Knives and Pens

“Gerard, get up!”

The heavy sound of a fist pounding on the door jerks me awake. My heart is palpitating in my chest, no doubt caused by the brutal awakening at the hands, or rather fist, of my younger brother. I groan and curl the duvet around me even tighter, silently cussing at him and praying he will go away and leave me to sleep the rest of the day away. Today is Monday, the day I hate most of the entire week. Granted, I hate every day anyway, but Monday holds a special place on my list of things I wish I could destroy and eviscerate. To me, it represents the beginning of another week of school, and a repeat of the never ending cycle that consists of boring, non-stimulating classes and avoiding the general population of the school. It’s not just the jocks and preps I’m wary of. Every person in the school is another potential person who could find a reason to mock me, or worse, find a reason to be disappointed in me. I’m still in high school and yet, I’m already a disappointment to everyone I know.

My parents are disappointed because I’m a screwed up, depressed, suicidal teen. Every time another bottle of whiskey or vodka goes missing I feel their judgemental glares. They know deep down that’s it me doing it, they just can’t prove it. It’s not enough to stop them from buying the damn stuff though, not that I blame them. Their marriage is long dead but they cling onto it so as not to disrupt mine and Mikey’s lives. Little do they know that I don’t really give a fuck. At this stage I’d relish in their divorce. It would bring an end to the whispered arguments, the tense atmosphere and the constant crying I hear every night when they think I’m asleep. More than once I’ve had Mikey come into my room, teary eyed and confused, asking me why the hell they won’t just give up already. I want to give him an answer, but I can’t. Instead, I chug another shot of whiskey and ignore the look of disgust he gives me. He hates what I’ve become. I used to be a good older brother. There was a time when I could protect him, make him feel better and comfort him when things got too much for him, Now, I can barely help myself. All I do is draw, listen to music and hope that the next time I step outside a car will run me over and leave me for dead. I’m too much of a coward to do it myself. God how I wish I had the courage to do it. It wouldn’t take much to end it all. Just swallowing a few of my mother’s butane pills would do it. I dream about it sometimes, and sometimes I found myself clutching the plastic container, willing myself to open it up and take them. I think about what would happen afterwards. Who would find my body? If it was my mother I could just imagine her breaking down into hysterics, perhaps cradling my body and wondering if there was anything she could have done to prevent it. My father would probably hold it all inside but deep down he would have the same thoughts as my mother. I can’t even let myself contemplate what would happen if Mikey was the one who found me.

Mikey is the reason I can’t do it. Even though he’s disappointed in the person I’m becoming and angry at how I’m pulling away from him and my friends, I know he still has hope that I will pull myself out of the ‘rut’ he thinks I'm in. He has no idea that a ‘rut’ didn’t begin to describe what I’m going through. It’s a deep, spiralling depression that consumed me more and more each passing day. I’m afraid that one day I’ll lose the battle against it. Maybe one day I’ll get what I secretly long for. The fact that I can’t even be honest about who I truly am makes it all worse. I have a few secrets, but one of them is one that I can never reveal to the world. I don’t want my parents and my brother to be more repulsed by me than they already are. Revealing that I’m not straight like they believe would only serve as a final straw for them. My parents were raised catholic, just like they’d raised Mikey and I to be. I’d never heard them express their opinion on the matter but I’m certain that they wouldn’t be happy to discover that their oldest son was a ‘faggot’. The word makes me shudder. My friends throw the term around jokingly, as though it’s nothing and never once do they notice how I flinch and blush in shame and embarrassment. Heaven knows how Frank, Ray and Bob would react if I told them the truth. Sure Frank could act camp sometimes and there were endless jokes about how he was ‘out and proud’ but that was all in jest and we knew it. He has a wandering eye that lingered on one of the girls in his biology class. I don’t know what her name is, but even I can tell she’s pretty for a girl. Ray would laugh at Frank’s behaviour, not at all offending or put off by it. Something tells me that if I did ever reveal myself that he would be the coolest out of everybody. I can imagine Bob becoming paranoid around me, watching his back in case I somehow decided to rape him. I'm certain that that friendship would be gone the second he found out. Frank, well, I have no idea how he would react. He’s overly affectionate and prone to invading people’s personal space. He never seems to judge anybody, but I can’t count on him staying that way. Mikey is my brother, and I know he will always love me, but that love doesn’t translate into acceptance. My worst fear is how he would react. I’m supposed to set an example for him, I’m supposed to try and teach him how to live in the world and protect him from the worst elements in it. I would only expose him to ridicule by his association with me. So, I keep quiet. I stay within my tight circle of friends, admittedly only because of Mikey’s refusal to let me sink even further into isolation. The couple of times I had tried to slink away at lunch time he had hunted me down and forced me back to sit with the group. I knew he only meant well, but in truth he made me feel even more of a failure when he did it. He’s taking on the role of the older brother while I crumble under the pressure of my depression and anxiety. I’m only thankful that we are the unnoticed outcasts of the school. We are the unseen nobodies and it affords me a little bit of protection. If people don’t see you, they can’t hurt you. They can’t judge you, or see through you and figure out just who you are.

“Gerard, we’re gonna be late if you don’t get up. I’m not getting another detention because of your lazy ass.”

Mikey’s voice breaks through my self-pity and self loathing. I sigh and clear my throat.

“I’m getting up now. I’ll be ready in five minutes!” I croak out, sleep still clearly evident in my voice.

“I’m counting, fucker!” Mikey growls out, already pissed off before half seven in the morning.

“Welcome to another shitty day” I mutter to myself.