How to save a Life (Jalex)

Therapy

“Give me a therapy, I'm a walking travesty, but I'm smiling at everything.” (All Time Low – Therapy)

Alex P.O.V.

I was going to see a therapist again, just to make Jack happy. He was always so worried about me, kept being around me to make sure I wouldn't kill myself and that I would eat properly. He always told me how much I meant to him, how happy he was about the fact that I was alive. He just wanted to make sure that I wouldn't kill myself, yeah, I know, but sometimes it did annoy the shit out of me but I didn't want to hurt Jack's feelings.

But sometimes I had an outburst. I couldn't take this friendliness all the time and he could be really really intrusive and when I had a bad day, I would have shouted at him. Of course I was drained in regret shortly after that and begged for forgiveness. Jack would forgive me, after a day or two, but I had to do more and more with the time. A simple sorry wouldn't do any more. In addition, I knew a word didn't mean much, in the end it just counts what we have done, not what we have said.

I didn't really believe in this religious kind of stuff, like heaven, hell, angels, god and so on. I mean, that's crap! Of course, the universe had to be made somehow, but there was the big bang. Some of these religious fanatics say that God had formed the big bang, but no. I didn't believe in this stuff, I will never do. Anyway, I'm rambling about things I didn't want to ramble about.

If there was really something like heaven or hell, I would definitely never see the inside of this heaven. I was never a saint, I did so many things that weren't nice or something like that. You know, for entering heaven you had to have a clean west, a good soul. I didn't even believe that my soul was good or nice because why the hell would I say all the things I'd say to Jack when we were fighting, when I had the perfect soul?

And of course, the thing with the band was a good thing but I just couldn't accept that was a really good thing. Yeah, we helped many people, we gave them hope, they lived on because of us. But what did they do to see us live or just to listen to our music? Yes, they gave their money, maybe the money of hard work, just to see four dorks from Baltimore, from which one is suicidal. We loved making music but taking money for it? It was just not right, I thought. I would do all these shows for free, but still I had to earn money to pay for my living. Ugh, I hate this world.

“Mr Gaskarth?”, the nurse asked. I sighed and got up. Yeah, I was in a therapists office, how nice could this day get? I hate therapists. The one I had to attend after Tom's death was just so awful and played to be Mr Nice Guy, but he was just so incredibly stupid. He treated me like I was an infant and not a twelve years old boy. He didn't help me at all and look where I was now: Again in an office of a therapist who was probably an asshole. Yay, applause for this perfect life. Note the sarcasm.