Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Merci Pour Le Venin
GERARD’S POV.
I woke up groggily; rubbing my eyes raw for what seemed the millionth time, in attempt to focus my blurring vision from last night’s alcohol consumption. I was surprised, yet disappointed that I didn’t get alcohol poisoning. Squinting, I peered into the sky, the sun only just rising, bright orange dominating the dark blue clouds tinged with magenta. The roaring 5am wind violated the black silhouette outside my window, forcing it to slap against the glass, its arms trying to get me, strangle me, suffocate me. I inched away from the tree at my window, the meth withdrawal ‘s paranoia threatening every sense in my body. I was suddenly terrified of everything; the clawing tree outside of my window, the sunrise coming closer to me to drown me in it’s glaring lights, myself and everything.
Maybe that’s how the demons in my head grew into this monstrous being inside my bones. Maybe that’s how the drug addiction started, the endless years of self-abuse, the anorexia, the fear…the fear of existence.
Madness eats you alive, from the core until you feed it so much, you’re a human skeleton somehow alive, your bones piercing through your paper thin skin, your eyes bloodshot and your body quivering under the desire to push that needle through your veins, the desire that cheats you into thinking it’s a need, that you need the meth, the cocaine, the weed, the heroin as if your life depended on it. But in truth, your life depends on you to do the opposite, and the painful truth was that I was the madness, and it was I, we could not be separated, we were all we had.
I stood in the shower for what seemed like forever and a day, my forehead against the cold tiled wall, the sharp almost burning hot water; hitting against my hunched spine, the water was throwing daggers in my back. Betrayed. A deep twisting pain went through that organ called my heart, just a group of tissues; because that’s all it is, an organ in my body, pumping away, incapable of feeling emotions. I refuse to think that you can ‘give it to someone’ as a declaration of your love. Been there, done that, got the motherfucking t-shirt. Hah! How ridiculous of me to mourn over teenage heartbreak. My heart wasn’t broken, if it were, I’d be dead. The thought of actually being dead has run through my mind countless times; but this was different, this wasn’t suicidal ideation, it was confronting the concept of my soul, my spirit if you’d like, actually dead, that I were just a barely functional body, dragging through day to day life – I wasn’t alive, I was dead to the world, sucked in by depression, spiralling down into the hell that is mental illness and addiction. I laughing bitterly at myself, what a sob story I was.
I woke up groggily; rubbing my eyes raw for what seemed the millionth time, in attempt to focus my blurring vision from last night’s alcohol consumption. I was surprised, yet disappointed that I didn’t get alcohol poisoning. Squinting, I peered into the sky, the sun only just rising, bright orange dominating the dark blue clouds tinged with magenta. The roaring 5am wind violated the black silhouette outside my window, forcing it to slap against the glass, its arms trying to get me, strangle me, suffocate me. I inched away from the tree at my window, the meth withdrawal ‘s paranoia threatening every sense in my body. I was suddenly terrified of everything; the clawing tree outside of my window, the sunrise coming closer to me to drown me in it’s glaring lights, myself and everything.
Maybe that’s how the demons in my head grew into this monstrous being inside my bones. Maybe that’s how the drug addiction started, the endless years of self-abuse, the anorexia, the fear…the fear of existence.
Madness eats you alive, from the core until you feed it so much, you’re a human skeleton somehow alive, your bones piercing through your paper thin skin, your eyes bloodshot and your body quivering under the desire to push that needle through your veins, the desire that cheats you into thinking it’s a need, that you need the meth, the cocaine, the weed, the heroin as if your life depended on it. But in truth, your life depends on you to do the opposite, and the painful truth was that I was the madness, and it was I, we could not be separated, we were all we had.
I stood in the shower for what seemed like forever and a day, my forehead against the cold tiled wall, the sharp almost burning hot water; hitting against my hunched spine, the water was throwing daggers in my back. Betrayed. A deep twisting pain went through that organ called my heart, just a group of tissues; because that’s all it is, an organ in my body, pumping away, incapable of feeling emotions. I refuse to think that you can ‘give it to someone’ as a declaration of your love. Been there, done that, got the motherfucking t-shirt. Hah! How ridiculous of me to mourn over teenage heartbreak. My heart wasn’t broken, if it were, I’d be dead. The thought of actually being dead has run through my mind countless times; but this was different, this wasn’t suicidal ideation, it was confronting the concept of my soul, my spirit if you’d like, actually dead, that I were just a barely functional body, dragging through day to day life – I wasn’t alive, I was dead to the world, sucked in by depression, spiralling down into the hell that is mental illness and addiction. I laughing bitterly at myself, what a sob story I was.
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