Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Coming to terms, Coming to Closure and Falling in Love with Frankie.
There are so many reasons to fall into depression, drug abuse, death, extreme forms of physical abuse.
You don’t hear anything about being in denial about love.
You know when you can’t even turn to something you love anymore, because it’s just a reminder of happier times?
It’s not like they were happier times, it’s just... That night.
The feeling of being in his arms, and knowing that at that moment, there was nothing in the world that could harm you.
Frank Iero. He stopped the noise.
But I’m straight right? I’m a loser. I’m pathetic. I don’t even know my sexuality.
It has nothing to do with my fucking sexuality. I’m nothing anyway, it’s not like anyone cares.
He cared. That night he cared. You have to care to-
I don’t even want to think about it, crying really doesn’t help the cause. I’m just proving every single one of them right, that’s what I’m doing.
Emo faggot. Emo faggot. You deserve to die.
I’ve been staring directly into the mirror for hours. Looking right into my eyes, and picturing exactly what he might have been thinking that night.
Cannabis affects your eyes doesn’t it? Clearly. He’s perfect, I’m a failure.
I angrily take out one of the pens from underneath my desk and scribbled across the mirror, making every single inch of my face disappear. First my eyes, my nose, both my cheeks, my lips...
Taking out my red pen, I scribble every word said to me in the last week, then step back, crouch down and put my face in the hands...
I look up slowly, catching my face at the very bottom corner of the reflection. My black hair covering my white face almost entirely.
FAILURE.
What use am i to the world? To society? What’s my purpose?
It was then I broke down, ripping down every drawing from my walls, pulling off bed sheets...
Tearing, tearing, tearing at the walls....
Every single poster, every single picture.
My bedroom floor covered in paper.
The mirror, my face was still intact, I grabbed a bedside lamp and slammed it against the mirror.
Pieces of glass flew out, cutting my arms and fingers.
7 years bad luck...
What was that to me anyway?
And that’s when I started to cry about everything. That was when I started to wish for friends, when I started to wish I had people who I could tell everything, apart from Mikey obviously, who had heard the noise, and I could hear coming up the stairs now.
Wiping my eyes quickly and collecting everything off the floor, wrapping my bloodied arms in my sheet, then turning up the Morrissey record that had been playing in the background, acting like I was fine was the only way forward.
He always knows when there’s something wrong though, and I felt guilty, I hate lying to him, to anyone. I’ve always lied a lot, and lived in my head. But with Mikey...
“Gerard? Hey, are you okay in there? Look, I don’t want to get involved in
everything, especially if you feel like you don’t want me to know. Um..”
There was a pause, I could imagine him outside pacing up and down, pushing his glasses onto his nose, scratching his head, trying to think of how he could tackle the whole situation. He changed the subject, mumbling something about mom not being in until 10:30, and how he was meeting Alicia tonight. Of course, I didn’t want to listen to anyone at the moment, he knew this. There was silence as one song finished, I still wasn’t moving from my spot on the floor.
“Frank called before Gerard.”
What? I got up and paused my stereo, and stood staring at the door.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happened; of course I’ve heard every rumour. Do you know how much shit I’ve got today Gerard? I just wanted to let you know that, ya’know... I’m here for you buddy. Just, when Frank called he seemed, not himself. I could smell the beer on him, of course. When he said you name though, it was almost as if it hurt to speak of you. Guilt, he literally just handed me this, said your name, and walked away. I called to him as he was walking away from the door asking if he was okay, I even considered going after him, it was just, weird man! But anyway, I’ll leave this by the door if you don’t feel like talking right now-“
I dived for the door, then grabbed my brother’s arm, eyes fixated on what was in his hands. My lighter. I’d left it there that night.
“SHIT! Gerard, what the fuck’s happened? I heard the smash, we need to get you to hospital or something-“
Damn it. I’d forgotten what the glass had done to my arm; Mikey was inspecting it, pulling on my arm, dropping the lighter.
“It’s nothing, seriously! I’m fine, I’m fine! I don’t need anyone’s help; I don’t need anyone’s help!”
I tried tugging away, but then I finally realised just how fucking much this hurt. The entire part of my inner lower arm had been slashed open, along with my fingers. My entire face and body was stained red.
“You’re covered in blood Gerard, come on, we need to get this sorted.”
................................................................................................
The drive to the hospital was in silence, with Mikey looking every couple of minutes at my arm, which I held close to my chest, while staring out of the window at the streets of Belleville, occasionally seeing someone I recognised from school, who would smirk as they walked past.
We stopped at the lights, which was located right next to a bus stop full of kids from school. Right now, I really didn’t need the shit, I looked downwards. Mikey could see the problem, but he being the younger brother meant that pathetic bullies were something he really couldn’t tackle.
As the lights turned green I looked in the wing mirror, and there they were. About 10 kids pointing, laughing and shouting abuse.
But there, sat with his back against the side of the bus shelter, clutching his knees and lighting up a cigarette...
As the exhaust of Mikey’s car blew into action, Frankie looked up and caught my eye for 2 seconds.
Those eyes. Those perfect, oval shaped brown eyes, blinked from disbelief. I hadn’t seen him since Saturday morning, and he was still wearing the same black, faded shirt and ripped skinny jeans, his eyeliner still smudged around his eyes and across his cheekbones.
As we drove away he got up and took steps forward, waving the cigarette and staring then running up to the corner we turned and stopping. I could see him shouting my name, eye’s sunk in desperation.
I turned to face forward and slammed my head on the seat and closing my eyes, cursing under my breath. I noticed Mikey next to me chewing his lip. He took a breath.
“He still seems upset huh?”
My eyes remained closed.
Mikey’s cell phone started to vibrate on the dash board, I looked at the caller ID. Frank.
“I take it you don’t wanna talk to him yeah?”
We pulled into the hospital parking lot and the phone stopped vibrating.
You don’t hear anything about being in denial about love.
You know when you can’t even turn to something you love anymore, because it’s just a reminder of happier times?
It’s not like they were happier times, it’s just... That night.
The feeling of being in his arms, and knowing that at that moment, there was nothing in the world that could harm you.
Frank Iero. He stopped the noise.
But I’m straight right? I’m a loser. I’m pathetic. I don’t even know my sexuality.
It has nothing to do with my fucking sexuality. I’m nothing anyway, it’s not like anyone cares.
He cared. That night he cared. You have to care to-
I don’t even want to think about it, crying really doesn’t help the cause. I’m just proving every single one of them right, that’s what I’m doing.
Emo faggot. Emo faggot. You deserve to die.
I’ve been staring directly into the mirror for hours. Looking right into my eyes, and picturing exactly what he might have been thinking that night.
Cannabis affects your eyes doesn’t it? Clearly. He’s perfect, I’m a failure.
I angrily take out one of the pens from underneath my desk and scribbled across the mirror, making every single inch of my face disappear. First my eyes, my nose, both my cheeks, my lips...
Taking out my red pen, I scribble every word said to me in the last week, then step back, crouch down and put my face in the hands...
I look up slowly, catching my face at the very bottom corner of the reflection. My black hair covering my white face almost entirely.
FAILURE.
What use am i to the world? To society? What’s my purpose?
It was then I broke down, ripping down every drawing from my walls, pulling off bed sheets...
Tearing, tearing, tearing at the walls....
Every single poster, every single picture.
My bedroom floor covered in paper.
The mirror, my face was still intact, I grabbed a bedside lamp and slammed it against the mirror.
Pieces of glass flew out, cutting my arms and fingers.
7 years bad luck...
What was that to me anyway?
And that’s when I started to cry about everything. That was when I started to wish for friends, when I started to wish I had people who I could tell everything, apart from Mikey obviously, who had heard the noise, and I could hear coming up the stairs now.
Wiping my eyes quickly and collecting everything off the floor, wrapping my bloodied arms in my sheet, then turning up the Morrissey record that had been playing in the background, acting like I was fine was the only way forward.
He always knows when there’s something wrong though, and I felt guilty, I hate lying to him, to anyone. I’ve always lied a lot, and lived in my head. But with Mikey...
“Gerard? Hey, are you okay in there? Look, I don’t want to get involved in
everything, especially if you feel like you don’t want me to know. Um..”
There was a pause, I could imagine him outside pacing up and down, pushing his glasses onto his nose, scratching his head, trying to think of how he could tackle the whole situation. He changed the subject, mumbling something about mom not being in until 10:30, and how he was meeting Alicia tonight. Of course, I didn’t want to listen to anyone at the moment, he knew this. There was silence as one song finished, I still wasn’t moving from my spot on the floor.
“Frank called before Gerard.”
What? I got up and paused my stereo, and stood staring at the door.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happened; of course I’ve heard every rumour. Do you know how much shit I’ve got today Gerard? I just wanted to let you know that, ya’know... I’m here for you buddy. Just, when Frank called he seemed, not himself. I could smell the beer on him, of course. When he said you name though, it was almost as if it hurt to speak of you. Guilt, he literally just handed me this, said your name, and walked away. I called to him as he was walking away from the door asking if he was okay, I even considered going after him, it was just, weird man! But anyway, I’ll leave this by the door if you don’t feel like talking right now-“
I dived for the door, then grabbed my brother’s arm, eyes fixated on what was in his hands. My lighter. I’d left it there that night.
“SHIT! Gerard, what the fuck’s happened? I heard the smash, we need to get you to hospital or something-“
Damn it. I’d forgotten what the glass had done to my arm; Mikey was inspecting it, pulling on my arm, dropping the lighter.
“It’s nothing, seriously! I’m fine, I’m fine! I don’t need anyone’s help; I don’t need anyone’s help!”
I tried tugging away, but then I finally realised just how fucking much this hurt. The entire part of my inner lower arm had been slashed open, along with my fingers. My entire face and body was stained red.
“You’re covered in blood Gerard, come on, we need to get this sorted.”
................................................................................................
The drive to the hospital was in silence, with Mikey looking every couple of minutes at my arm, which I held close to my chest, while staring out of the window at the streets of Belleville, occasionally seeing someone I recognised from school, who would smirk as they walked past.
We stopped at the lights, which was located right next to a bus stop full of kids from school. Right now, I really didn’t need the shit, I looked downwards. Mikey could see the problem, but he being the younger brother meant that pathetic bullies were something he really couldn’t tackle.
As the lights turned green I looked in the wing mirror, and there they were. About 10 kids pointing, laughing and shouting abuse.
But there, sat with his back against the side of the bus shelter, clutching his knees and lighting up a cigarette...
As the exhaust of Mikey’s car blew into action, Frankie looked up and caught my eye for 2 seconds.
Those eyes. Those perfect, oval shaped brown eyes, blinked from disbelief. I hadn’t seen him since Saturday morning, and he was still wearing the same black, faded shirt and ripped skinny jeans, his eyeliner still smudged around his eyes and across his cheekbones.
As we drove away he got up and took steps forward, waving the cigarette and staring then running up to the corner we turned and stopping. I could see him shouting my name, eye’s sunk in desperation.
I turned to face forward and slammed my head on the seat and closing my eyes, cursing under my breath. I noticed Mikey next to me chewing his lip. He took a breath.
“He still seems upset huh?”
My eyes remained closed.
Mikey’s cell phone started to vibrate on the dash board, I looked at the caller ID. Frank.
“I take it you don’t wanna talk to him yeah?”
We pulled into the hospital parking lot and the phone stopped vibrating.
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