Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Bruised Memories
Gerard sat in the waiting room of Dr. Lestrade’s small office, rubbing his hands together nervously, too anxious to kill time with his phone. The doctor said he would conduct some tests on Frank, mostly interviewing and other kinds of psychological testing he didn’t specify. Gerard glanced at his watch to see how long Frank and Lestrade had been speaking: about and hour and a half. By coincidence, the door opened just as Gerard looked up from his watch and Frank and the doctor walked out. Frank smiled weakly and turned around to thank Lestrade.
“My pleasure, Frank. If the dreams persist, make an appointment and I’ll meet with you as soon as possible.” They shook hands and Frank promptly walked out the door with Gerard.
“So?” Gerard said, trying not to sound too eager.
“It’s just as the doctor at the hospital said. I have paranoid-type schizophrenia, which could be linked to delusional disorder, but it’s mostly just from post-traumatic stress disorder. He gave me prescriptions for Prazosin, Risperidone, and Rozerum.”
“What are all those for?” Gerard asked. Being that he was addicted to prescription medicine for some time, he thought he might recognize at least one of them, but he had never heard of them.
“Prazosin is for the PTSD, Risperidone is for the delusions, and Rozerum will help me fall asleep.” Gerard was more concerned than he ever would have expected to be at that point. All this medication would hopefully help, but from what Gerard had experienced, the side effects didn’t compensate with the original problem. A lot of the time, the medication would work, but brought on other problems, or wouldn’t work at all but still rose problems.
“Side-effects?” Gerard asked.
“I don’t remember. We can look it up.” Gerard drove them to the pharmacy, where they acquired the little orange bottles. Frank took them out of the little plastic bag and rolled them around in his palm, the pills clattering inside. Gerard glanced to the side to see Frank looking at them in repugnance. He couldn’t blame him. A lot of the time, medication could alter a person’s mental and physical health, resulting in the need for more medication.
“How often do you take each?”
“Prazosin two or three times a day, Risperidone the same, and Rozerum just before I go to bed.” Gerard felt sick to his stomach. Who would have thought Frank, the headstrong, wonderful Frank, would have such horrible repressed emotions all these years. He prayed this would all be over soon.
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Several months had passed since Frank had gone to Lestrade for a proper diagnosis, and they had returned many times to alter the amount of medication Frank took. It only increased, and Frank’s dreams went in patterns of disappearing for a week or so, and then returning, as worse as ever. Sometimes, Frank saw the wound when he woke up and sometimes he didn’t. It broke Gerard to look at Frank every time he woke up from a dream, and he wished there was something he could do make such a good friend feel better. With the medication came a lot of the side effects listed on the side of the bottle. Frank usually stayed in bed most of the day, either because he couldn’t be bothered to do anything, or because the medicine would make him so sick, he wouldn’t be able to get up. It seemed to Gerard that all of these pills were worsening his previous mental conditions, like depression, and no matter how much he told Lestrade, he would refuse to give Frank any anti-depressants, as it would interfere with the original medicine.
Gerard sat on the couch, reading a book Frank had recommended to him: The Book Thief. The style of writing differed from anything he had ever read, and he enjoyed the point of view it started in. At the very beginning of the book, the reader would find that the narrator was Death himself. Death would start by saying, ‘You are going to die,’ then to describe his view in colors, and how he liked a ‘chocolate-colored sky.’ It was very poetically written, Gerard thought, and was glad Frank had introduced the brilliant book to him. It was late in the afternoon and Frank was sleeping, as it was the only thing he seemed to do these days, and Gerard made sure he was always home when he was, just in case he might have another episode. It was peaceful in the house, and Gerard was beginning to get bored of the monotonous routine they lived every day. He missed being in the recording studio and hanging out with the rest of the band, but they understood. A couple weeks ago, Gerard persuaded Frank into telling the rest of the band along with the producers about his deteriorating mental state. His condition was standing in the way of the band’s progress. Everyone was extremely concerned, but trusted Gerard to properly take care of their beloved guitarist. Gerard sighed and read his book, telling himself to check on Frank in a few minutes.
In Gerard’s room, which might as well have been called Frank’s room, as only Frank slept there the past months, Frank lied in bed. He was completely awake, but it didn’t seem so to him. Nothing was clear to him and every day went by in a slow haze. He didn’t remember what he did the day before, or the day before that because they all seemed the same. Every day he experienced that same dream, but didn’t tell Gerard. Gerard only found out about the dreams when Frank woke up screaming from them. He didn’t see any reason to share his pain with Gerard. He knew how much Gerard stressed over him and was willing to sacrifice a little of his sanity for the man. Nonetheless, this dream was particularly bad. This time, she had taken Frank and thrown him against the wall, his whole body aching afterwards. In remembering the dream, Frank started to cry. He hated his life now. He could live with depression before, but now, now it was crippling and the dreams made it so much worse. He wanted this to be over. He didn’t see a way out. All the doors for escape were closed and locked tight. Medication did nothing. Therapy did nothing. Nothing worked, and the only door that seemed to be wide open, the only door that was ever open for anyone, was death. Frank shook the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to himself, let alone everyone around him. He needed desperately to distract himself from the morbid thoughts, and before he thought it through, he started to call for Gerard. Shit… he thought to himself. That little emotion called love was controlling him again. It did create problems sometimes, when Frank didn’t want to reveal his love for Gerard, but he was glad that the medicine didn’t wipe everything that made him a person different from any other.
Gerard came rushing into his room, expecting to see Frank yelling in pain, but only seeing him curled up under the layers of sheets.
“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked.
“Nothing…” Frank said. Even though he was lying down, he felt a little dizzy and sick to his stomach. It was normal, at this point, getting sick. Gerard sat down next to the bed, sighing, and looked at Frank, whose head was only poking out from under the sheets. Gerard saw how puffy Frank’s face was, clear that he had been crying.
“You sure?” Gerard said. Frank nodded. He wanted Gerard out of the room in case his alter ego, love struck little Frankie, said something he would regret. Unfortunately, Frank’s eyesight was doubling and he couldn’t focus on anything. His head ached, and felt his throat tighten uncomfortably.
“I love you,” Frank said. Shit! he thought. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Frank repeated the word over and over in his head. The dreaded second self had taken advantage of his weakness and got those words out.
“What?” Gerard said, surprised.
“Nothing,” Frank said, shoving his head under the covers. Gerard sat on the ground, dumbfounded, for a few moments, and stood up and left.
‘I love you’? Gerard thought. ‘I love you’? Was that really what he heard? He tried to think of an alternate statement that could replace what Gerard heard, but he couldn’t think of anything. Gerard cursed to himself. Years ago, when they were still young and had the energy to do virtually anything, Gerard found himself secretly infatuated with Frank. He didn’t realize this until that first night where the ‘adrenaline’ brought him to Frank’s lips. Of course, it was easy for them to make an excuse for it. After all, stage adrenaline was a real sensation. Over the years, he tried to keep himself away from the thought of being enamored with Frank. Frank did have a girlfriend and the time and Gerard felt it would be inappropriate to admit his homosexuality, especially after what happened on stage. In fact, even after he was sure of his sexual orientation, he never found the right time to admit it. He never came close to find a true love, and because his love was unrequited, Frank didn’t count. As much as he wished the words that came out of Frank’s mouth was true, he knew there was no way it would be possible. Frank was straight. That ‘I love you’ was probably meant as a thank you for all of the care Gerard gave to Frank. Friends can love each other. As much as Gerard tried to believe and tell himself that Frank was delirious and the medicine spoke for him, he couldn’t get rid of the little flicker of hope left inside of him, wanting Frank to be his.
A/N: Sorry, I got kind of lazy on this chapter -.- I'll try and make it better
“My pleasure, Frank. If the dreams persist, make an appointment and I’ll meet with you as soon as possible.” They shook hands and Frank promptly walked out the door with Gerard.
“So?” Gerard said, trying not to sound too eager.
“It’s just as the doctor at the hospital said. I have paranoid-type schizophrenia, which could be linked to delusional disorder, but it’s mostly just from post-traumatic stress disorder. He gave me prescriptions for Prazosin, Risperidone, and Rozerum.”
“What are all those for?” Gerard asked. Being that he was addicted to prescription medicine for some time, he thought he might recognize at least one of them, but he had never heard of them.
“Prazosin is for the PTSD, Risperidone is for the delusions, and Rozerum will help me fall asleep.” Gerard was more concerned than he ever would have expected to be at that point. All this medication would hopefully help, but from what Gerard had experienced, the side effects didn’t compensate with the original problem. A lot of the time, the medication would work, but brought on other problems, or wouldn’t work at all but still rose problems.
“Side-effects?” Gerard asked.
“I don’t remember. We can look it up.” Gerard drove them to the pharmacy, where they acquired the little orange bottles. Frank took them out of the little plastic bag and rolled them around in his palm, the pills clattering inside. Gerard glanced to the side to see Frank looking at them in repugnance. He couldn’t blame him. A lot of the time, medication could alter a person’s mental and physical health, resulting in the need for more medication.
“How often do you take each?”
“Prazosin two or three times a day, Risperidone the same, and Rozerum just before I go to bed.” Gerard felt sick to his stomach. Who would have thought Frank, the headstrong, wonderful Frank, would have such horrible repressed emotions all these years. He prayed this would all be over soon.
************************************************************************************************
Several months had passed since Frank had gone to Lestrade for a proper diagnosis, and they had returned many times to alter the amount of medication Frank took. It only increased, and Frank’s dreams went in patterns of disappearing for a week or so, and then returning, as worse as ever. Sometimes, Frank saw the wound when he woke up and sometimes he didn’t. It broke Gerard to look at Frank every time he woke up from a dream, and he wished there was something he could do make such a good friend feel better. With the medication came a lot of the side effects listed on the side of the bottle. Frank usually stayed in bed most of the day, either because he couldn’t be bothered to do anything, or because the medicine would make him so sick, he wouldn’t be able to get up. It seemed to Gerard that all of these pills were worsening his previous mental conditions, like depression, and no matter how much he told Lestrade, he would refuse to give Frank any anti-depressants, as it would interfere with the original medicine.
Gerard sat on the couch, reading a book Frank had recommended to him: The Book Thief. The style of writing differed from anything he had ever read, and he enjoyed the point of view it started in. At the very beginning of the book, the reader would find that the narrator was Death himself. Death would start by saying, ‘You are going to die,’ then to describe his view in colors, and how he liked a ‘chocolate-colored sky.’ It was very poetically written, Gerard thought, and was glad Frank had introduced the brilliant book to him. It was late in the afternoon and Frank was sleeping, as it was the only thing he seemed to do these days, and Gerard made sure he was always home when he was, just in case he might have another episode. It was peaceful in the house, and Gerard was beginning to get bored of the monotonous routine they lived every day. He missed being in the recording studio and hanging out with the rest of the band, but they understood. A couple weeks ago, Gerard persuaded Frank into telling the rest of the band along with the producers about his deteriorating mental state. His condition was standing in the way of the band’s progress. Everyone was extremely concerned, but trusted Gerard to properly take care of their beloved guitarist. Gerard sighed and read his book, telling himself to check on Frank in a few minutes.
In Gerard’s room, which might as well have been called Frank’s room, as only Frank slept there the past months, Frank lied in bed. He was completely awake, but it didn’t seem so to him. Nothing was clear to him and every day went by in a slow haze. He didn’t remember what he did the day before, or the day before that because they all seemed the same. Every day he experienced that same dream, but didn’t tell Gerard. Gerard only found out about the dreams when Frank woke up screaming from them. He didn’t see any reason to share his pain with Gerard. He knew how much Gerard stressed over him and was willing to sacrifice a little of his sanity for the man. Nonetheless, this dream was particularly bad. This time, she had taken Frank and thrown him against the wall, his whole body aching afterwards. In remembering the dream, Frank started to cry. He hated his life now. He could live with depression before, but now, now it was crippling and the dreams made it so much worse. He wanted this to be over. He didn’t see a way out. All the doors for escape were closed and locked tight. Medication did nothing. Therapy did nothing. Nothing worked, and the only door that seemed to be wide open, the only door that was ever open for anyone, was death. Frank shook the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to himself, let alone everyone around him. He needed desperately to distract himself from the morbid thoughts, and before he thought it through, he started to call for Gerard. Shit… he thought to himself. That little emotion called love was controlling him again. It did create problems sometimes, when Frank didn’t want to reveal his love for Gerard, but he was glad that the medicine didn’t wipe everything that made him a person different from any other.
Gerard came rushing into his room, expecting to see Frank yelling in pain, but only seeing him curled up under the layers of sheets.
“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked.
“Nothing…” Frank said. Even though he was lying down, he felt a little dizzy and sick to his stomach. It was normal, at this point, getting sick. Gerard sat down next to the bed, sighing, and looked at Frank, whose head was only poking out from under the sheets. Gerard saw how puffy Frank’s face was, clear that he had been crying.
“You sure?” Gerard said. Frank nodded. He wanted Gerard out of the room in case his alter ego, love struck little Frankie, said something he would regret. Unfortunately, Frank’s eyesight was doubling and he couldn’t focus on anything. His head ached, and felt his throat tighten uncomfortably.
“I love you,” Frank said. Shit! he thought. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Frank repeated the word over and over in his head. The dreaded second self had taken advantage of his weakness and got those words out.
“What?” Gerard said, surprised.
“Nothing,” Frank said, shoving his head under the covers. Gerard sat on the ground, dumbfounded, for a few moments, and stood up and left.
‘I love you’? Gerard thought. ‘I love you’? Was that really what he heard? He tried to think of an alternate statement that could replace what Gerard heard, but he couldn’t think of anything. Gerard cursed to himself. Years ago, when they were still young and had the energy to do virtually anything, Gerard found himself secretly infatuated with Frank. He didn’t realize this until that first night where the ‘adrenaline’ brought him to Frank’s lips. Of course, it was easy for them to make an excuse for it. After all, stage adrenaline was a real sensation. Over the years, he tried to keep himself away from the thought of being enamored with Frank. Frank did have a girlfriend and the time and Gerard felt it would be inappropriate to admit his homosexuality, especially after what happened on stage. In fact, even after he was sure of his sexual orientation, he never found the right time to admit it. He never came close to find a true love, and because his love was unrequited, Frank didn’t count. As much as he wished the words that came out of Frank’s mouth was true, he knew there was no way it would be possible. Frank was straight. That ‘I love you’ was probably meant as a thank you for all of the care Gerard gave to Frank. Friends can love each other. As much as Gerard tried to believe and tell himself that Frank was delirious and the medicine spoke for him, he couldn’t get rid of the little flicker of hope left inside of him, wanting Frank to be his.
A/N: Sorry, I got kind of lazy on this chapter -.- I'll try and make it better
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