A Chapter by MCrouch

Every day of the rest of the week was excruciatingly repetitive. I f*****g hated that about school. Doing the same thing over and over every day wore me down, until everything the teachers said flew right over my head. I didn’t listen to them at all, which left my mind to wander, and whenever there was extra time, I used it to wallow in self pity.  

            It was something so strange; I had a hard time wrapping my mind around it myself. It was like something in my brain just refused to let any positive light in. It was so easy to cover up and lie about and play it off like I was totally fine, but sometimes, that just made it worse. It was like, every time that stupid, fake smile spread across my face, I broke a little bit more inside. But I knew I had to hide it. I had to pretend every f*****g day. If I didn’t, my mom would freak out, and Annie would yell at me and tell me I was being stupid, and Collin… I couldn’t even think about that.

            A lot of the time, it really wasn’t about Ryan. Ryan was a different emotion altogether, but most of the time, they went hand in hand. I would start thinking about how perfect he was, and how I would never be with him, and then I’d think “Oh, while I’m feeling sorry for myself, I might as well think about this and this and this…” until I was suffocating myself with my problems. I felt too much at once.

            Around two months after I had become aware of Ryan’s existence, I was smacked in the face with the realization that no amount of crying or screaming or anything was going to change the way I felt inside. I was sick of it, so I took a razor to my own arm to see if it changed anything. I knew I was only doing it because I thought that’s what I was “supposed” to do. I knew it was a horrible trend going around my age group, and I was desperate to just feel something different. I never did it again, partially because I knew Annie would never talk to me again if she found out, but also because it didn’t really do much. I suppose it was a bit of a release, but the next night, I felt just as miserable, if not more, than I did before. The pain I felt on the inside could not be portrayed or matched or whatever I was trying to do, by physically hurting myself. I needed something else, something more than that… and that was what scared me.



            Annie came over to my house after school that Thursday. Collin had practice, so it was just she and I that day.

            “Has Collin talked to you about how his date with Samantha went?” Annie asked as we walked, stepping on red and brown crunchy leaves.

            “He just keeps saying ‘It wasn’t a date,’ and then he rolls his eyes at me,” I said.

Annie shrugged and pursed her lips, “Yeah, he said something like that to me too,” she looked down at the ground, thinking over her next words, “He’s been really weird lately,”

            “I know,” I said quietly. We reached my house and went right upstairs to my bedroom.

            “Use the computer if you want- I’ll be right back, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said to her.

            When I got back to my bedroom, Annie had the notebook in her hands. The notebook. Why had I been so ignorant? I should have known, leaving my notebook out for the world to see… and of all people to leave alone in my bedroom, nosey Annie, who wanted to be in everyone’s business all the time.

 I stopped in the doorway and looked at her, and she stared back at me, a blank expression on her face. A sickening feeling rushed through my body. My face went completely pale, and I momentarily forgot how to breathe.

            “Who’s Ryan?” Annie asked, solemnly. I tried to speak, but my mouth just hung open, and all I could do was shake my head slightly. She was about to look down at the page it was open to again, but finally I thought of something to say.

            “No!” I walked over to where she was and snatched the notebook from her hands.

            “Tony, I just want to kno-“

            “No! Get out!” I shouted, willing myself not to cry.

            “I want to know what this is! Why are all of my friends going crazy?!”

            “Go!” I pleaded.

            “Fine!” she stormed out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

 Too much, too much, everything, it’s all too much. I threw the notebook across the room against the wall. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I wanted to cry, but my brain was in too many places at once. I had no idea what to do with myself. I want to die, but I can’t do that either. I sank to the floor and stared off into space.

The idea hit me like a bus. It was so obvious- I watched the same routine happen to my father all the time. When people don’t know what to do, or when things go wrong, they drink. Why the hell not? I rushed downstairs to my kitchen, checking to see that my mom was still in the back yard with Alex, and climbed a barstool to reach the cupboard above the refrigerator. There were four bottles: One was an expensive wine that my mom and step-dad got on their wedding day, one was rum, one was tequila, and the last was gin. I didn’t really take too long to think it over before grabbing the full bottle of gin and running back up to my bedroom.

I opened the bottle and sniffed it. I had never drunk more than a taste of any alcohol before, but I didn’t really need to talk myself into this. I started with a small sip. It tasted like nail polish remover and a burning Christmas tree, but it also, in a strange way, tasted like freedom. I took another, larger swig, and winced when I swallowed it. It burned, but I had to keep drinking it. Everything… too much, played over and over in my head. I had to do something.

After about five good swigs of the stuff, I felt dizzy. I put the cap back on and sloppily shoved the bottle into the bottom drawer of my desk. I fell onto my bed, the room spinning around and around. I laughed to myself a little bit before drifting off to a dead sleep.


            “Tony, wake up,” my mom shook me awake. I lifted my eyelids that felt about a thousand pounds, and looked up at my mom, hovering over me.

            “Are you sick, honey? I tried waking you up for dinner last night, but you were so out. And you slept in your clothes,” my mom said. My head throbbed with every word she said. It sounded like she was talking into a megaphone next to my ears.

            “Mm, I’ll get up,” I said. My voice sounded strange to myself.

            “Okay, I have to go to work now, but you call me if you don’t feel well,” she said, kissing my forehead. I nodded.

            Once she was out of the room, I glanced at the desk drawer again. I slumped over to where it was and opened it, taking out the bottle. I felt bile burning the back of my throat, but swallowed it back with yet another sip of gin… and another… and another. It was going to be a long day.


            Dear Ryan,

            I am drunk, but I know how to still write this. I want you. I want to die.




© 2011 MCrouch

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Added on September 22, 2011
Last Updated on September 23, 2011
Tags: gay, teen, alcohol, high school, depression, obsession, self harm




Hey there. My name is Madison. I love writing realistic fiction, mostly LGBT related. If you have any questions about my writing or anything, message me. c: more..

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