I Used To Obsess Over Living, Now I Only Obsess Over You.

1. February

I think the worst part about being dead is not being able to cry. You still feel that heartache in your chest but you don't have the ability to express that with tears which made my situation all the worst. I couldn't take antidepressants either...specifically Atavan Halen. Maybe if I would have just taken it one more time I would have truly felt something. It wouldn't be a '7 minutes in Heaven' moment. Before my body felt like it was being weighed down again. Though, it was the several other pills that did its worst for me. California had broken me.

It'd only been a week and I'd finally broken down: Sitting at my grave remembering my death. It felt like nothing at first. Absolute nothingness; it was such a strong feeling. But then I woke up. In what I though was my live body, maybe I had went to a hospital; someone had saved me, but no. I saw three of my closest friends walking up to my dead body laying it a coffin. I was the palest I've ever been, my hair left in a frizzy state from me not flat ironing it, and my arms crossed upon my chest. It's unsettling to know that they had to touch my dead body to put my arms like that...To put me in that coffin.

I called out all their names: Patrick, Joe, Andy... but I got no response. I looked down at myself to see transparent arms. It looked like I was at a forever disappearing state. Patrick was holding his head to the ground but I could see the tears begging to come out his stinted shut eyes. Turning around I saw maybe about 30 people taking up the seats in the church. Family and more friends... I ran up to my mother and father and looked longingly at them. They were holding each other hands while both their faces were covered in dried tears. Their only child was forever gone, stuffed up with cement. They should have left me rot in the ground, it would have been better for the environment.

My negativity was still here, nothing was different. The pain wasn't over nor was I with her...so what was the point then?

"I'm sorry..." I whispered but obviously got no response.

After my funeral I ended up at Rose Hill Cemetery, you could easily figure out that this resting bed for dead bodies was filled with vast layers of roses, mostly pink and fuchsia. And the tall trees felt like they were hovering around you, shielding you for shelter. Like this was your home.

My body was about to be lowered to the ground as Joe was holding my bass in his hand. He looked at Andy and Patrick who both gave a slight nod before he set it on top of my body. It was nice of them to do but this was the reason I was stuck in this graveyard. It was as if my spirit was now attached to my bass which was now buried in the ground forever. As soon as I reach for the gates I'd be stuck, I couldn't move forward pass that point.

Everyone had left my tombstone after that except for Patrick, Joe, and Andy who talked aimlessly at my tombstone for an hour. Patrick paused when he accidently cursed out; saying sorry multiple times.

But soon they were soon gone. I was hoping they'd stay longer. I didn't like being alone with my thoughts, they were they reason I was in this predicament. Or was it really Her fault? There I was blaming her again, she was probably up there gazing heaven in all her glory blaming me, and she could do it so freely no remorse. She was free now. She had finally learned how to use her wings.

There my tombstone laid in all its glory, tall and proud, like I'd had done something good with my life. There was words scribed into to tomb stone that read;

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III

1979 - 2006

Forget the pain and negative, it's all gone now. But there will always be regret for the tragic mistakes like this.

I have no idea who wrote than for my grave but I stood their staring at it. They said what I did was a mistake and maybe they were right.