Troubles

I sit on Brian's couch, watching TV while he's taking a shower. My entire body is aching from putting away things Brian bought in NY. Some of the things were heavy and had to go on the top shelf, and since I'm so short, I had to use muscles in my entire body – from top to toe – to get them up there. It was only 5 guitar bodies, but they were heavy as fuck.

The only part of my body that doesn't currently feel paralyzed from exhaustion is my thumb, so it's the only part of my body that's moving as I switch through the channels, trying to find something useful to watch.

I never really promised to call Mikey, but I probably should anyways. But I wanna wait and ask Brian if I can use the phone. He told me where it was, which probably meant I can use it anytime, but I think it's still polite to ask, just to make sure.

I come across the news, and as usual, they're talking about yet another murder. But this time, it does matter. It's not just another murder anymore.

I start thinking about the family left behind – how they're probably crying and hugging each other; trying to comfort each other. They miss that person. That person was so important to them that they feel like they can't bear the loss.

No one will care if I died. A few might cry, but that would just be out of pity and shock. No one would cry because they can't bear the loss of me. No one would hug each other. They wouldn't need the comfort. No one would care.

I switch to the next channel, but the feeling is still there. The feeling of...of...

The feeling of anger. I'm angry; angry with everyone, because they don't care. I'm angry with everyone I know for not mourning me, even though I'm not dead yet. I'm furious with Gerard for bearing my loss.

I'm angry with myself.

I look down at the DVD-player, randomly staring at the G in the name.

I'm furious with myself.

The L in the in the name makes my eye twitch.

I hate myself.

I don't miss her as much as I should. I haven't cried as much as I would've, had I not bore the loss of her. I haven't mourned her like I should.

LG. They're so alike, aren't they? I should feel more for them. I should feel more hopeless for losing them. I should feel more.

Why is there a block in my heart? Why is there such a huge wall around my heart that no one can get over? It's as if my heart is protected with a huge wall, mines, wires, time bombs. Why is it so protected? Why am I protecting it so much?

Because I'm afraid of getting hurt. I don't wanna get hurt, because I already know what it feels like. I don't wanna be hurt again. I don't wanna be left for a third time – a fourth, actually; my grandmother was the second, my mom the third.

But G: does my heart really need protection?