50 Thoughts That Scare Me (Rewrite)

Chapter 6- CancerBoy, Frank Iero.

I woke up this morning with a sense of scarce. I had a terrifying dream last night. I wouldn't so much as call it a nightmare, a nightmare is something you hate and are truly afraid of. This was a dream, with a bad ending. A terrifying dream.

I sat up in my bed, rubbed my eyes, ran a hand through my hair, and then sighed. That was what I usually did in the morning. It was odd, it was becoming a routine. It was tiring to live everyday in the same way. To do the same things redundantly, it was tiring and becoming old and boring. I hated living everyday as it is, but to live every day in the exact same way, that's truly tiring.

But what can I do? I'm just a kid who is border-line anxiety filled. Its not beneficial, its not beautiful, its not something to be proud of. Depression and anxiety isn't something that one is particularly in liking with. It ruins you from the inside out. There's many different definitions of depression, based on your personal experience, but I know for sure, that depression comes in waves, it slowly takes pieces of your soul and then it just drowns you, taking you all at once. 

Some people wear their depression on their sleeve, as some sort of badge to be proud of. They show it off, gain pity from people. It annoys me, I try to to be happy, all the damn time, it's hard. At first glance, you would see me as a normal teenager, I hide my depression with embarrassment as I'm also ashamed. 

"Frank, would you like some pancakes before you take your medicine?" My mom poked her head through the doorway. I looked at her, all thoughts of depression disappearing instantly, "Yes please." I responded. I watched as she shook her head, turned around, and walked away with a spatula in her hand. 

I sighed and stood up, slipping on some jeans and a shirt. I suddenly felt a little obese, a little chubby, chemo-therapy tends to work it's weight magic. When I started my first round, my cheeks resembled the puffed out cheeks of chipmunks. I chuckled, maybe I should try to exercise, that is a possibility...Though, maybe I have a chance at winning the lottery, the odds are the same. Seeing how I'm not totally 18 years of age yet, I can't play the lottery, so looks like I'm also not going to work out any time soon. Oh well.

I walked down the stairs, quietly humming to myself. For some reason, I was in a good mood. This also happens in waves, I tend to get happy, then I tend to get depressed. It's hard to tell which emotion is the true emotion, they switch so quickly, I blame the cancer meds. For all I know, they could be fucking with my hormones and emotions, oh, the perks of being a cancer patient. I take about 3-4 prescription pills a day, all unnamed due to the fact my mom never leaves the bottles in the bathroom. 

My mom bought me one of those days of the weeks pill organizers. It has a night side and a day side for organization. So, there was no need to keep the bottles in the bathroom. Not to mention, my mom doesn't want me to know what the pills are for, what they're called, and she doesn't want me to have access to a large amount of them, for some unknown reason. But, she's my mom, and I love her dearly. 

I sat down at the table, a steaming hot plate of pancakes right in front me. I doused the pancakes in an unhealthy amount of syrup and dug in to the fluffy pancakes. They were amazing, thank god, if there is a god, that my mom is an excellent cook. Even given her boundaries, seeing how I'm a vegetarian. 

"So, I was thinking...." I trailed off, looking at my mom from across the table. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I swear I saw a worried expression cross her face. 

"Yes, sweetie?" She asked, I could tell she was trying to convince me and herself that she wasn't worried. Trying is the key word, I happen to be very good and accurate at picking up the emotions of people. Not only emotions, but personalities, untold secrets, thoughts, habits, ect. 

So, I guess, instead of having a social trait like most teenagers, I have what I like to call a sense of knowing trait. Which, admittedly, comes in handy very often. 

"I was thinking about taking guitar lessons or something, you know, I still have that old guitar dad gave me, and I even saved some money up to get a new one.." I slid my fork back and forth on the plate softly, sure to not make a screeching noise. 

"Oh, well I guess that's possible. As long as it doesn't interfere with your doctors appointments or even school work." She paused, "By the way, would you like to try a cyber school program? I remember how you said you had anxiety attacks at school, and how you're afraid of going back sometimes. I just want to relieve the stress and tension off of you." She continued to chew her food, then she took a sip of her black coffee. 

I wasn't sure about cyberschool, honestly, I've never thought about it. Hell, I didn't know it was actually possible to learn off of a computer until now. But, did I want to totally seclude myself from society? Become a recluse, hide in my room all day, no contact with the outside words, besides my cancertastic appointments? It sounded tempting. 

"I don't know, maybe." I shrugged, unsure of my decision. 

"I'll give you time to think about it, I don't want you to just jump to solutions and choices." My mom got up, slipped her dirty dishes in the sink, took my dirty dishes as well, and sharply pointed up the stairs. 

I looked at the clock on the stove. 8:47Am. It was time for me to take my pills, another routine I do not like to do. 

I mean, have you ever basically had pills shoved down your throat? Pills you don't even know what the purpose is, or what the names are? I have, obviously. I didn't want to take them, but my mom and doctors forced me. Honestly, I couldn't give a fuck if I didn't take the damned poison pills, but I wanted to make my mom happy. I didn't want her to have to witness her son's funeral. 

I opened the day of the week pill container, Friday. I counted the pills to make sure I had the right amount, I sighed, tipped my head back and threw the pills in my mouth. I washed them down with tap water, and then proceeded to stare at my reflection. 

My hair was thin, I was pretty much bald, my eyes were a dull hazel green color I inherited from my mother. These eyes used to hold life and light, when you looked into these eyes you could see the happiness they reflected, you could just know that I was content with everything. But then, that day I found out about the cancer changed everything. 

I couldn't stand looking at my reflection anymore. My skin pale, lips chapped and chewed on, dark circles under my eyes, not to mention those damn chubby cheeks. I resembled a zombie from the dead. Or, should I say, the undead?

So, I did what any normal person would do, I left the bathroom, walked into my room, put my shoes on, grabbed my notebook, and walked to the park. 

That's where it all began, in a black journal notebook, in a park that lacked the happiness of children, on the oldest bench their was. 

50 Thoughts That Scare Me, Frank Iero (CancerBoy) -

1. I'm scared of routines 

2. I'm scared of the pills/ drugs