Future Stories?

The Journal

Title: The Journal (Working Title)
Description: Mike finds Chester's old journal and begins reading and reacting to it's contents, not aware of what he would find.

(Every other chapter is Mike's thoughts on the previous journal entry. I originally wasn't going to even consider making this a future fic, but I decided it's a possibility considering it's an easy story for me to update regularly.)

Entry 1 - Nobody Gets It
April 11, 12:21 AM

No one gets it, nobody understands, but how could they? It's not like I let them in, I don't confide to anyone, they haven't experienced the nightmares that are constantly bustling around inside my head. They're not as fucked up as I am and though it doesn't seem fair, better me than them. I wouldn't want anyone to go through the same pain I have. I admit, it's not ideal by any means and it hurts more than anything, but I'd hate to drag anyone down.

As I lay, listening to some tunes, I recall every fucked up thing I've been through. I run through the list several times, continuously adding to the list new things I didn't remember at first. I begin to realize that I might need help, but when I told my mother I was depressed, she didn't take it so well. I suppose she didn't want another fucked up kid to deal with.

When I got home from school, I was so tired. I had been suffering up to three nightmares a night and it had worn me out and kept me awake. I passed out onto my bed, until I was awaken by my mother, practically screaming at me for not cleaning the kitchen. After cursing me and insulting me, I found myself tearing up.

My brother came from his room, wondering what all the yelling was about. He took one look at me and immediately went into defense mode. He started to yell at my mom for making me cry and before he stormed out of the house, he angrily pointed out to my mom that I was depressed. He slammed the door on his way out and a heavy silence followed him.

I had been wanting to tell my mom about my depression for a long time - not knowing my brother could even tell. I wanted help, but didn't know how to reach out. I can remember very clearly everything that was said after he left. My mom was on her way upstairs to her room when I called out to her in a shaky voice.

"You know, he's not wrong. I'm depressed, I have been."

I followed her to her room to talk about it, I didn't want to be ignored after years of silence about my issues. She didn't know everything, I don't know what possessed me to think she'd understand why I was depressed - but she didn't ask anyway.

In between is a little blurry, until we started yelling at each other again. I kept trying to tell her how depressed I was without revealing my suicidal thoughts and actions, nor my self-inflicted wounds that covered both of my legs from my thigh to my knee completely.

"Than maybe you need to go somewhere! Maybe you need to go somewhere so they can lock you up if you're that fucked up!" I remember her screaming and at that point, I was shamefully sobbing about the painful subject and threats she was holding over my head of sending me away.

I tried to get up and leave, but she pulled me back by my arm, continuing to tell me that I was fucked up. I tore myself away, screaming, "No!" over and over. She said I was being dramatic as I went to my room and slammed the door as my brother had done previously and let myself fall apart.

It had been about a half hour before I heard my brother come back. I slipped out of my room just as my brother punched the wall while he and my mother shared a screaming match - I assumed my loud cries probably angered him further with my mother. I heard him mention my depression again, but it's blurry after that until several hours later, when my dad came home.

My older brother had left by then - his girlfriend later told me he was incredibly worked up and wouldn't say anything, but had been crying himself - so it was just my mom, my dad, and myself. I wasn't feeling any better by then, but humor was my mechanism of dealing with everything - probably why my parents don't believe I'm depressed - and my m didn't appreciate it, as she began crying when my dad came home.