Keep the Faith
It Broke
This time three days ago, I was sat in a hospital room. My arms were bandaged and the walls around me were covered in a mixture of five familiar faces. I had a shirt on which bore the words ‘My Chemical Romance’ and my heart was wrenching itself against my ribcage. My insides were bubbling against each other in fits of desperation and my head was pounding. As my brain fleeted images of escape in different motions, I lay defeated.
Four hours later, I sat in another room of the hospital. Four friends surrounded me, as our sixth soldier was starkly absent. Police officers searched a room upstairs, scrabbling through our friend’s belongings, eyes glancing for clues. Dogs searched the grounds outside whilst helicopters split through the air. More police searched with the dogs, pointing their torches conspicuously into the trees, begging not to find the haunted body of a boy hanging from the branches.
My insides were motionless now as my body desperately searched for breath. My brain fleeted images of death, destruction and desperation - but no longer mine; my mind no longer begged for escape, just relief. As I eavesdropped for any snippet of information, my breath became thinner and thinner. Eventually I went to bed, ready for a near sleepless night.
I woke the next day, after hours of haunting nightmares. Neither my body, nor my mind was ready for the day. I stepped out of my room and almost walked straight into one of my friends. She informed me that our sixth soldier had returned and all I could realize was my relief as I walked down to breakfast, fifteen minutes late.
Fast forward two days and I’m at breakfast. My eyes are sore and fighting consciousness - pleading desperately for more sleep. I sit in front of a traitorous bowl of cereal and next to our sixth soldier, numbly trying not to cry.
‘You sleep okay?’ I utter.
‘Not at all, never do,’ the boy next to me states blandly, we discard pretence for realism
in this place. He looks over at me and asks the same question.
‘No, I must of woken up about 15 times,’ I state.
‘I heard you crying.’ It’s quiet but I just about hear him say it. The tears threaten to flow even more as I look up.
‘Yeah, someone else just told me about that.’ I can’t tell if my voice is dismissive or not as I reply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t know. I was asleep.’ I glance over at him darkly, fearfully, and shock spreads across his eyes.
‘You didn’t know you were crying?’
‘No, I was asleep,’ I repeat.
‘Shit,’ he states, because that’s all either of us can say. We finish breakfast in silence and eventually I get up, discard my untouched bowl of cereal and leave the room. As I return to my bedroom, I sit on my bed, the tears still threatening to fall. My fingers slip over the cheap, hospital-brand bed sheets and I look around. My eyes fall on a familiar face; the cheekbones raised high as hazel eyes stare into mine.
My mind fleets over last nights events. My friend heard me crying in my sleep. He sleeps right down the other end of the hall from me, through three fireproof doors, numerous thick walls. Everyone must have heard.
The four ominous words are still ringing round my head as I step into the sitting room. Shadowed faces look up at me, glancing at me pityingly before returning to their own haunted minds. I take a seat amongst the broken children - each of us silent, no doubt listening to our minds’ fateful words of advice.
I live in a house of broken children. Suicide, escape attempts, starvation and tears are rife amongst our shattered shells. As I sit among us, my white shirt hangs loosely over my frame, bearing words from a familiar voice. My body feels beaten and my eyes burn. My mind is bruised and weakened - but I’m still here.
I pick at a thread from my jacket and sigh at the following day, before averting my mind to easier horizons; the picture of a man running around on stage, a singer dancing and a bassist grinning.
When you have nothing left to live for, no hope left and nothing to put your mind to, there is nothing left to keep faith in. Nothing left but one idea, one ray of light, one hope. Keep the faith in MCR because one day, you might find it’s the only thing you have left in life. The one thing left to hold on to, the one thing to pour your heart into and keep it safe - because one day, you might wake up and find that your rib cage is no longer strong enough to protect. Keep the faith, it may just be the best thing you ever do.
Four hours later, I sat in another room of the hospital. Four friends surrounded me, as our sixth soldier was starkly absent. Police officers searched a room upstairs, scrabbling through our friend’s belongings, eyes glancing for clues. Dogs searched the grounds outside whilst helicopters split through the air. More police searched with the dogs, pointing their torches conspicuously into the trees, begging not to find the haunted body of a boy hanging from the branches.
My insides were motionless now as my body desperately searched for breath. My brain fleeted images of death, destruction and desperation - but no longer mine; my mind no longer begged for escape, just relief. As I eavesdropped for any snippet of information, my breath became thinner and thinner. Eventually I went to bed, ready for a near sleepless night.
I woke the next day, after hours of haunting nightmares. Neither my body, nor my mind was ready for the day. I stepped out of my room and almost walked straight into one of my friends. She informed me that our sixth soldier had returned and all I could realize was my relief as I walked down to breakfast, fifteen minutes late.
Fast forward two days and I’m at breakfast. My eyes are sore and fighting consciousness - pleading desperately for more sleep. I sit in front of a traitorous bowl of cereal and next to our sixth soldier, numbly trying not to cry.
‘You sleep okay?’ I utter.
‘Not at all, never do,’ the boy next to me states blandly, we discard pretence for realism
in this place. He looks over at me and asks the same question.
‘No, I must of woken up about 15 times,’ I state.
‘I heard you crying.’ It’s quiet but I just about hear him say it. The tears threaten to flow even more as I look up.
‘Yeah, someone else just told me about that.’ I can’t tell if my voice is dismissive or not as I reply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t know. I was asleep.’ I glance over at him darkly, fearfully, and shock spreads across his eyes.
‘You didn’t know you were crying?’
‘No, I was asleep,’ I repeat.
‘Shit,’ he states, because that’s all either of us can say. We finish breakfast in silence and eventually I get up, discard my untouched bowl of cereal and leave the room. As I return to my bedroom, I sit on my bed, the tears still threatening to fall. My fingers slip over the cheap, hospital-brand bed sheets and I look around. My eyes fall on a familiar face; the cheekbones raised high as hazel eyes stare into mine.
My mind fleets over last nights events. My friend heard me crying in my sleep. He sleeps right down the other end of the hall from me, through three fireproof doors, numerous thick walls. Everyone must have heard.
The four ominous words are still ringing round my head as I step into the sitting room. Shadowed faces look up at me, glancing at me pityingly before returning to their own haunted minds. I take a seat amongst the broken children - each of us silent, no doubt listening to our minds’ fateful words of advice.
I live in a house of broken children. Suicide, escape attempts, starvation and tears are rife amongst our shattered shells. As I sit among us, my white shirt hangs loosely over my frame, bearing words from a familiar voice. My body feels beaten and my eyes burn. My mind is bruised and weakened - but I’m still here.
I pick at a thread from my jacket and sigh at the following day, before averting my mind to easier horizons; the picture of a man running around on stage, a singer dancing and a bassist grinning.
When you have nothing left to live for, no hope left and nothing to put your mind to, there is nothing left to keep faith in. Nothing left but one idea, one ray of light, one hope. Keep the faith in MCR because one day, you might find it’s the only thing you have left in life. The one thing left to hold on to, the one thing to pour your heart into and keep it safe - because one day, you might wake up and find that your rib cage is no longer strong enough to protect. Keep the faith, it may just be the best thing you ever do.