Keep the Faith

You're Not In This Alone

I heard their voices behind my back as I walked through the halls and sat in the front of class. I tried to drown them out and pretend like I didn't hear, but finally the poison sank in. At such a young age, it's the little things that make life seem so hard.

Fat is just a word, and words aren't supposed to be able to hurt you, but they did me. I was lonely and scared, but no one could see it, everyone just saw me as the fat girl, which automatically made me the target of verbal abuse from practically every kid at school.

My mother tried to make things easier, but back then she "didn't understand;" no one did. I was alone, and things only got worse as time passed.

I hit puberty before most kids in my class, and was the laughing stock of the play ground. "Look at that girl's face," they would say. "It looks like a pizza." My mom told me the pimples and zits weren't that noticable, nor were they that bad any way.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, my mom quit her job of twenty-three years because of stress, anxiety, and nerves. She couldn't physically or emotionally handle it anymore, but my dad couldn't understand that. That's when the fighting started. They never hit one another that I knew of, but it was still enough to make me curl into a ball in my room, crying and wishing for a different life.

"All alone. All alone."

It's a phrase that became the motto I gave myself in my mind. I was bound to walk this world alone forever. No one would ever understand me. No one could ever understand me. I was cursed and alone.

Then it happened, my mom came to me and told me we were leaving. I was glad. I thought she meant we were moving far away and I could start a new life, but what she meant is that we were moving in with her brother - my uncle - who at the time I thought was nothing but a drunk. Reluctantly, I packed my stuff, and we left.

It turns out, the next three months of my life were filled with laughing and joy. I grew very close to my uncle. He was amazing and inspiring and strong and talented. I loved him more than I'd ever loved anyone in this world before. He understood me.

After that, we moved into our own appartment for two years where I got lost again and did some things I would later grow to regret. My mom bought a pure bread mexican dog, probably for the company, and one of the neighbors reported us to the housing department. They sent us a letter stating that we had to pay a two hundred dollar fine if we wanted to keep the dog, or we would be evicted. Unfortunately, mom was already attached to the dog. We were moving again. I couldn't believe it. Apparently, we were moving back in with my dad. My life was over once again.

The fighting started again. I just wanted to die. I couldn't stand it. I hated him. I ran away a lot. My mom knew after the first time I was going to my uncles. He became my life support. He never turned me away and he would sit patiently for hours listening to my problems through my sobs, then give me exactly the right words that gave me hope to go on.

A few months later, a "mass" was found during an anual check up test for my uncle. "It's just a mass on his pancreas," the doctor said, "Nothing to worry about." Life went on normally for two more months.

Another test was done, but this time the doctor said that the "mass" had grown and had become a "tumor" and needed to be removed in surgery. He said it was an ordinary surgery that was performed on thousands of people and that there was nothing to worry about. Once again, my trust was with the doctor.

Mom and I went to the hospital with my uncle, along with my cousin -my uncle's son- and his fiance for moral support. It was to be a five hour surgery. We sat down and got comfortable after telling him good luck. He had that smile on his face that was always there, giving everyone hope and confidence.

After an hour, a doctor came out and asked to speak to my cousin. When he came back, it looked as though he was trying to keep his composure about something. He said that my mom and myself needed to go back to the hotel and wait for him there. I knew something was wrong. I didn't know what, but I could feel it.

Reluctantly, we went back to the hotel, where my cousin left us to go back to the hospital. Two agonizing hours later, my cousin and his fiance came to our room and sat down on the edge of the bed that my mom and myself were sitting up in with the covers over us. Tears were streaming down my cousin's cheeks. My mom couldn't say anything. "What's wrong?" I said. He could barely get the words out. "Cancer." My mom slowly began to cry. "They gave him two months to a year," said my cousin. The room was filled with silence. I could feel the tears swelling up in my eyes. I turned over and cried myself to sleep silently.

The next morning, I got up and did not cry. I went to the hospital to see my uncle with my mother. When we got there, he insisted I take him down to the smoke house. They hadn't told him what was going on yet. As we were sitting in the smoke house, he didn't bother smoking. He looked at me and my eyes could not meet his. "What's wrong," he said. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. "You're dying." He laughed. At this, I looked at him. How could someone be laughing at something so serious? He saw the questioning in my eyes. "Everyone's dying, Molly," he said to me. "Yeah, I ... I know, but..." He cut me off.

"Cancer, right? I know."

"But how?"

"Hey, this is my body. I'd be a fool to not know what was going on."

"Oh..."

There was nothing else I could say.

"Look, I don't want you to take this too hard, okay?"

"I ... I love you. I... I ... need you!" I pleaded.

"I love you too, but life goes on, and you'll learn that. Let's just enjoy the time we have left. And I'll be damned if anyone's gonna treat me like a damn helpless person. I want everyone to be happy and normal. No simpathy or pity on me."

I looked down at my feet. My body trembelled. He was so strong. He was so young. Only forty-nine years old. He was a good man; how could God do this? Why him? The tears came to my eyes, but I tried to fight them back.

"It's okay to cry," he said.

At that, they came. It felt as if a river had flooded from my eyes before I stopped. As I wheeled him back into the hospital, the walk was silent.

Twenty-five days later at 6:43 pm, February 17th, 2004, my uncle, the one person who understood me in the world, died.

That was the end. I would never find anyone else who understood me. I couldn't relate to anyone. My friends at school tried to be there for me, but they couldn't, I wouldn't let them.

One night as I was in my room, listening to the radio and staring at the wall, a song came on the radio. I decided that it was a good song and I really liked it, so I looked up the band. My Chemical Romance. I'd never heard of them.

Surfing the internet, I came across a song by them called "Skylines and Turnstiles". It was said to be their first song, and was written after the lead singer of the band witnessed the horrors of September 11th.

I clicked play, and the first words of the song made my heart skip a beat. "You're not in this alone," that heavenly voice which I've grown to love sang to me.

I've been a fan ever since then. My Chemical Romance - Gerard Way - understand(s) me. And I love them.

Keep the Faith <3