Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
I’m woken from my sleep to the sound of violent retching from the bathroom. It’s the third time tonight. Gerard is kneeling by the toilet, his whole body in convulsions as his stomach rejects every scrap of food he’s managed to swallow over the past 24 hours. He finishes just as I enter the little space and fumbles for the flush button, giving up after a blind moment of searching. His hands are trembling too much. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet, standing in the doorway. I’ve never seen him this sick before, even when he was drinking.
It’s been two days since he asked me to help him clean out the flat and get rid of all the alcohol. He’s in full-blown withdrawal at the moment. I don’t think either of us realised how gruesome detox was going to be. He really should be supervised by a doctor, but he won’t go.
I put my hand on his shoulder and lead him out into the lounge room. He smiles weakly at me and allows himself to be guided onto the couch. His face is completely white, whiter than any makeup could make it.
“Thanks, Mikey,” he mutters as I light a cigarette for him. He inhales deeply, needing anything in his bloodstream to satisfy the desperate liquor cravings. He’s able to hold it to his lips, at least, though he’s still wracked by tremors. The shaking started only several hours after his big decision, and it hasn’t let up since.
“You’re going to get through this,” I tell him reassuringly. “It’ll be over in a few days and then you’ll feel better than you’ve felt in years.” I guess I’m trying to comfort myself more than him. He’s showing no signs of giving in so far. He’s got that look on his sickly face, the same one he wore when he was a ten-year-old dragging himself up the old oak tree in our backyard, his every scrap of attention focused on the Frisbee that has gotten wedged in a forked branch right at the top. He’s got his eyes set on his goal now and no headaches, tremors or nausea are going to distract him.
“Sorry for waking you,” he says weakly through his cigarette. “I can’t sleep.”
“I know.” He’s doing an amazing job with this whole getting sober thing. In the two days since he quit, it’s like he’s changed. Even through the horrible withdrawal symptoms, I can see a bit of the old Gee coming back. The piece of him I hadn’t seen since this whole thing started, the piece I always knew was there somewhere beneath the protective cocoon of his alcoholism and rock-star façade. He never really left me.
It’s been two days since he asked me to help him clean out the flat and get rid of all the alcohol. He’s in full-blown withdrawal at the moment. I don’t think either of us realised how gruesome detox was going to be. He really should be supervised by a doctor, but he won’t go.
I put my hand on his shoulder and lead him out into the lounge room. He smiles weakly at me and allows himself to be guided onto the couch. His face is completely white, whiter than any makeup could make it.
“Thanks, Mikey,” he mutters as I light a cigarette for him. He inhales deeply, needing anything in his bloodstream to satisfy the desperate liquor cravings. He’s able to hold it to his lips, at least, though he’s still wracked by tremors. The shaking started only several hours after his big decision, and it hasn’t let up since.
“You’re going to get through this,” I tell him reassuringly. “It’ll be over in a few days and then you’ll feel better than you’ve felt in years.” I guess I’m trying to comfort myself more than him. He’s showing no signs of giving in so far. He’s got that look on his sickly face, the same one he wore when he was a ten-year-old dragging himself up the old oak tree in our backyard, his every scrap of attention focused on the Frisbee that has gotten wedged in a forked branch right at the top. He’s got his eyes set on his goal now and no headaches, tremors or nausea are going to distract him.
“Sorry for waking you,” he says weakly through his cigarette. “I can’t sleep.”
“I know.” He’s doing an amazing job with this whole getting sober thing. In the two days since he quit, it’s like he’s changed. Even through the horrible withdrawal symptoms, I can see a bit of the old Gee coming back. The piece of him I hadn’t seen since this whole thing started, the piece I always knew was there somewhere beneath the protective cocoon of his alcoholism and rock-star façade. He never really left me.
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