The Diary of Ryan Ross

chapter seven

November 12, 2004

These past few days haven't been the best for me, or anyone else for that matter. I promise I'm not throwing up or starving myself or whatever. Things have just been difficult.

It kinda started the day after Halloween.

I woke up, my entire body was freezing. I guess it is sort of my fault for not wearing anything to bed, but still. Anyways, I got out of bed and decided that, hey I smell gross, why don't I take a shower?

So I did.

I turned on the water to the hottest temperature I could stand. i stepped in, holding my breath as I got used to the searing heat of the water. My body relaxed and I stepped completely under the falling water. My skin felt warm, at last.

My chest was searing with pain, however. I always tend to forget things; my house keyes, my homework. Photos. Memories. Scars. I forgot completely about the scars on my chest. I reached up to touch the scratches across my chest.

The pressure of my finger burned my skin but i continued to touch it. I remember the day I earned these bad boys. I guess I don't like to think about it but I will explain.

My mother abused me.

I know what you're thinking. Oh no, mothers are kind and loving and could never hurt their delicate son. Bullshit. Sure, there are kind and loving mothers. Mine was not.

It kinda all started when I was seven. She would say shitty things to me, about my body, my weight, my enthusiasm. Then, she started to, like, physically hurt me. She would slap me, punch me. But then, whenever my dad came home, she would kiss my cheek, hug me and say she loved me. But with every hug and every I love you would feel too tight or came out tinged with poison.

But for some reason, I still loved her.

She hated me. One day when I was twelve, I remember, we got into an argument over grades. I raised my voice and then it was over. She punched me, knocking out one of my teeth. She pushed me up against the wall and hit me. Over and over and over and over.

She took her keyes and ran them down my chest, resulting in some deep ass cuts. She told me she wished I was never born. That i ruined her life. I can still see the anger on her face. The hate. Then after she finished yelling, she walked out.

That was the day she killed herself.

She drove off, wrecked into a tree. Something like that. I still have the newspaper covering her wreck. It was all our little town could talk about.

My dad was heartbroken. So was i. Her funeral was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. I remember seeing her in her casket, hands folded over her chest. She was wearing the dress she wore to my fifth grade graduation, the one that brought out her eyes. But this time, her eyes were closed. The dress wouldn't do wonders for her lovely eyes anymore. I remember putting a dandelion in her hands; she used to love it when I'd bring them to her when I was, like, four.

Then we said goodbye.

The only thing I have to prove that she hurt me is my scars. But I'd never show them. I want everyone to think that her wreck was an accident. I want everyone to think that she loved me.

Because maybe she did.

After i showered, I got dressed and went to Spencer's. He wanted me to come over to watch TV. I wanted to discuss a plan to get him and Jon back together.

Poor little Spence was never the wiser.

He turned on the TV. I don't know what he was watching, I don't watch mcr TV. Halfway through some shitty ass show he was watching, i turned it off.

"The hell, man?" He asked, reaching for the remote. I pulled out the stupid little batteries and shoved them in my pocket. Jokes on you, Spence. I ripped the batteries out. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Let's talk." I said, straightening myself out.

"About?" He looked genuinely confused. Oh, oblivious Spencer. I was about to make his day.

"Joncer." I whispered.

"The fuck is a Joncer?" He raised an eyebrow. Then, apparently, it hit him. His face fell. "No."

"Yes."

"No, Ryan. You just don't understand do you?" He ran his fingers through his hair and stood up, heading for the kitchen.

"Yes, Spencer. You're in love. I can't bare to see you so fucking miserable!" He opened the fridge and pulled out some leftover cake or something. He grabbed a knife from the cabinet and cut into the cake. "Are you really eating your problems away? That's just sad, man." He pointed the knife at my chest.

"Shut," He said, staring at me. "The fuck," Spencer pulled the knife away and jammed it into the cake. "Up."

"Spencer," I said. I hated to see him like this, eating and smoking through his issues.

"Just stop it! I don't fucking need help!" He shoved a bite of cake in his mouth.

"Do you smell that, man? It. It smells like," I inhaled, pushing his knife away from the cake. "Emotional issues. You fucking miss Jon. Don't even try to tell me you don't."

He bit his lip, setting the knife on the counter. He burying his face in his hands.

"I know," Spencer whispered. "I know, but I just. I don't want to talk about it. I fucked up, I fucked up so bad, Ryan. He wouldn't want me back. He just wouldn't." I watched a tear roll down his face and onto the cake. "And I totally understand why."

Let me tell you something, friends. Watching your mom cry, apparently, sucks. Watching your dad cry is incredibly uncomfortable. Watching your best friend cry. That's heartbreaking.

"You and Jon are gonna get back together. If it's the last damn thing I do," He looked up at me and smiled.

"Thank you."

He stood up straight and hugged me. He fucking hugged me.

Everything is coming up Ross.

Im hoping that everything will get better. Tomorrow Brendon is taking me on a date. Well, it's a dance, but nonetheless. A date. I can't wait. I promise to write all about it after the dance.

And, dear friend, if you're reading this please eat something. I guess that goes for me too, considering i sometimes go back and read my entries.

So long and goodnight,

-ry.