It's Not Cool | Jonas Brothers

Chapter 22

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A longer one filled with drama... I hope you like it!!

It's been mentioned to me that I should put a trigger warning before reading this chapter. Be safe!

Nick's P.O.V.
Dad drove us all home. Kevin went along, knowing he'd had to go home tonight, but figured he could stay over for a drink. Danielle is having a girls night, so he wasn't welcome at home yet anyways.

Mom prepares a snack while Joe helps her get something to drink for us all.

I decline the snack, not wanting to calculate a bolus for it. I watch the plate go around the room to hand everyone a snack. Even Pippa gratefully takes it.

I sigh and get my drink from the table. Sugar free. What else?

I don't even know what movie we are watching. Not like I'm paying attention to it anyways.

My mind keeps going back to my Diabetes. I really hate my thoughts at the moment. I want to slap myself for going back there. It's not like it is a disease I can get rid of. I'll have this for the rest of my life. I've got to learn to deal with it.

I'm so frustrated I want to slap myself. I'm not doing that, obviously. Everyone is here. I would have to explain a lot if I were to slap myself right now. It's not like I can put it on a spasm or something.

Finally, I'm having enough of it. I excuse myself to go upstairs and use the bathroom.

I walk up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Basically running up the stairs to be there faster.

Entering the bathroom, I lock the door behind me. I look in the mirror and see my reflection. This is not the boy I used to be. This boy is sick. The eyes of the boy are filled with so much, but at the same time they look so empty. My dirty, brown eyes used to glow.

Why my family? Why me? What did I do wrong in my life? Why did I get this to help other people who are suffering from the same thing? Not that I wish for this to happen to anyone, but there are artists out there who are way more famous than I am.

The high I had this morning was the worst. I couldn't stop drinking water as if I had run a marathon and got dehydrated. I had the worst attitude towards my family. They don't deserve that side of me. I can't control myself, no matter how much I try. I'm just straightforward mean towards everyone.

Standing in my field of vision is enough to receive a snappy comment when I'm high. Which is what happened to Joe. I was really mean towards him, but I'm so happy he can deal with me in those situations. He doesn't write it off, but he doesn't hold it against me, knowing I'm not myself when I'm high or low.

It's not like he wants to see me go through it. He can't bear to watch me go through it. The pain and suffer in my eyes when I have to test or shoot insulin when I need it to work faster than my Omnipod can handle. Or to place a new Omnipod on my back when it needs to be replaced. It's not just a pinch you are feeling.

It feels like the biggest needle is pushed into you or something like a blunt knife.

The low from during the show never fully disappeared. I know I'm still low. I take one of my kits from the cabinet underneath the sink and test myself. I was right. Still low.

Tears enter my eyes. I don't want to go down and grab a snack or a drink. I don't want to have to deal with it anymore. I don't want to treat my Diabetes anymore. It's ruling my life. It's my life, not my Diabetes' life. Can't I live my life for a change?

Before my Diagnoses, everything was so much simpler. I only had to worry about my family, my career and where my life was going. Taking it day by day. Not a single worry about my health in any way.

I start sobbing. I don't want this stupid Diabetes anymore. I pull up my shirt and in anger I pull off my Omnipod without disconnecting it first. It hurts like ... but I refrain myself from screaming. I can't scream. They'll hear me and get worried.

I throw the Omnipod to the other side to the bathroom. I watch it for a minute and curse it with every single curse known to man. Diabetes has got my life under a spell.

Next I feel so miserable that I empty my stomach above the toilet.

Sliding down the wall, I pull my knees up. I run my hands through my short curls and star pulling my hair.

Anything to distract my body from the pain on my lower back.

I'm full crying, the waterworks rolling down my cheeks, exploding on the tiled bathroom floor.

I wish I could explode right now from falling on the floor. I could never do it to my family, but me not being here would end my suffering. I know it makes the lives of my family members harder, but it would make my life easier. With Diabetes, life will never be easy.

I let out another sob. The sight that once held my Omnipod looks horrendous. Irritated and broken skin. Blood pouring out of a few wounds I created by ripping of the terror machine.

The hardest part is that no one will ever understand it the way I do. They can only imagine and sympathize with me. They'll never know the real deal.

I grab the bathtub and howl myself back up. I lean on the counter and roll up my sleeves. Déjà vu from the hospital bathroom, but this bathroom is much more luxurious and cleaner.

Seeing my depressing self in the mirror, I want to punch something. Anything to blow off some steam.

I do it. I punch the wall. Through my blurry eyes I miss it. I hit the mirror, breaking it into a million pieces. I retract my hand faster than it hit the mirror.

I cradle my hand between my legs from the pain searing through it. I cry harder. It hurts so much. I wipe my eyes to look at my hand.

My knuckles are covered in blood and are swelling up by the second. My legs give out and I fall back to the floor.

Seeing the mirror in pieces on the floor, I can't help but grab a piece. I eye it carefully. I figured I might as well use it to my advantage. I wonder if I should do this. Can I do this to my family? Will they hate me? Disown me? Send me away? Put me on the streets?

I decide I want nothing else other than pain and distraction. I drag it across my left wrist three times. I get distracted.

They must have heard the mirror shattering, because someone tries to open the door forcefully, but it doesn't budge.

Soothing, but mainly worried, requests of Kevin and Joe are heard for me to open up the door, but I can't. They heard my sobs for sure. Otherwise they would have requested a bit different. They would have yelled angrily, wanting to know what's going on on this side of the door.

I don't want to face them. I want to get away from this stupid disease. Away from this unfair world. I want to be gone.

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