FicWad

A/N: I wrote this a while ago, and just realized I never put it up, so here it is. Enjoy.

How do I start? Where do I start? The beginning and work forward? Or the end and
work back? How do I know when the end is? Will it be as soon as I set my pen down, and swallow the
pills? Or will I chicken out and call 911?

My life sucks. It always has. My younger brother, Mikey, is pretty much the only reason I've held
out this long. He's three years younger than me. The suckishness of my life intensified when my
grandma, Helena, died. She was the only person I ever felt comfortable confiding in. And then she
died, and I felt empty, like it made me feel better to have someone on the planet know all my
secrets. I should rephrase. Most of my secrets. She promised she'd never judge me, but I felt that
she wouldn't just stand by if I told her about the alcohol, or the cocaine, and I'd rather keep that
from her, then have her be disappointed in me.

I don't know when I actually made the decision to kill myself. It was a long time ago, I'm just now
doing it. I set the pills out on the table in front of me. If any of my bandmates wake up, I'm
screwed. If they see me sitting at the kitchen table writing about my own demise, and see the pills,
and the bottle of tequila I decided to swallow the 69 pills with, they'd yell for everyone else to
wake up, and then there's no way I could do it. The pills are aspirin, by the way. I'm going to take
all of them that were in the bottle. Who cares if someone has a headache tomorrow morning. Just
drink some fucking coffee and get over it.

Mikey will be disappointed in me. That I know. But what can he do? Kill me for revenge? I'll already
be dead, so there goes that option.

Why am I even writing this to begin with? I know I don't want anyone to read it, so what am I going
to do? Burn it? Seems like a waste of ink. Ray would probably bitch slap me if he ever knew,
especially since I'm using his pen.
Here I am, wasting time thinking about what they would do to me for these mundane things, when I
won't be alive tomorrow, therefore the point is moot. Ray wouldn't bitch-slap a dead body for
stealing one of his pens. I wonder what will happen to the band now? Will they split up, or find a
new singer? Frank should sing, if they decide to stay together. He wouldn't, cause then he couldn't
roll around on the stage like he does. I want them to stay together, and keep playing. I guess I
wouldn't be alive have tolivewith myself for making them split up, per se, but still. The
music helped me, maybe it'll help them.


I just finished swallowing the pills, and now I'm starting the have second thoughts. Good job, me,
waiting to have second thoughts until there's nothing I could do. It's so much easier to decide that
you want to be dead when it's not going to happen in minutes, with nothing you can do to change it.
That's a lie, though. I could shove my fingers down my throat and puke it all up, or wake up one of
my bandmates, or call 911. I won't call 911 or wake anyone up, though. Too humiliating to have
people know what I did until after it's done. There's still the puking option, though. Which would
be worse, dying, or having to clean up puke? I hate cleaning up puke, and what if I died anyway? If
I puked, cleaned it up, went back to bed, but my body had already absorbed enough that I died? That
would be insult to injury, having the last thing I did be cleaning up my aspirin-puke.

I can't decide, but if I want to live, I need to decide soon. I could throw up in the toilet, and
just flush it away, and hope that I live. Here I was, thinking that to throw up, I'd have to just
barf all over the floor. Ew. Why the fuck am I so stupid? I don't want to die. Life was getting
better, even if it was because of the drugs and alcohol. How could I do that to the band, offing
myself in the middle of a tour? And the fans, who are following our example? I can't. I just can't.
I never thought I'd shove my fingers down my throat and force myself to throw up, but I also never
thought I'd decide I didn't want to die after all.


I made it through the night after puking it all up. I wasn't sure how long it took before there was
no hope, so I had my doubts. I woke this morning with a sore throat from all the undissolved pills I
had thrown up, but in a good mood. The first thing I did when I woke up was grab Mikey, and hug him.
I hadn't just hugged anyone in a long time. The closest thing to a hug I'd given in the last three
years, was stumbling into someone when I was drunk, and them catching me right when I was about to
fall over.
My bandmates were all wondering how I was in a good mood when I hadn't had my spiked coffee yet, and
for the first time in years, I didn't have half coffee, half alcohol, just straight coffee,
confusing them all further. I decided last night that I needed to get off the drugs and alcohol, and
be in charge of my life.

I also decided to keep these papers, for me to read if I ever get to the point I got to last night
again. I was just feeling worse than I had in a long time, and death was the only thing that made
since, drunk, high, and sleep deprived as I was. I don't want to die. I love what I do, and I never
wanna stop.


A/N: Please let me know what you think.
xxAnna