Finding a Way | Adopted by Gerard Way

No Big Deal

I spent the weekend wrapped up in a blanket, hidden away in my room trying to catch up on schoolwork. Turns out exams are starting at my school just before Christmas break and I have no idea what I'm doing. I should be able to pass English at least, because that's always been an easy class for me. The others, not so much.

I don't know how much catching up I really did, though, because my brain would simply not cooperate. For example, I read a single paragraph out of my History text book about three times without taking in any information. I eventually gave up and just moved on to the next one without having learned a thing.

That happened more than once.

How am I even meant to remember all this stuff? The names of all the U.S presidents? That's useless information, if you ask me.

Then there's math class, my personal Hell. My teacher even approached me once to let me know I was failing the class and that I'd need to 'step it up' or he'd be forced to call my parents. What good would that do?

"Yes, hello, Mr. Way, I was just calling to inform you that your daughter is failing her math class."

What would Gerard even say? Probably something like, "You think I can do something about that? I'm just some guy in a fuckin' band. You're the teacher here!"

• • •

In a blink, I'm already halfway through the week. I've actually been trying to focus in class, because as much as I'd like to think I'm carefree, I actually care a lot. I worry about my future a lot. My attempts haven't been very successful, though, as my mind often drifts to irrelevant things like food, exercise, and sometimes nothing at all. Sometimes I manage to stare blankly during an entire class, only snapping out of it when the bell rings loudly above me.

Thanks, brain.

After another lunch spent in the library on this fine Wednesday afternoon, I drag my feet to the gym for the only class I despise more than math.

It's when we're forced to play sports that I seriously consider hiding in the locker room for the entire period, which I've done on more than one occasion. I just get so self conscious. Realistically, I know everyone isn't staring at me while I'm standing dumbly as defence in a soccer game, or whatever, but I can't help but feel like everyone is secretly making fun of me.

I can hear them in my mind laughing and saying things like, "Look at her, she doesn't even know how to stand properly!"

"What's a fat-ass like that doing trying to play soccer?"

"I bet she'll trip if she ever gets near the ball."

Stupid, stuff, I know. But it's the truth, isn't it? That's what my mind likes to tell me, anyway.

"Alright class!" The gym teacher, Ms. Walker, blows the whistle between her teeth, then lets it drop. I watch as it dangles by a lanyard. "Quick warm up for y'all today. Five laps around the gym."

People groan in protest, but we all start running anyway. I can do running, this should be easy. I get enough practice pacing laps around my room every day.

Things don't go as planned.

After the first lap, I'm already panting.

After the second one, my lungs and muscles are aching.

I start feeling dizzy around the third lap, so I stop to catch my breath, much to the protest of my mind who's only encouraging me to ignore the pain and go faster.

Did I mention that the only reason I ever come close to enjoying running is because it brings delight to the bitch in my head? You know, the one who dictates what I eat, when I eat, and how much I eat? Not that I don't agree with every thought, but I'm also sick of the rules, sick of the rigidity, and generally sick of the anxiety attached to it all.