I've Lost My Fear of Falling

Frank.
Frank Anthony.
Frank Anthony Thomas.
Frank Anthony Thomas Iero.
Frank Anthony Thomas Iero Jr.

You would think that I have an obsession with him. Well . . . truth be told, I do. Always have. I think that in the end of the whole scenario, I’m better off with Frankie. It’s been close to 7 years since I’ve seen him. Seen his smile. Heard his laugh. I haven’t heard from him, nor have I heard about him. No one dares talk about him in front of me. For all I know, he could be dead right now, and I’ll never know. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And everyday that I wake up and realize that Frankie isn’t in my life anymore, I hate myself a little more inside. In 1994, when his mother died and he ran way, I haven’t been the same. I don’t talk to anyone, nor do I care when people are speaking to me. Even in 1995, a year later, when Gerard left to go to The School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, at the time I could have cared less. But after a while, when I was truly alone again, I felt more depressed. In 1999, when he came back with his four year degree, I felt happy for once. I smiled more then I thought I would have. But that didn’t last long. Reality hit me again, and I realized I was still alone, even if Gee was back home. He’d spend time in the basement trying to create cartoon characters and it would be the same as when he was gone. I guess when I thought back to the old days in high school, Frankie was my best friend. I spent every waking minute with him. I just never realized it until he was gone.

I still dream about him. I still wonder if when I’m thinking about him, if he’s thinking about me. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if he would have stayed. I end up crying a lot when I do. I miss him . . . a lot. Every minute that I spend thinking about him is another minute I spend hating myself. I’ll never forgive myself for letting him leave. I’ll never love anyone like Iloved love Frankie. It’s impossible. I’ve tried. I never expected to love Frankie, nor did I ever expect for my sexuality to be something that society today looks down upon. At least when I was with Frankie, none of that mattered. When I was with Frankie . . . I was just with Frankie. It made me happy to be around him. His smile, his laugh, everything about him made my heart skip a beat. Only now, every time I think about him, my heart wants to just stop completely. Whenever I think about him, it brings me back to the day I tried to commit suicide. It just makes me feel worst, because even that sad song still plays Frankie.

I’ll never escape the thoughts of Frankie. They just pop up in my mind like its normal. These days, they are. No matter what I’m doing, He’s always the one thing on my mind. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, that I need to be locked up in an institution. It gets so bad that I’ve hallucinated a few times, thinking he was talking to me like usual. Gerard’s walked in on me talking to myself a few times too. I’d never tell him that I was talking to Frankie; he’d think I was mental himself. Instead I told him I was going over something in my head. I don’t even think he believed me, but at least he dropped it every time that excuse came up. I guess I am a lunatic that needs to be locked up. I still believe he’s gone back to New York and that he’ll be back any day now. I know that’s not the case, and never will be. But I still look at my phone every so often to see if he called. I still look at his old house to see if another note is on the door, even though the family that lives there would take it off if there ever was one.

I’ll just never get over Frankie. He was my first love, and I’ll always love him.