2016/02/18 Thursday
I don't care how many followers I have at this point but I know that it's too many. It's more than I want and it's more than I need and, if after this post, you all still follow me I'll assume you're all sadistic assholes. Because all those OTP <3 and those annoying You love him comments are really offensive when your best friend is dying.
But none of you would know, because you likely don't have any best friends. Not to mention best friends dying of fucking Huntington's disease. Who even calls a fucking disease that? Why? I wondered that for the longest fucking time. But I decided that it didn't matter because caring is stupid and so are people who care and so are disease and you know what? Everything is fucking stupid.
I cut my face open today and I'm typing this from the hospital waiting room. Because my brother is an idiot and so am I and Dr Nestor is a waste of fucking oxygen. And so is the son of a bitch who forgot to salt the ramp on the way to the elevator outside of Dr Nestor's office building.
I don't like fucking therapy and you know what makes it worse? When, for the first time that Gerard trusts me to go in alone, the ramp isn't salted so the chair flips forward and I lie on the fucking snow, bleeding from my face and screaming for help because The Useless Logs of Fat™ are even more useless than one might think.
And you know I fucking hate this wheelchair. I hate this fucking blog and I fucking hate therapy and it's all stupid. It's a waste of time and I don't know why they're trying to make me fucking better when, instead, they should be working on a way to cure Huntington's. Because that's all that should matter right now.
Screw all those fucking doctors and scientists who work so hard on trying to find a cure for cancer. There's enough of those fucking bastards. You know what there's not enough of? There's not enough people trying to cure Huntington's which is fucking stupid because it's just as serious. No scratch that. It's fucking more serious.
Curing Huntington's is all that should matter to anyone at all anymore. Because that's the only important thing right now. Because Pete is all that matters. Pete is the only one everybody should be working for right now because he's the only one of those sons of bitches who deserves to stay alive but no one seems to get that and I don't know why.
This blog is stupid. You're all stupid. All of you reading this: you're all idiots and I hate you. I hate every single one of you fucking morons who sits there behind your computer screen and reads about us and all you can fucking think is about how we're in love but we're not and I don't think we ever will be. And you know why? BECAUSE HE'S DYING.
He's dying and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And it's stupid that I haven't heard from him since Monday. And it's even worse that that worries me. Would his parents even call me if he died? Or would they just wait for me to try and find out of my own? Huh? Is that it? Because I haven't even met them and what are the chances Pete's even told them anything about me?
I'm pissed at Gerard and I have been all day and I guess he sort of sensed this when he came to take me to Dr Nestor because we didn't talk at all. Neither of us said a fucking word while we struggled to get me dressed and ready. Which was fucking stupid. Why do we need 2 people to try and get me fucking showered and dressed?
They should've just fucking shot me when they realized I couldn't do anything with my fucking legs because let's face it, what can I do? I can't get dressed on my own. I can't drive. I can't do shit and you know who's fucking fault that is? My dad's. But god is fucking stupid so he's dead and the one who has to deal with all this shit is me.
And Gerard. Because he can't do anything either. He's supposed to be drinking and having fun and dicking around with Frank and shit. But instead, he's struggling to get me in and out of my fucking clothes while running me a shower before he fucking does my mother's job and takes me to therapy. And you know why he has to do that? Because god is fucking unfair and my mom is dead.
And, you know, that never bother me much before but now all I can think about is how much I really just want to punch God in the face and yell at him and just ask him what the fuck, man? Why do you hate me? Because, even though I'm not dead and I'm not dying, it's like the people around me are dropping dead like flies and I think now would be a fucking good time for Gerard to get life insurance.
So when we're done getting ready and Gerard manages to get me into the fucking small car, I feel like punching him in the face even if he hasn't done anything to hurt me. I feel like punching myself in the face really, in fact I think I'd punch anyone in the face right now. I'm so pissed I could punch Chuck Norris in the face and I wouldn't give a shit.
I had The Boy in Striped Pajamas in my lap and, even though it is my favourite thing in the history of ever, I want to tear out every single page and then feed it to the stupid fucking bird sitting on the window sill right now. Fucking moronic bird. I wanna punch that fucking bird in its face.
Watch me. Watch me fight a fucking pigeon. I'll probably kill it too, even if it didn't do anything, because God is unfair and that's just how life is. And wow, isn't it funny that I only believe in God when I want to hurt someone? What does that fucking say about me?
Anyway, we pull up in the snow outside of Dr Nestor's office building and, for a fleeting moment, I think about punching the building. About punching a giant hole right through one of the windows or into a door or just make a hole in the pavement even if I know I'll never be strong enough to do something like that.
Gerard helps me out of the car and into my fucking wheelchair the way he always does and seriously what is this bullshit? Why do I tell you this every fucking week? My blog is a fucking joke, honestly. But then, as he's going to wheel me to the shitty elevator, he stops and he looks at me and he fucking opens his big mouth and he goes do you wanna go in by yourself?
And I can tell Gerard is feeling hurt. Like I actually punched him in the face instead of just thinking about it. But I can't bring myself to seriously give a shit right then about how hurt he feels about bullshit like that. Because all I can do is feel a small, tiny bit of relief and say in a loud voice hell yes. Because I've never been able to do it alone before in my whole life.
But so I wheel on my own through the snow and I can tell that Gerard hasn't moved. He's standing there, in the fucking snow, waiting for some terrible crap to happen to his fucking idiotic baby brother with The Useless Logs of Fat™ and the wheelchair.
And just as I tell myself that he didn't need to, that he's wasting his time because I can do this on my fucking own, right then my wheel chair goes up the ramp and then I lose my grip on the wheel and instead of rolling back a couple of paces, the wheel slips forward too quickly for me to catch and before I know what the fuck is happening, I'm lying on my stomach with grazed hands and my face hurts and my wheelchair is crushing my ribs.
But this isn't what Gerard saw, no. He fucking saw me go up and slip forward and scream hopelessly in the snow as blood runs down from my face and into the snow like the disgusting red wine Pete and I spat into the snow last week. And the worst part is that he had to run to save me the way he always has to because I'm fucking useless.
Just a waste of space and waste of oxygen and then he picks me up, lifts me into the chair and wheels me to the car at fucking top speed and I started to feel the blood running down my face on the right side of my face, blood ran from my cheekbone and down my cheek while on the left side, sticky blood stuck in my hair and my eye started swelling.
But, because Gerard isn't a fucking nurse or whatever, he's pretty sure I need to get checked by a fucking doctor just to make sure that I don't have a concussion or anything. So on the way to the clinic, he makes me call Dr Nestor and tell her that I won't be attending the session because I just slipped on the ramp outside.
And even though it's against the Don't Talk to Her rules, I call her and say in a loud voice your ramp is fucking stupid. I hate you so I won't be seeing you today. And put the phone down before she has the chance to scold me or even gasp because I spoke to her and she thought that I wouldn't which, to be fair, I wasn't going to.
Gerard didn't even say anything until we got to the clinic and he made me hold a tissue to my head which got stuck to the blood and had to be cleaned out furiously by the nurse that came to assist us. It was gross and it hurt and I didn't like it when she turned on her flashlight and put it to my eye. I liked it even less when she turned to Gerard, ignoring me as a whole, and said he's got a concussion.
But I felt fine and even though I was happy to get out of having to go to Dr Nestor for session, I wasn't very glad to get my wounds cleaned roughly by a nurse who wasn't as nice as the nurses in movies or TV shows. But I was still angry about the ramp and, after being told I had a concussion, I was worried whether I'd imagined falling at all or whether it had really even happened.
I didn't do anything for a while except drink water, which Gerard had brought from home, and eat wine gums, which I had asked for and he had bought from the tuck shop inside the hospital. Princeton Plainsboro Hospital is white from the dull, painted ceiling with flickering lights right down to the shiny, reflective floor tiles.
And all I can do is stare at the flickering light above me, wondering what Pete is doing right then and whether he's wondering what I'm doing and whether I'd ever tell him about the concussion and the salt that wasn't put on the ramp or whether it was the sort of thing he wouldn't ask about and the sort of thing no one wouldn't tell him about.
I decided that he ought to know, in case I fell asleep and didn't answer his texts later. I texted him a short @ hospital w/concussion. C u tmrw? And he didn't respond but I decided that I didn't care. This due to the fact that caring was stupid. And waiting for boys to text back was stupid. Especially boys with Huntington's disease.
Regardless, I hope I'll see him tomorrow.
Mikey.
Because I've gotten an idea for a new book. Yay.
Vote and comment because my cat is a dick and Civil War comes out tomorrow.
And my favourite thing right now is me but I guess Pretty. Odd. is amazing too.
Undying affections from yours truly,
Brendon