house of memories | phan

5. the only difference between life and dying is one is trying

I don't understand why people give out to teenagers when they're on their phones or laptops. Like, I understand that lots of parents are probably thinking "oh shit, my little angel is probably watching kinky porn, I need to get them away from the Internet," or they just want to protect their children from the horrors of the world, but honestly without internet in the past two months I would probably be in a much worse place than I already was. Much worse.

And okay, maybe some stupid people abuse the internet and harass other people and watch things they shouldn't, and maybe some people try to catfish minors and do bad things, but I guess it's the same as real life. There are good people and bad people, and since we don't hear about good people in the media and only the bad, we fear each other in the world when in reality we're just walking around with our heads in the clouds afraid of everybody including ourselves.

Phil has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Every single day I go to school and I'm spat at, people shove me into lockers and onto the ground, I'm beat up in the bathrooms, elbowed in class and told that I'm completely worthless. Three months ago I would have cried myself to sleep and prayed for death to take me away to a place where there's nothing but darkness and silence and no pain. But now I have Phil, who texts me everyday after school asking me about my day, who tells me that I'm important and stronger than I think I am, and who tells me goodnight every night before I drift away to sleep. And even if he's just pretending to be kind, he's actually being there for me. He's four years older than me and studying English language and linguistics in university but somehow he still manages to find the time to text me every evening. And in the past month we've started Skyping each other. Sometimes for ten or fifteen minutes to check in and make sure that we're both okay and breathing, and something for hours and hours. I don't feel so alone anymore.

And who says internet friends aren't real friends? I talk to Phil more than I talk to anybody I know in real life. He's the best friend that I've been wanting my entire life.  I love Phil more than anything in the entire world.

More than anything.

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The door of my bedroom closes behind me so hard that my curtain rises and falls against the window. It's been one of those days where nothing has gone right; teachers pointed out how ridiculously stupid I was (one particular teacher called me a fucking peasant), a group of boys cornered my in the cloak room and attacked me (but not hard enough to leave any marks), and my mother yelled at me that I was a "fucking faggot with no life."

And no, just because this sort of thing happens most days does not mean that I'm anywhere near okay. Everything hurts; my chest, my throat, my eyes. Tears run down my cheeks in warm streams and I cover my face with my hands. Sometimes, it's just so hard to be strong.

Suddenly, my laptop starts buzzing and I wipe my eyes carelessly on the back of my sleeve. It's someone Skyping me, and I'm guessing that it's Phil. It's pretty early for him to be video calling me though. He usually has class at this hour.

I walk across the room with my legs shaking a little from the trauma of today and sit in front of the laptop with my fringe sticking to my wet cheeks and puffy red eyes. I clear my throat and answer the call, angling the camera lens so hopefully Phil won't notice that I have been crying.

"Hello?" I say in a hushed tone as the video call connects with Phil. Behind the black loading screen I hear a sniffle and I suddenly know that something isn't right. "Phil?"

"Dan," I hear Phil's voice through the speakers, but his voice is thin and hoarse. His face appears on screen and I take in his dark hair and pale skin, and his eyes. His eyes are shining with tears. I was right, something is wrong. "Oh my god, Dan. I'm so sorry that I'm calling you so early but...but—"