Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > This Is The Best Day Ever
Chapter 7
As I’m showing Bert where our breakfast trays are, it suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know why he’s here. I wait until we’re sitting down at my usual table to ask him.
“Bert… what got you sent here?” I ask quietly. Bert takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye.
“Inhuman sex appeal.” he says with a completely straight face. I burst into laughter. Bert laughs at his own joke.
“But seriously, why are you in this place?” I ask again.
Bert jabs the rubbery eggs on his plate with a fork. “I don’t remember.” he mumbles. He doesn’t sound convincing. I reach out and touch his hand.
“Tell me.” I say pleadingly.
Bert ignores me and just peels the name label off of his milk carton. He sticks it onto my own milk carton. “Mine.” he says with a grin.
“Me or the milk?” I joke.
“Both.” Bert replies, taking a swig of my milk.
“Hey! You can’t share food!” the cafeteria attendant shouts, striding over to our table.
“Oh, so I can’t do this?” Bert grabs my bagel and rips off a huge bite.
“Bert!” I cry in alarm.
“Or this?” Bert takes half of the eggs off of my plate with his bare hands and shoves them in his mouth.
“I’m gonna need backup.” the attendant mutters into his walkie-talkie. Then Bert punches him in the jaw.
Gasps rise all around us. Suddenly, two men dash across the cafeteria and converge on Bert. I spring out of my seat.
“Don’t touch him!” I scream. I lunge forward to protect Bert, but he just pushes me to the floor. Pain shoots through my ankle and my heart. I watch from the ground with tears in my eyes as the men restrain Bert and drag him out of the cafeteria, just like Tammy. I can hear his furious protests echoing through my mind.
I look towards the ceiling to prevent the tears from spilling over. Did I do something wrong? I try to stand up, but my ankle screams in protest. I bite my lip and begin the painful walk of shame back to my room, where I collapse onto Bert’s bed and sob my eyes out. There’s an internal debate going on in my head.
Man up, Gerard. Did you really think he liked you?
/]
[/He’s just pissed because he’s in this damn institute.
/]
[/Get over it. He’s just your roommate.
/]
[/He’ll apologize. He didn’t mean to hurt you.
“Ugghhh.” I groan aloud. I need to do something to take my mind off of Bert. But what? Outside of this place, I probably would have raided my liquor cabinet and my stash of Xanax. A dull longing fills my chest. Not for the booze and the pills, but for the oblivion that helped me cope with the hallucinations and spirits that haunted me every hour of the day.
But here, the only oblivion available is sleep. I close my eyes and wait for it to come. When it finally does, I’m sucked into a familiar nightmare.
“Let me out!” I scream, pounding against the whitewashed walls. No answer. Only my own pleading cries. The walls begin to move closer. The space becomes more narrow and narrow until I’m trapped inside a tiny box, my feet touching the ceiling. My breathing grows labored as I run out of oxygen.
/]
[/“Please!” I croak one last time before dying.
I open my eyes, gasping for air and sweating. Damn nightmares. I reach out towards the nightstand for my dream journal. Then I remember that the hospital staff took it away. Damnit.
I don’t feel any better than I did before going to sleep, if not worse. I need some sort of oblivion. I love that word. It just floats off your lips. Oblivion. The state of being forgotten or unknown.
For some, this entire facility is an oblivion on it’s own. You’re completely disconnected and isolated from the world. But for me, the facility is harsh reality. Every day, I’m reminded that nobody in the outside world wants me. That nobody cares.
The day I was brought here was the most painful day of my life…
“Fuck. Don’t remember.” I mutter. The memories start to play through my head. A straitjacket…
“Don’t remember!” I cry, tears beginning to stream down my face. My parents never even said goodbye…
“DON’T REMEMBER!” I shout. I need to forget. I need to forget… I grab my pencil and tear the thin piece of metal off of the end. It peels off beautifully, leaving a slanted sharp edge. I close my eyes and drag it down my arm. A shudder goes through my body. I don’t mind the pain.
I knew so many people who did this to themselves… now I know how wonderful it feels. Keeping my eyes closed, I cut into my arm with the metal again and again, alternating between horizontal and vertical cuts. All I can focus on is lifting my arm and bringing it down to cut again. And the amazing pain that follows. A fuzzy haze clouds my mind. I can feel my warm blood going down my arm and inbetween my fingers.
Finally, I open my eyes to analyze my work. The amount of blood surprises me. How many cuts did I make?? I think in alarm. I walk to the bathroom and rinse my arm off in the sink. When the blood is gone, I count the cuts. 23. They decorate my arm in a tic-tac-toe sort of pattern. I press the metal into my arm and make two diagonal cuts across the others, like an X. It hurts even more because the skin was already abused and swollen. But it feels incredible.
I guess I’ve found my oblivion.
As I’m showing Bert where our breakfast trays are, it suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know why he’s here. I wait until we’re sitting down at my usual table to ask him.
“Bert… what got you sent here?” I ask quietly. Bert takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye.
“Inhuman sex appeal.” he says with a completely straight face. I burst into laughter. Bert laughs at his own joke.
“But seriously, why are you in this place?” I ask again.
Bert jabs the rubbery eggs on his plate with a fork. “I don’t remember.” he mumbles. He doesn’t sound convincing. I reach out and touch his hand.
“Tell me.” I say pleadingly.
Bert ignores me and just peels the name label off of his milk carton. He sticks it onto my own milk carton. “Mine.” he says with a grin.
“Me or the milk?” I joke.
“Both.” Bert replies, taking a swig of my milk.
“Hey! You can’t share food!” the cafeteria attendant shouts, striding over to our table.
“Oh, so I can’t do this?” Bert grabs my bagel and rips off a huge bite.
“Bert!” I cry in alarm.
“Or this?” Bert takes half of the eggs off of my plate with his bare hands and shoves them in his mouth.
“I’m gonna need backup.” the attendant mutters into his walkie-talkie. Then Bert punches him in the jaw.
Gasps rise all around us. Suddenly, two men dash across the cafeteria and converge on Bert. I spring out of my seat.
“Don’t touch him!” I scream. I lunge forward to protect Bert, but he just pushes me to the floor. Pain shoots through my ankle and my heart. I watch from the ground with tears in my eyes as the men restrain Bert and drag him out of the cafeteria, just like Tammy. I can hear his furious protests echoing through my mind.
I look towards the ceiling to prevent the tears from spilling over. Did I do something wrong? I try to stand up, but my ankle screams in protest. I bite my lip and begin the painful walk of shame back to my room, where I collapse onto Bert’s bed and sob my eyes out. There’s an internal debate going on in my head.
Man up, Gerard. Did you really think he liked you?
/]
[/He’s just pissed because he’s in this damn institute.
/]
[/Get over it. He’s just your roommate.
/]
[/He’ll apologize. He didn’t mean to hurt you.
“Ugghhh.” I groan aloud. I need to do something to take my mind off of Bert. But what? Outside of this place, I probably would have raided my liquor cabinet and my stash of Xanax. A dull longing fills my chest. Not for the booze and the pills, but for the oblivion that helped me cope with the hallucinations and spirits that haunted me every hour of the day.
But here, the only oblivion available is sleep. I close my eyes and wait for it to come. When it finally does, I’m sucked into a familiar nightmare.
“Let me out!” I scream, pounding against the whitewashed walls. No answer. Only my own pleading cries. The walls begin to move closer. The space becomes more narrow and narrow until I’m trapped inside a tiny box, my feet touching the ceiling. My breathing grows labored as I run out of oxygen.
/]
[/“Please!” I croak one last time before dying.
I open my eyes, gasping for air and sweating. Damn nightmares. I reach out towards the nightstand for my dream journal. Then I remember that the hospital staff took it away. Damnit.
I don’t feel any better than I did before going to sleep, if not worse. I need some sort of oblivion. I love that word. It just floats off your lips. Oblivion. The state of being forgotten or unknown.
For some, this entire facility is an oblivion on it’s own. You’re completely disconnected and isolated from the world. But for me, the facility is harsh reality. Every day, I’m reminded that nobody in the outside world wants me. That nobody cares.
The day I was brought here was the most painful day of my life…
“Fuck. Don’t remember.” I mutter. The memories start to play through my head. A straitjacket…
“Don’t remember!” I cry, tears beginning to stream down my face. My parents never even said goodbye…
“DON’T REMEMBER!” I shout. I need to forget. I need to forget… I grab my pencil and tear the thin piece of metal off of the end. It peels off beautifully, leaving a slanted sharp edge. I close my eyes and drag it down my arm. A shudder goes through my body. I don’t mind the pain.
I knew so many people who did this to themselves… now I know how wonderful it feels. Keeping my eyes closed, I cut into my arm with the metal again and again, alternating between horizontal and vertical cuts. All I can focus on is lifting my arm and bringing it down to cut again. And the amazing pain that follows. A fuzzy haze clouds my mind. I can feel my warm blood going down my arm and inbetween my fingers.
Finally, I open my eyes to analyze my work. The amount of blood surprises me. How many cuts did I make?? I think in alarm. I walk to the bathroom and rinse my arm off in the sink. When the blood is gone, I count the cuts. 23. They decorate my arm in a tic-tac-toe sort of pattern. I press the metal into my arm and make two diagonal cuts across the others, like an X. It hurts even more because the skin was already abused and swollen. But it feels incredible.
I guess I’ve found my oblivion.
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