You can run through my mind any day

Love You Dead

I miss you, babe. I really do. I can't seem to find my missing socks without you. Nobody can undo my tangled headphones like you could. I forget to eat most days now without you constantly nagging me until my headache is more from your screeching and less from the lack of food. I rarely take showers anymore, I have nobody to complain about my stench. I never make our- my bed anymore, I always hated it but you said it helped you think better. I feel like the only thing that stayed the same was Bandit. I doubt she'll even remember you. I don't like thinking about it because it makes me hate you. That you were so selfish. That you could hate yourself so much. It makes me break all over again. I knew I couldn't trust you to be alone. Why did I leave you alone? Why did I let you go alone? Why did I say yes? Why didn't I care? Why didn't I care if you lived or died?

Maybe I knew you would never get better. Maybe I knew you would be detrimental to my well-being. Maybe I knew you would end up breaking my heart. Maybe I knew you wouldn't be there for Bandit. Maybe I knew. I did know. Maybe I didn't care. I didn't care. Maybe I loved you too much. I loved you too much.

Mikey says I should keep going to therapy, but nothing is going to fill the hole you left in every part of me. Therapy never helped me, even when I was younger and all this started. I remember when we went to couples therapy. You hated it. You said your music was your therapy, that you didn't need somebody judging your work. I wish we could start all over. A fresh chance at happily ever after. I would give up anything to be with you again. I would give up my life so you could live yours free of all this pain.

Why wasn't I your relief? I could've been your drug. You didn't have to turn to the alcohol and cocaine. I could've helped you. Why didn't you let me help you? Why did you have to do it all by yourself? I couldn't handle watching you kill yourself, slowly and maliciously over time. I didn't want Bandit to grow up like you. I didn't want her to have to battle with addictions.

I know I'm not perfect either. You loved to remind me of that. You constantly brought up my issues and insecurities to justify having yours. But honestly, I don't know whose addiction is worse. You were addicted to pills and drinks, I was addicted to you.

Please come home. I miss you. I love you.
-Frank

As much as I hate therapy and that stupid lady, the method did help. I never thought that writing a letter to Gerard would help. I always just wrote love songs that end in tragedy, like our love story. I guess writing songs has so much more behind it. It's not just for me, it's for everyone who wants to listen. I have to make sure it's perfect, that it'll sell, that people will want to listen. Writing these little letters to him is stress-free, no producers, no managers, no bandmates, no writing music, just an outlet. Maybe that's why Gerard liked drawing. It was an outlet for his anger that he couldn't sing about. Something he didn't have to share with the world.

A call from Mikey pulled me out of my thoughts.

"What's up?"

"Can I drop the girls off for the night? They were asking if they could have a sleepover with Bandit."

"You sure it isn't because you want a night alone," I comment suggestively. We used to switch off kids most weekends so we could have some alone time. Nowadays I beg Mikey to bring Rowan and Kennedy to my house so I don't have to be alone. He knows that.

"Possibly," He laughed, "Kristen's been asking to go to the new restaurant downtown, but we couldn't find a night that works. My schedule all of a sudden freed up when I saw the new dress she bought though."

"Ew. Yeah, that's fine," I chuckled, "Bring them over anytime, we're not busy."

"Thanks, Frank you're the best," Mikey sighed.

"Yea no problem dude," I hung up the phone. I ran a hand over my face and sighed. I haven't checked on Bandit in a while, I wonder what she's doing. I turn around and step on a Barbie doll, breaking its plastic leg under my boots. "Shit," I mutter. Well, it's almost Christmas anyway. She's in dire need of some new toys. And clothes. And just about anything else a three-year-old would need.

I make my way up the stairs towards her bedroom. She just got her own 'big girl room', but lately I haven't minded her sneaking into my bed at night. I open the door to her room and she's coloring a picture with some markers and colored pencils.

"Hey, Bandit," I walk over to her coloring desk. We bought her a desk that is currently occupied by her many, many Barbies. When she was old enough to watch and understand Gerard draw, she of course wanted to follow suit. So we told her she could either color at the dining room table or on her desk in her room. She promptly said, "Table for eating, desk for Barbie," with all the sass that she inherited from Gerard, even in her short time with him. She insisted that the desk was for Barbies because, "You sleep on ground? Then no Barbie sleep on ground," clearly having made up her mind. So, we bought her a desk for coloring.

"Hi, Dada!" She jumped up from her purple chair and into my arms.

"What are you drawing, baby," I walked over to her coloring table to look at her picture. It was the generic picture a kid would draw of their family. We were standing on a big green hill, the sun in the corner, and little flowers popping up from the ground. She was standing in the middle with a black dress on that had little sunflowers scribbled over the black. I was to her left holding her hand, I had black ripped jeans on, and in my other hand, I was holding my guitar. To her right was Gerard. He had blue jeans and a gray T-shirt on. In his other hand, he was holding a bottle with orange-ish liquid in it.

"It's our family! I drew Daddy in it too because I miss him," She said quietly. She sniffled a couple of times and wiped her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay baby. I miss Daddy too," I tried to look away so she wouldn't see me crying, but she grabbed my face to look at me.

"It's ok Dada," She wiped the tear that fell onto my cheek and then nestled into my shoulder.

"Guess what though, baby."

"What?" She asked looking up at me with curious eyes.

"Rowan and Kennedy are going to sleep over tonight," I smiled at her, hoping it would cheer her up.

"Yay!" she squealed. "I love Rowan and Kennedy!"

Good, she's okay now. Sometimes I don't like talking to her about Gerard, I know it makes her sad. It makes me sad too, but for some different reasons. I wish I could explain to her that her dad wasn't as great a dad as she thought he was, but I won't ruin her innocent memory of her dad. I wish I had innocent memories of him, rather than ones of anger and hatred.