50 Thoughts That Scare Me (Rewrite)

Chapter 5- The Full Extent Part: 2

*Now in present day/ 2 years later*

My name is Frank Iero, I am a heavy thinker, and depression enthusiast. But the doctor's say different;

I have cancer.

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I walked outside, it was raining again. Not to mention it was cold, in January. I was wrapped in a long sleeve shirt, 2 hoodies and a coat. My mom didn't want me to get sick; I already am.

My mom failed to realize that I was always sick and the illness wasn't going away anytime soon. It's been 2 years filled with chemotherapy, a shaved head, medication, fearing I would get the flu, and sometimes even surgery.

None of it helped.

I can't really complain, the passed 2 years have been a blur for me. The day I told Gerard about the cancer was the last day I spoke to him. He never showed up to school after that to my knowledge. I never saw him, so I guess he moved. Or he just hid himself from me very well.

Being diagnosed with cancer did not have it's perks. Everyone wanted to feel sorry for the cancer patients, people wanted to befriend them in pity. I didn't want any of the bullshit, I wasn't fake like that.

I reached the park and sat on the oldest bench there was. It used to be red, but the colored paint was peeled and rusted. I was the only brave human to sit on his bench, everyone feared it would fall apart under the weight. I didn't, I had faith into the bench named Stanley. I named it, in respect, it may be an inanimate object but that doesn't mean it's less than something. Everything is made of matter, everything matters.

Except the depressed and sick.

Of course our condition is serious and matters, but we as humans do not. We don't get respect; instead we get pills shoved down our throats, strong instructions given to us, we get treated like children, we can't live our own lives because someone is constantly controlling it for us.

For once, I would like to manage the hour I swallow the venomous pills. They're supposed to help, but what if I were to over-dose? No thanks!

Being depressed means you're watched like a hawk. Constantly someone is observing your behavior and movements, making sure you want slit your wrists under the act of depression. Everyone thinks just because you're depressed you'll attempt suicide. That's not always the case.

I'm depressed, cancer infested, and I'll tell you what; I'm sick of being the wild animal everyone watches. I just want privacy. I want something real.

I sighed, the air coming out of me was pure white. Almost as white as my paling skin. I watched everyone, hypocritical, right?

There were these kids, shoving one another and laughing, parents talking on cell-phones, guys with briefcases dressed in suits, they made the town look posh. They put out this rep for this small town in New Jersey, acted as if we were always busy full of dull enlightenment, when really we were boring. There was not a single thing in New Jersey itself that would be exciting.

I suddenly wondered what everyone else was thinking. Knowing myself, I think plenty, but what about all the others? Do they ponder up unfathomable questions of illness, ways of life or existence? Or is that just me?

As I ran through my thoughts and observed everyone around me, I had this feeling that grew. My chest tightened, the air was getting thicker, I was slightly sweating in all these layers, and I just wanted to leave. I was in a panic, I didn't know what was happening. But then I realized something; this was where I started to fear the unthinkable and fearless.