✔ CHURCH BOYS ⇢ MCHARRISON/LENNSTARR

ONE

I'M SO SORRY I'M JUST SO OBSESSED WITH GEORGE HARRISON!

😞 💩 😞

George's POV

Some people are broken and their pieces can be picked up and put together. Some people are broken beyond repair. I should know, I used to be one of those people. Crippling anxiety riddled me for years and years on end. But, one day my life changed. My mother was holding me late at night after one of my midnight panic attacks. It's a bit embarrassing, I mean, I'm 17 years old! She was talking to me, trying to calm my nerves. But then she brought something up that I will never forget,

"Hey, there are going to be sign ups for the church choir. You like to sing, so I was wondering if you wanted me to sign you up."

Singing and playing guitar are my two safe havens, my two ways to escape it all. Reality is a harsh place, I dwell in the realm of music. No one yells, only sings. No punches are thrown, only soft strums of the guitar and swift beats of the drums. There is only peace and prosperity. Sadly, that is only a temporary state of being. There is time when we must return to where we are; and sometimes that is where we don't truly belong. Now, here I was, laying in bed with my mother wrapped around me, shaking like a leaf.

"Sure, mum." I respond, hardly thinking it over. It's funny, the one moment in my life that I wasn't thinking, I made the smartest decision I have ever made in my life. She remained close to me for the rest of the night, eventually falling to sleep. I didn't care, it was nice to have someone near you in times of pure fear. I nuzzled my nose into her hair. I could hear my father stirring in the other room. They were both the most caring parents a lad could ask for, I was just a bad son. I was the one with the anxiety, they had to spend money on me and take me to special doctors. They were the true sufferers of my anxiety. But they try to protest, they claim otherwise. But, I know the truth. I know they just feel bad for me. They're never honest with me. It's like that time when they told me the man with the big black boots wasn't real and I probably just made him up. Fucking liars. Please, mind my language, this topic ignites an internal flame of fury. I'm so sorry.

Anywho, the next day it was Saturday and therefore, it was the first meeting I would have with the first choir. And, you see, in my town, mass was an everyday thing. So, I would have to meet with them every day after school, a pretty big commitment in my opinion. I looked in my closet and skimmed it quickly. I have to look presentable or people will think I'm a regular teenage hooligan. I grab a plain white button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. I slip them on and a pair of socks. I head downstairs and sit down at the chair at the far end of the table. My mum is already downstairs making pancakes, the only thing I eat in the morning. She knows that if basic things don't remain constant I feel distressed. Once she accidentally put my shoes in the wrong spot. I freaked out. Everything felt like anarchy. She wasn't home so I ended up unconscious on the floor for 3 hours from a severe panic attack. My mother sometimes suggests breaking from my need to have everything consistent to loosen me up and to not fuel the fire. I panicked at the thought. Tight schedules are better than anarchy. Whenever she suggests that my heart races and my head spins. Sometimes I faint or I just fall over. But this morning I felt better. Still the usual enclosed feeling I normally get. As if there were invisible walls slowly inching towards me, slowly crushing under the pressure. One day I'll surely be crushed. Thats the day I dread. In my head i call it the breaking day. My mummy didn't know about the breaking day. Or maybe she does but she just doesn't tell me.

"Morning, Georgie." She smiles at me, like always. She puts down her spatula, like always. She opens her arms and I hug her, she kisses the top of my head, like always. Everything is perfect. Everything happened as it always does. After breakfast, she and I go into the car. My mum tells me if we're passing a green door so I can shut my eyes. I look over my prepared speech for whomever may attend. I had explored every possibility. If they comment on my shoes, face, anything really. I was prepared. If there's anything I hate its anarchy. In fact, its my worst fear. I must be prepared or anarchy will unfold before me and that's the last thing I want. I want these people in the church choir to be my friends or at least acquaintances.

"Mum, I'm scared." I whimper.

"Why, honey?" My mum asks.

"What if they don't like me?"

"They will, you're such a nice boy. Why wouldn't they like you?" She responds.

"I don't know, I'm always so scared of everything. What if they don't want to be friends with me because of that?"

"It'll be fine. Your anxiety is a part of what makes you so perfect and what makes you so beautiful."

"I guess."

"Come on, George. Everything is going to be fine."

"I hope, mum."

We pull up to the church and I start to hyperventilate. I shiver though it's very hot out. She hauls me to my feet. And, before I know it, I'm at the doors of the church. My legs feel weak and my stomach is churning. I turn around, expecting to see my mum, but she is gone. I stumble through the doors, only to fall directly onto my face. I look up and see a tall boy towering over me.