I am not afraid

9.

There's one thing about the park that I never really realised before today and that's how hard the benches are. Pieces of rotting, badly painted wood barely held together by bolts and nails which feels like it's going to collapse right from underneath you any second.

Benches in some ways are similar to me and my brain.

The bench looks okay from a distance and of course on the outside so do I, but as you go nearer the bench you realise it's not in good condition, you sit down on the bench and suddenly realise how fragile and unstable it is and that it's going to crumble and fall apart soon, it's just a matter of when.

Like my brain. It's just a matter of when. My bench has fallen apart before, I know it's going to happen again.

There's only a few things you can do with a decaying bench though, the same as there are only a few things to keep my brain holding together. You can get someone to look at it, test it, try and figure out the most prominent problems it has in order to know how to fix it. Somewhat like Widman seems to think my brain needs, fixing.

Which it doesn't.

Secondly you can try and patch it up, stick the worst bits together and hope it doesn't break, you can fake repairs and keep the bench looking okay even if it's still as fragile and fucked up as it usually is. This has happened too many times to count, trying to cover things up and pretend I'm normal, not different.

And then there's the last thing.

You can find someone to take care of the bench, make slow but perfect repairs, restore it to how it should be and make it strong again.

That person is Frank, he's doing that for me without him even knowing it. He's not just glueing the broken bits, he's making them new again. He's not just letting my bench fall apart he's taking care of it, he's being careful and taking it slow but he's slowly bringing it back to the strength it should be.

He's stopping my brain from being so much of the brain Widman hates.

He stops the voice. He makes him stop. The fucking voice.

I look to the left of me at Frank sat on the park bench, he's holding my hand and seems deep in thought. He doesn't have to talk though just holding my hand is enough.

He doesn't know how much he helps me.

He turns his head and smiles slightly when he realises I'm looking at him, squeezing my hand gently and sighing a content sigh.

"Your Ma hates me doesn't she?" He suddenly asks frowning very slightly.

Hate. It's a very strong word, it's the kind that should be used on a serial killer or a rapist, not my Frank. No one should ever hate him, he doesn't deserve any hate he gets.

"Not hate Frankie" I start, placing my free hand on his knee "she's just a little pissed off. She'll come around I promise and if not? I don't give a fuck anyway and you shouldn't either"

He shrugs "I suppose".

There's silence for a little while after that. There's no one around but I can hear conversation in the silence, murmured words and babbled nonsense but conversation none the less. I know these people talking are only something I can hear since there's no one else in the park, but I'm different, I can sometimes hear what others can't and that's okay. I'm not crazy, I just... I'm just not the same as everyone else.

"Hey Gerard?" Frank suddenly pipes up, the conversations in my head stop. They go silent.

How the fuck does he do that?