Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
The knife was so shiny and silver, and it looked so pretty glowing in the light of the moon. Even in the ugly glare of the street lights, it looked amazing. But was it as sharp as it looked?
I had to find out.
Running a finger along the edge didn't satisfy my curiosity in the slightest bit. Not even when it cut me and a thin trickle of blood marred the surface of the blade. That wasn't proof enough for me.
So I held it to my neck instead.
It made a thin scratch in my skin. I could barely feel it, even in such a sensitive area. But it looked so sharp. So how could this be? Maybe I needed to go deeper.
So I did.
I dug the knife into the side of my neck viciously, like a savage. It finally gave me a sensation. Pain. Intense fucking pain. I guess that the blade wasn't as sharp as it had looked.
But for such a dull thing, there certainly was blood.
The crimson that flowed, no, gushed out, seemingly unending. It stained my skin and my clothes, before going onto the sidewalk. It, too, is a pretty color, and just like the blade that brought it forth, it's beauty isn't dulled in the slightest by the lighting cast by the street light.
How could something so beautiful come out of someone as ugly as me?
Surely all this blood isn't mine? It's too beautiful and perfect. It doesn't have all the squirming maggots and diseases that she told me it did.
But I need to see more. Just to make sure that it isn't a fluke.
I need to make sure that this blood isn't tainted, that it's truly mine. I've believed for so long that it's so corrupted beyond all hope, but tonight is just proving me wrong. So I use the knife and dig into my skin again.
There's sirens in the distance, but I don't care. I need this. I won't let them take away my freedom again. Never again.
Wait, I'm so dizzy. I'm not dying, am I? I can't be! No! Not like this! She drove me to this! She should be the one dying here! Not me!
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My name is Michael James Way, but most people know me as Mikey. 2 weeks ago, my older brother, Gerard Way, killed himself.
I always saw it as a possibility, but I never truly saw it coming. It just happened out of nowhere.
He was sick in the head, or at least that's what they said. But even if he was, it wasn't his fault. At least, not entirely.
He had a different father from me, and my mother hated his father, and since he wasn't around, she took it out on her other son. She'd scream and curse and hit and spit and throw things to the point that you think it would never end. Gerard was always covered in bruises, and I don't think there was ever a day that went past that he didn't hear how awful he was. But our mother's favorite thing to scream was that he had "bad blood".
This was what had affected him the most.
Finally, due to all the fucking abuse that she put him through, he snapped. He wasn't violent, just broken. I remember one night, he came to me, wailing that he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take having the maggots below his skin, in his blood, and couldn't I see them? Then, he grabbed a knife and sliced open his palm, trying to show me the squirming things below the skin. He was trying to show me what he had been told that he had since the time he was a baby. I guess eventually he believed it himself.
That same night, my mother had him committed. The diagnosis they gave was paranoid schizophrenia, and major depressive disorder, suicidal tendencies included. I also remember hearing the word 'sociopath' thrown around quite a bit, too, but I don't know whether they ever actually collared him with it.
Gee was kept there for months, drugged out of his mind. I went to visit him with my mother every 2 weeks. I didn't say anything about her behavior, because everyone thought that she was the perfect mother, and I didn't want her to stop me from visiting my brother.
I guess he finally snapped, managing to break out of the hospital, stealing someone's pocketknife in the process, and decided to end it. This sounds awful, but I'm glad. He was suffering, and gone beyond repair.
5555555555555555555555555
2 months after Gerard died, a lawsuit was filed, and won, against the company that manufactured the anti-depressants that he took by the bucket load. It was forced to be recalled. The reason for this was it caused psychosis and suicidal thoughts and actions.
I had to find out.
Running a finger along the edge didn't satisfy my curiosity in the slightest bit. Not even when it cut me and a thin trickle of blood marred the surface of the blade. That wasn't proof enough for me.
So I held it to my neck instead.
It made a thin scratch in my skin. I could barely feel it, even in such a sensitive area. But it looked so sharp. So how could this be? Maybe I needed to go deeper.
So I did.
I dug the knife into the side of my neck viciously, like a savage. It finally gave me a sensation. Pain. Intense fucking pain. I guess that the blade wasn't as sharp as it had looked.
But for such a dull thing, there certainly was blood.
The crimson that flowed, no, gushed out, seemingly unending. It stained my skin and my clothes, before going onto the sidewalk. It, too, is a pretty color, and just like the blade that brought it forth, it's beauty isn't dulled in the slightest by the lighting cast by the street light.
How could something so beautiful come out of someone as ugly as me?
Surely all this blood isn't mine? It's too beautiful and perfect. It doesn't have all the squirming maggots and diseases that she told me it did.
But I need to see more. Just to make sure that it isn't a fluke.
I need to make sure that this blood isn't tainted, that it's truly mine. I've believed for so long that it's so corrupted beyond all hope, but tonight is just proving me wrong. So I use the knife and dig into my skin again.
There's sirens in the distance, but I don't care. I need this. I won't let them take away my freedom again. Never again.
Wait, I'm so dizzy. I'm not dying, am I? I can't be! No! Not like this! She drove me to this! She should be the one dying here! Not me!
5555555555555555555555555
My name is Michael James Way, but most people know me as Mikey. 2 weeks ago, my older brother, Gerard Way, killed himself.
I always saw it as a possibility, but I never truly saw it coming. It just happened out of nowhere.
He was sick in the head, or at least that's what they said. But even if he was, it wasn't his fault. At least, not entirely.
He had a different father from me, and my mother hated his father, and since he wasn't around, she took it out on her other son. She'd scream and curse and hit and spit and throw things to the point that you think it would never end. Gerard was always covered in bruises, and I don't think there was ever a day that went past that he didn't hear how awful he was. But our mother's favorite thing to scream was that he had "bad blood".
This was what had affected him the most.
Finally, due to all the fucking abuse that she put him through, he snapped. He wasn't violent, just broken. I remember one night, he came to me, wailing that he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take having the maggots below his skin, in his blood, and couldn't I see them? Then, he grabbed a knife and sliced open his palm, trying to show me the squirming things below the skin. He was trying to show me what he had been told that he had since the time he was a baby. I guess eventually he believed it himself.
That same night, my mother had him committed. The diagnosis they gave was paranoid schizophrenia, and major depressive disorder, suicidal tendencies included. I also remember hearing the word 'sociopath' thrown around quite a bit, too, but I don't know whether they ever actually collared him with it.
Gee was kept there for months, drugged out of his mind. I went to visit him with my mother every 2 weeks. I didn't say anything about her behavior, because everyone thought that she was the perfect mother, and I didn't want her to stop me from visiting my brother.
I guess he finally snapped, managing to break out of the hospital, stealing someone's pocketknife in the process, and decided to end it. This sounds awful, but I'm glad. He was suffering, and gone beyond repair.
5555555555555555555555555
2 months after Gerard died, a lawsuit was filed, and won, against the company that manufactured the anti-depressants that he took by the bucket load. It was forced to be recalled. The reason for this was it caused psychosis and suicidal thoughts and actions.
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