchen. His parents and younger brother were out: ‘perfect’ he thought. He walked towards the knife draw and opened it. His fingers shook slightly and his palm was moist from an anxiety driven cold sweat. He opened the draw. His eyes widened as he saw all the sharp, mirror- like chefs knives arranged in order. He picked up the smallest knife. He knew from a previous accidental mishap in the kitchen it was razor sharp. Holding it up, he examined its metallic shine and its strong yet thin blade. He closed the draw and took the knife down to his bedroom.
Sitting at his desk, still with the fragments of photographs still strewn across it he rested his left arm on the cold, hard wood. He placed the chopping knife next to it and inspected his skin. It was pallid, so much so the indigo veins showed through slightly like they were strings from a hitch knot that were encircling his bone.
‘I have to do this. Just have to.’ He whispered to himself. His eyes watering slightly ready to let more tears overflow, yet he blinked them away. He picked up the knife again in his right hand and drew a deep breath. He placed it carefully on his opposite forearm, where his hand joined onto his arm. Then he pushed the tip of the blade into his skin. He dragged it back, his teeth gripping on to his bottom lip. It didn’t sting. It ached like he was ripping away at his tendons and carving into his bone. He took away the blade’s pressure. He had slit a line all the way up to the crook of his arm. A shot of adrenaline passed through his entire body and his muscles loosened up allowing a feeling of relief fill him up. A smile crept across his pink lips as blood began to emerge out of the laceration. He was pleased with what he had done. He felt less stupid, less lonely and most of all he began to despise Cassie. Everything he thought was beautiful about her warped into something repulsive and grotesque. In his head he wanted to march into school the next day and pull up his sleeve and scream ‘LOOK WHAT YOU DID’ at her. But he knew that would just make things worse, not to mention the freakish looks people would give him; undoubtedly more than they already did.
.
Swept with a comfortable listlessness Gerard sat watching his liquidised crimson agony drip onto the desk. A half hour sped by and he began to clean himself and the desk up. He swept away the remains of the photographs and put on his pyjamas. His jeans had drips of dark, cold blood on them and so did his hoodie. Nothing went through his head. He felt dreamy. In a way, sort of dead but he loved it; the lack of thought, feeling as if nothing mattered. Everything, just, slowed down.
That night Gerard lay wrapped up in his duvet in bed with his left sleeve up, he traced the cut with his fingers. He adored the contrast between the chalkiness of his skin and the bright scarlet of the wound. He never knew hurting himself could release him from such emotional hurt. Already he couldn’t wait to do it again, to feel the rush and the comfort. A twinge in his chest though made him worry slightly on how he could keep his new found coping mechanism; as that’s what it was, a secret from those he loved. And how could he explain it if they questioned him. ‘Does this make me crazy?’ he murmured to himself. He shook that thought away though ‘No, lots of people do it. It’s just I, like other people who cut themselves deal with shit. From now on I’ll cry blood not tears.’
A/N: To anybody who self harms, I will never condone self injury. Like Gerard way says 'Nothing is worth hurting yourself over’ and it is so true. You are special, unique and beautiful, it sounds cliché but you are. You are one of this world and to me 1 is a BIG number. You are never, ever alone. If you think no-one cares you are mistakeN, I care even though you do not know me. I have experienced self harm myself and think nothing less than sympathy, warmth, friendly patience and understanding should be given to someone who feels the need to hurt themselves. Feelings and situations change, you won’t feel the way you do forever. I know that is extremely easy for me to write yet I accept it’s very hard for anybody who is dealing with such painful emotions to believe.
Lot’s of love and support, Leah
He had only a few days ago asked her out and from the expression on her face she seemed quite pleased and flattered.
He had recognised the neat and perfectly formed handwriting on the back of the envelope to be hers. But in fact, it was not a written reply at all and definitely not the one that he had hoped for.
In the pictures was his gorgeous Cassie; being pleasured by what must have been her boyfriend. What made it still more hurtful was that she had made it explicitly obvious from the camera’s angle that she was enjoying it.
Tears started to fall down his cheeks onto the old oak table. He tried in vain to choke them back but he failed miserably. His chest felt heavy and tight and his neck ached from the effort of resistance against the stream of water that was now pouring uncontrollably down his face from his dewy, hazel eyes.
Rage eventually started to surface making him clench his fists. He grasped the photos more rigidly between his fingers and rapidly tore them to pieces. The tears ceased after that. He got up and feeling drained he lay down on his bed. His movement seemed to make his emotions spill out again and as before bitter, silent tears trickled off his slight, pale nose onto the duvet.
For what seemed like hours he lay there, but still he felt utterly crushed and heartbroken. A thought crept into his mind. A method in which, he could punish himself from being so idiotic and over- hopeful. He wanted to stop feeling the pain in his chest that wouldn’t seem to shift. He wanted to be able to breathe again. He wanted to hurt himself so he could just focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional. ‘It’s easier that way’ he thought. He considered it for a moment, letting the idea grow and then he stood up and began his self discipline.
Tactically and cautiously he climbed the stairs leading up to the kitchen. His parents and younger brother were out: ‘perfect’ he thought. He walked towards the knife draw and opened it. His fingers shook slightly and his palm was moist from an anxiety driven cold sweat. He opened the draw. His eyes widened as he saw all the sharp, mirror- like chefs knives arranged in order. He picked up the smallest knife. He knew from a previous accidental mishap in the kitchen it was razor sharp. Holding it up, he examined its metallic shine and its strong yet thin blade. He closed the draw and took the knife down to his bedroom.
Sitting at his desk, still with the fragments of photographs still strewn across it he rested his left arm on the cold, hard wood. He placed the chopping knife next to it and inspected his skin. It was pallid, so much so the indigo veins showed through slightly like they were strings from a hitch knot that were encircling his bone.
‘I have to do this. Just have to.’ He whispered to himself. His eyes watering slightly ready to let more tears overflow, yet he blinked them away. He picked up the knife again in his right hand and drew a deep breath. He placed it carefully on his opposite forearm, where his hand joined onto his arm. Then he pushed the tip of the blade into his skin. He dragged it back, his teeth gripping on to his bottom lip. It didn’t sting. It ached like he was ripping away at his tendons and carving into his bone. He took away the blade’s pressure. He had slit a line all the way up to the crook of his arm. A shot of adrenaline passed through his entire body and his muscles loosened up allowing a feeling of relief fill him up. A smile crept across his pink lips as blood began to emerge out of the laceration. He was pleased with what he had done. He felt less stupid, less lonely and most of all he began to despise Cassie. Everything he thought was beautiful about her warped into something repulsive and grotesque. In his head he wanted to march into school the next day and pull up his sleeve and scream ‘LOOK WHAT YOU DID’ at her. But he knew that would just make things worse, not to mention the freakish looks people would give him; undoubtedly more than they already did.
.
Swept with a comfortable listlessness Gerard sat watching his liquidised crimson agony drip onto the desk. A half hour sped by and he began to clean himself and the desk up. He swept away the remains of the photographs and put on his pyjamas. His jeans had drips of dark, cold blood on them and so did his hoodie. Nothing went through his head. He felt dreamy. In a way, sort of dead but he loved it; the lack of thought, feeling as if nothing mattered. Everything, just, slowed down.
That night Gerard lay wrapped up in his duvet in bed with his left sleeve up, he traced the cut with his fingers. He adored the contrast between the chalkiness of his skin and the bright scarlet of the wound. He never knew hurting himself could release him from such emotional hurt. Already he couldn’t wait to do it again, to feel the rush and the comfort. A twinge in his chest though made him worry slightly on how he could keep his new found coping mechanism; as that’s what it was, a secret from those he loved. And how could he explain it if they questioned him. ‘Does this make me crazy?’ he murmured to himself. He shook that thought away though ‘No, lots of people do it. It’s just I, like other people who cut themselves deal with shit. From now on I’ll cry blood not tears.’
A/N: To anybody who self harms, I will never condone self injury. Like Gerard way says 'Nothing is worth hurting yourself over’ and it is so true. You are special, unique and beautiful, it sounds cliché but you are. You are one of this world and to me 1 is a BIG number. You are never, ever alone. If you think no-one cares you are mistakeN, I care even though you do not know me. I have experienced self harm myself and think nothing less than sympathy, warmth, friendly patience and understanding should be given to someone who feels the need to hurt themselves. Feelings and situations change, you won’t feel the way you do forever. I know that is extremely easy for me to write yet I accept it’s very hard for anybody who is dealing with such painful emotions to believe.
Lot’s of love and support, Leah
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