I Can't Go On, I'll Go On (1/12?)
Title: I Can't Go On, I'll Go On
Author: musicbendr
Rating: R overall; PG-13 for this chapter because of language
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and other various slash, het, and femslash pairings
Length: ~2600
Spoilers: None
Summary: AU. The glee kids are all at a juvenile mental hospital. These are their journal entries. Written for this prompt at the glee_angst_meme.
Warnings: triggers for a spectrum of mental disorders
A/N: I hope I don't offend anyone with mental disorders/who knows anyone who suffers from them. I realize that this is a serious and sensitive subject, and I don't mean for any of it to come off as humorous or insulting to people with these disorder. I am just trying to portray them realistically, and if I fail, I apologize. On another note, please tell me if you think that the journal entries/writing styles are in character. Journal entries will get longer/more in-depth as the characters progress and get more accustomed to writing them. Title stolen from Bandslam.
LIST OF DISORDERS
RACHEL- Narcissistic Personality Disorder
QUINN- Dissociative Identity Disorder
PUCK- Conduct Disorder
FINN- Bipolar Disorder
KURT- Bulimia Nervosa
MERCEDES- Anorexia Nervosa
ARTIE- Major Depressive Disorder
TINA- Panic Disorder
BRITTANY- Schizophrenia
SANTANA- Intermittent Explosive Disorder
MATT- Dependent Personality Disorder
MIKE- Bulimia Nervosa and Hypergymnasia
~
DAY ONE
QUINN
Dear God,
Is this how you're supposed to start a journal? I know it's for the nurses, but I think I feel more comfortable writing to You. It's easier to tell someone you've known your life about your problems, especially when that someone has Your infinite love. I'd give anything to get rid of this disease, this dissociative identity disorder. But we all have our crosses to bare, and this is mine. I think I'm one of the few people here (my roommate is definitely not one of them) who just wants to be able to lead a productive life, fall in love, do God's work. I can't do that when there are four “me”s, though. Of course, there's the real me, Quinn Fabray, cheerleader and piano player. I'm a good girl who gets good grades, is dedicated, and really tries her hardest to do everything she can to be worthy of God's love. Pastor Stephenson told me that I have quite the future in missionary work, which I think would be exciting. But I can't do that until I've destroyed this evil part of me, these other three personalities who take over my body.
There's Princess Antoinette Annabelle who loves nature and animals and singing, like a stereotypical Disney princess. From what my friends have told me, she is very obsessed with finding a suitable husband to help her rule her kingdom. She is thoughtful and compassionate, if a little air headed. I really don't like her persona, as she's very weak.
And then I have Jonathon. I dislike him most of all because he's a gay man, and that is just something I cannot believe to be acceptable. Jonathon likes to destroy my relationships by telling my secrets; he's a terrible gossip. He wants to be a fashion designer (he's just turned 18) and always cuts up my clothes to make scandalous, provocative outfits any good Christian girl wouldn't be caught dead wearing. My parents had to keep all my clothes in their room for quite a period of time because it cost them a fortune to replace all the ones Jonathon ripped to pieces in the name of “art.” He's also over sexualized and I have found myself in some very disturbing places thanks to his desires.
Lastly comes Eliza, a child. She's somewhere around five or six, but she can never remember, so no one has been able to give me a clear age. Unlike Jonathon and Princess Antoinette Annabelle, Eliza doesn't age. She stays consistently that young. She is very timid and even more sensitive, prone to outbursts at even the tiniest noise or touch. Mostly Eliza stays in a corner and sucks her thumb, occasionally asking to play with dolls - those are her favorites. She always asks for dolls.
I'm trying so hard, God, to rid myself of this affliction. I've been on hunger strikes, spiritual purges, and exorcisms, but nothing seems to work. Sunnybrook is my last resort, and I hope that it can finally answer my questions and free me from this burden.
“Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, he courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” - Reinhold Niebuhr
KURT
Breakfast: plain bagel with margarine, orange juice from concentrate, bacon (795 calories)
Lunch: tuna sandwich w/ tomato slice, pretzel sticks, glass of water (223 calories)
Dinner: chicken pot pie, chocolate milk, brownie w/ vanilla ice cream (1610 calories)
Snack: crackers, apple pie (1300 calories)
Total: 3928 calories
MIKE
Parents took away all my weights, so couldn't do any lifting before going to Sunnybrook. Instead just ran in place in room for about an hour before I had to leave. Sunnybrook's big, with good food. Ate a monster's worth of chicken pot pie and dessert at dinner tonight, so had to throw up before exercising to avoid sickness. Got in two hours at the Sunnybrook gym tonight w/ roommate Matt: 30 minutes of leg work, 30 minutes with the punching bag, and an hour of dancing. Matt didn't dance, just sat and watched. Met this girl, Brittany, who's schizophrenic, but she's one helluva dancer. Danced with her for the last 20 minutes or so.
FINN
So my mom thinks I'm totally crazy because I tried to kill myself a few months ago on Memorial Day and ever since then she's been shipping me to all these crazy doctors with their clipboards and those really comfortable couch-chair things you always see on TV. They tell me I have bipolar disorder, which means I go between being like someone who got that laughing gas at the dentist and those people you see on the news sometimes standing on the edge of a bridge with, like, full police precincts trying to get them to come down. Right now I'm feeling pretty normal, which is weird 'cause usually whenever I get under stress I get what the doctors call “rapid cycling.” That's when I switch from crazy happy to super depressed as fast as Scotty gets beamed up in Star Trek. I think that meeting Rachel, who is kind of crazy, but so is everyone else here, helped me not change. She's a pretty cool chick, super talented and really pretty. She thinks I'm a good singer so she wants us to do duets together. I guess that's fine, because I don't really have anything better to do. My roommate won't stop burning things - he's already set off the smoke detector twice, and no one can figure out where he's getting stuff to start the fires from - and our room smells gnarly. I don't plan on spending lots of time with him, especially since his mohawk makes me think of skinheads and death metal junkies. And those kinds of people are always messed up.
~
Turns out when my roommate's not burning things, he's kind of alright. We talked about football after dinner and how we should start a team here to keep from getting bored. I like him better than Rachel, because she's psychotic and she might turn out to be a stalker. Like, after dinner, I walked out of the bathroom and there she was leaning up against the wall like she was waiting to jump me or something. It was freaky.
PUCK
If you fucktards think I'm gonna spill my guts out to you in this stupid diary, you're more deranged than all the future serial killers running around this place.
BRITTANY
I like Sunnybrook. The trees here are nicer than the ones back home, who are always sticky and they use that as an excuse for me not to hug them. The ones here love hugs, and I spent lots of time today outside hugging them. But the forks here are meanies: they said they'd poke me if I tried to use them, so I had to eat dinner with a spoon. Everyone I've met so far is really pretty, like Puck and Finn and Santana and Tina. They all talked to me so I didn't have to talk to forks who almost made me cry but then Santana told them to shut up and they were quiet. I'm still scared to eat with them, though. They might hurt me when Santana's not looking.
RACHEL
I have been unfairly placed in the mental institution known as Sunnybrook Juvenile Rehabilitation Center. Clearly somewhere along the way to its destination to a prestigious summer drama program, my audition tape fell into the hands of a quack of a psychologist who misdiagnosed my effervescent and gregarious nature as narcissistic personality disorder. Anyone who has met me can tell that I am not being egotistical when I claim to have the best voice in the state of Kansas, because it is a true statement. I have 124 awards lining the walls of what could be considered a shrine to my numerous achievements in my dads' basement. One day, once I make my spectacular Broadway debut as Eva Peron in Evita, that basement will become Kansas' number one tourist destination, swamped by commoners who are not worthy of my presence but free to bask in the glory of my accomplishments. I expect that when this inevitable day occurs, these people will live vicariously through my glamorous lifestyle because they cannot stand to face the realities of their pathetic existence.
So you can understand my frustration in being trapped in a center where everyone strives to be “normal,” while I am destined to be a star. However I will soon convince these fools that I am not mentally ill like the rest of these depressing patients, and they will have to let me go.
My roommate has already proven herself to be sub-par to my singing abilities, as I observed her scratchy voice as she sang “Someday My Prince Will Come” in the shower. It's not even a vocally challenging song, and she managed to make Walt Disney toss and turn in his grave. She gained fast respect for me when I took to singing the incredibly difficult “Defying Gravity,” a timeless classic that this girl is probably too uncultured to understand. Her clear disregard for my talent and presence is a manifestation of her own feelings of inadequacy, spurred on by my superiority. There remains a possibility that these feelings of hers may be amorous in nature, as I have been known to “turn” many people who prefer the male gender.
At any rate, I have found one person who comes close to my outstanding musical prowess, though he is by no means my equal. His name is Finn Hudson, and he has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This is unfortunate as it will effect the strict practice regimen I've already drawn up for us. Just because my fathers were conned into believing there's something wrong with their perfect child does not mean my craft should suffer. I've already convinced Brad, one of the nurses, to perform as our accompanist. While this is not the most desirable of situations, I do believe that I will manage to convert Finn Hudson into a performer of Off Broadway caliber by the time my stay is up.
And if nothing else, this experience will make excellent fodder for my future autobiography in which I detail how I continued to strive for stardom despite the unfortunate circumstances of my wrongful imprisonment.
SANTANA
I hate what I've become. As much as I love being a badass and scaring the living daylights out of all the Call of Duty freak shows at my old school, I like being able to control it. For years people thought that I was just violent, angry, and I got my kicks out of punching people instead of playing house. Which is partially true. But I only actually beat people up when they really deserved it, you know? Usually I give them a death glare and the problem's solved. Sometimes it isn't, and I have to show them exactly why obsessively watching Fight Club as a child would have done wonders for their fighting abilities.
When I was a sophomore, a cute boy I'd had a crush on for a while asked me to pass him some ketchup, and I threw him to the ground, slammed my fists into his face, and rammed his head into the ground until three hockey players managed to pull me off. I had no idea what just happened and I spent the rest of the school day in the principal's office crying about how I didn't mean it and I didn't even know what I was doing. That was an embarrassing two hours, because I never cry. The principal didn't really seem to know what to do with me, but my mom sure did. We were set up with school psychologist the next morning.
I don't want to be randomly crushing people's existences for the rest of my life. When I crush people, I want it to be on my terms, not on the terms of some fucked up neurons.
TINA
Today, I had three panic attacks. It's all from this hospital, because it's big and new and scary and some of the people I met seem like they could be really dangerous. Puck, for one, looks at everyone with a cold hard stare, and Santana explodes on everyone for no reason at all. Rachel seems like she could kill you in your sleep if you threaten her, Finn gets manic which I think can make you out of control, and Quinn keeps changing personalities. The last one isn't really that scary, but I like to be able to know who I'm dealing with, and when it comes to Quinn, it seems like I get the lottery.
There's a room with a piano and a couple of other instruments, like a choir room. I almost had an attack just by walking by it. I don't know what I'll do when we go in there for an experimental music therapy. Just thinking about that is making me upset. The pen's getting sweaty in my hand, and I feel like I'm choki -
MERCEDES
The staff is making me eat boatloads of potatoes because I told them I'm a vegetarian. Or at least they think I'm eating them. I was sitting next to Noah Puckerman, who goes by Puck, and he asked if I was going to finish those. I told him if he could distract our nurse, Mr. Schuester, I would put them on his plate. So he threw Rachel Berry's plate at the wall and started screaming curse words at everyone. I got away with eating only four tiny bites of chicken pot pie at dinner tonight, which is definitely a victory. Puck winked at me after he saw all the food on my plate, and he upset Rachel Berry. He gets double points in my book, since that girl is making me want to kill Aretha to get her shut up, and I'd never do that normally.
Tina went into a full-on panic attack when we got back to the room, and was it scary. She was breathing like she'd just run a marathon and sweating all over the place. Plus she kept yelling at me, “I'm gonna d-d-die, Mercedes! I'm gonna-gonna die!” Eventually Ms. Pillsbury came in and calmed her down, but it was terrifying. I don't know how she lives like that.
ARTIE
I'm in a wheelchair. I can't do anything. My life sucks. What more do you need to know?
MATT
Being away from my parents is horrible. I feel completely lost and all I can do is sit here and cry. I don't know how to do anything anymore - I don't know how to make friends with any of these people, and no one will tell me how to help them. No one is there for my like my parents were. I followed my roommate to the gym today, but he was too focused on weights to pay much attention to me. So I just did the same routine he did, because he probably knows more about exercise and muscles and anatomy than I do. I did feel really good after the workout, so I bet he really knows what he's doing. Mike (my roommate) danced for a while, first by himself then with a girl named Brittany. They are both amazing and I just sat in awe watching them. I gave them lots of praise at the end, telling them how wonderful and brilliant they looked together even after only a short time being partners. Brittany told me that frogs like to steal her fuzzy pen, but Mike put his arm around my shoulder and told me, “Thanks.”
Being away from my parents makes it hard - figuring out what to do with myself is next to impossible. But I think that Mike might be a great help.
Author: musicbendr
Rating: R overall; PG-13 for this chapter because of language
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn and other various slash, het, and femslash pairings
Length: ~2600
Spoilers: None
Summary: AU. The glee kids are all at a juvenile mental hospital. These are their journal entries. Written for this prompt at the glee_angst_meme.
Warnings: triggers for a spectrum of mental disorders
A/N: I hope I don't offend anyone with mental disorders/who knows anyone who suffers from them. I realize that this is a serious and sensitive subject, and I don't mean for any of it to come off as humorous or insulting to people with these disorder. I am just trying to portray them realistically, and if I fail, I apologize. On another note, please tell me if you think that the journal entries/writing styles are in character. Journal entries will get longer/more in-depth as the characters progress and get more accustomed to writing them. Title stolen from Bandslam.
LIST OF DISORDERS
RACHEL- Narcissistic Personality Disorder
QUINN- Dissociative Identity Disorder
PUCK- Conduct Disorder
FINN- Bipolar Disorder
KURT- Bulimia Nervosa
MERCEDES- Anorexia Nervosa
ARTIE- Major Depressive Disorder
TINA- Panic Disorder
BRITTANY- Schizophrenia
SANTANA- Intermittent Explosive Disorder
MATT- Dependent Personality Disorder
MIKE- Bulimia Nervosa and Hypergymnasia
~
DAY ONE
QUINN
Dear God,
Is this how you're supposed to start a journal? I know it's for the nurses, but I think I feel more comfortable writing to You. It's easier to tell someone you've known your life about your problems, especially when that someone has Your infinite love. I'd give anything to get rid of this disease, this dissociative identity disorder. But we all have our crosses to bare, and this is mine. I think I'm one of the few people here (my roommate is definitely not one of them) who just wants to be able to lead a productive life, fall in love, do God's work. I can't do that when there are four “me”s, though. Of course, there's the real me, Quinn Fabray, cheerleader and piano player. I'm a good girl who gets good grades, is dedicated, and really tries her hardest to do everything she can to be worthy of God's love. Pastor Stephenson told me that I have quite the future in missionary work, which I think would be exciting. But I can't do that until I've destroyed this evil part of me, these other three personalities who take over my body.
There's Princess Antoinette Annabelle who loves nature and animals and singing, like a stereotypical Disney princess. From what my friends have told me, she is very obsessed with finding a suitable husband to help her rule her kingdom. She is thoughtful and compassionate, if a little air headed. I really don't like her persona, as she's very weak.
And then I have Jonathon. I dislike him most of all because he's a gay man, and that is just something I cannot believe to be acceptable. Jonathon likes to destroy my relationships by telling my secrets; he's a terrible gossip. He wants to be a fashion designer (he's just turned 18) and always cuts up my clothes to make scandalous, provocative outfits any good Christian girl wouldn't be caught dead wearing. My parents had to keep all my clothes in their room for quite a period of time because it cost them a fortune to replace all the ones Jonathon ripped to pieces in the name of “art.” He's also over sexualized and I have found myself in some very disturbing places thanks to his desires.
Lastly comes Eliza, a child. She's somewhere around five or six, but she can never remember, so no one has been able to give me a clear age. Unlike Jonathon and Princess Antoinette Annabelle, Eliza doesn't age. She stays consistently that young. She is very timid and even more sensitive, prone to outbursts at even the tiniest noise or touch. Mostly Eliza stays in a corner and sucks her thumb, occasionally asking to play with dolls - those are her favorites. She always asks for dolls.
I'm trying so hard, God, to rid myself of this affliction. I've been on hunger strikes, spiritual purges, and exorcisms, but nothing seems to work. Sunnybrook is my last resort, and I hope that it can finally answer my questions and free me from this burden.
“Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, he courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” - Reinhold Niebuhr
KURT
Breakfast: plain bagel with margarine, orange juice from concentrate, bacon (795 calories)
Lunch: tuna sandwich w/ tomato slice, pretzel sticks, glass of water (223 calories)
Dinner: chicken pot pie, chocolate milk, brownie w/ vanilla ice cream (1610 calories)
Snack: crackers, apple pie (1300 calories)
Total: 3928 calories
MIKE
Parents took away all my weights, so couldn't do any lifting before going to Sunnybrook. Instead just ran in place in room for about an hour before I had to leave. Sunnybrook's big, with good food. Ate a monster's worth of chicken pot pie and dessert at dinner tonight, so had to throw up before exercising to avoid sickness. Got in two hours at the Sunnybrook gym tonight w/ roommate Matt: 30 minutes of leg work, 30 minutes with the punching bag, and an hour of dancing. Matt didn't dance, just sat and watched. Met this girl, Brittany, who's schizophrenic, but she's one helluva dancer. Danced with her for the last 20 minutes or so.
FINN
So my mom thinks I'm totally crazy because I tried to kill myself a few months ago on Memorial Day and ever since then she's been shipping me to all these crazy doctors with their clipboards and those really comfortable couch-chair things you always see on TV. They tell me I have bipolar disorder, which means I go between being like someone who got that laughing gas at the dentist and those people you see on the news sometimes standing on the edge of a bridge with, like, full police precincts trying to get them to come down. Right now I'm feeling pretty normal, which is weird 'cause usually whenever I get under stress I get what the doctors call “rapid cycling.” That's when I switch from crazy happy to super depressed as fast as Scotty gets beamed up in Star Trek. I think that meeting Rachel, who is kind of crazy, but so is everyone else here, helped me not change. She's a pretty cool chick, super talented and really pretty. She thinks I'm a good singer so she wants us to do duets together. I guess that's fine, because I don't really have anything better to do. My roommate won't stop burning things - he's already set off the smoke detector twice, and no one can figure out where he's getting stuff to start the fires from - and our room smells gnarly. I don't plan on spending lots of time with him, especially since his mohawk makes me think of skinheads and death metal junkies. And those kinds of people are always messed up.
~
Turns out when my roommate's not burning things, he's kind of alright. We talked about football after dinner and how we should start a team here to keep from getting bored. I like him better than Rachel, because she's psychotic and she might turn out to be a stalker. Like, after dinner, I walked out of the bathroom and there she was leaning up against the wall like she was waiting to jump me or something. It was freaky.
PUCK
If you fucktards think I'm gonna spill my guts out to you in this stupid diary, you're more deranged than all the future serial killers running around this place.
BRITTANY
I like Sunnybrook. The trees here are nicer than the ones back home, who are always sticky and they use that as an excuse for me not to hug them. The ones here love hugs, and I spent lots of time today outside hugging them. But the forks here are meanies: they said they'd poke me if I tried to use them, so I had to eat dinner with a spoon. Everyone I've met so far is really pretty, like Puck and Finn and Santana and Tina. They all talked to me so I didn't have to talk to forks who almost made me cry but then Santana told them to shut up and they were quiet. I'm still scared to eat with them, though. They might hurt me when Santana's not looking.
RACHEL
I have been unfairly placed in the mental institution known as Sunnybrook Juvenile Rehabilitation Center. Clearly somewhere along the way to its destination to a prestigious summer drama program, my audition tape fell into the hands of a quack of a psychologist who misdiagnosed my effervescent and gregarious nature as narcissistic personality disorder. Anyone who has met me can tell that I am not being egotistical when I claim to have the best voice in the state of Kansas, because it is a true statement. I have 124 awards lining the walls of what could be considered a shrine to my numerous achievements in my dads' basement. One day, once I make my spectacular Broadway debut as Eva Peron in Evita, that basement will become Kansas' number one tourist destination, swamped by commoners who are not worthy of my presence but free to bask in the glory of my accomplishments. I expect that when this inevitable day occurs, these people will live vicariously through my glamorous lifestyle because they cannot stand to face the realities of their pathetic existence.
So you can understand my frustration in being trapped in a center where everyone strives to be “normal,” while I am destined to be a star. However I will soon convince these fools that I am not mentally ill like the rest of these depressing patients, and they will have to let me go.
My roommate has already proven herself to be sub-par to my singing abilities, as I observed her scratchy voice as she sang “Someday My Prince Will Come” in the shower. It's not even a vocally challenging song, and she managed to make Walt Disney toss and turn in his grave. She gained fast respect for me when I took to singing the incredibly difficult “Defying Gravity,” a timeless classic that this girl is probably too uncultured to understand. Her clear disregard for my talent and presence is a manifestation of her own feelings of inadequacy, spurred on by my superiority. There remains a possibility that these feelings of hers may be amorous in nature, as I have been known to “turn” many people who prefer the male gender.
At any rate, I have found one person who comes close to my outstanding musical prowess, though he is by no means my equal. His name is Finn Hudson, and he has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This is unfortunate as it will effect the strict practice regimen I've already drawn up for us. Just because my fathers were conned into believing there's something wrong with their perfect child does not mean my craft should suffer. I've already convinced Brad, one of the nurses, to perform as our accompanist. While this is not the most desirable of situations, I do believe that I will manage to convert Finn Hudson into a performer of Off Broadway caliber by the time my stay is up.
And if nothing else, this experience will make excellent fodder for my future autobiography in which I detail how I continued to strive for stardom despite the unfortunate circumstances of my wrongful imprisonment.
SANTANA
I hate what I've become. As much as I love being a badass and scaring the living daylights out of all the Call of Duty freak shows at my old school, I like being able to control it. For years people thought that I was just violent, angry, and I got my kicks out of punching people instead of playing house. Which is partially true. But I only actually beat people up when they really deserved it, you know? Usually I give them a death glare and the problem's solved. Sometimes it isn't, and I have to show them exactly why obsessively watching Fight Club as a child would have done wonders for their fighting abilities.
When I was a sophomore, a cute boy I'd had a crush on for a while asked me to pass him some ketchup, and I threw him to the ground, slammed my fists into his face, and rammed his head into the ground until three hockey players managed to pull me off. I had no idea what just happened and I spent the rest of the school day in the principal's office crying about how I didn't mean it and I didn't even know what I was doing. That was an embarrassing two hours, because I never cry. The principal didn't really seem to know what to do with me, but my mom sure did. We were set up with school psychologist the next morning.
I don't want to be randomly crushing people's existences for the rest of my life. When I crush people, I want it to be on my terms, not on the terms of some fucked up neurons.
TINA
Today, I had three panic attacks. It's all from this hospital, because it's big and new and scary and some of the people I met seem like they could be really dangerous. Puck, for one, looks at everyone with a cold hard stare, and Santana explodes on everyone for no reason at all. Rachel seems like she could kill you in your sleep if you threaten her, Finn gets manic which I think can make you out of control, and Quinn keeps changing personalities. The last one isn't really that scary, but I like to be able to know who I'm dealing with, and when it comes to Quinn, it seems like I get the lottery.
There's a room with a piano and a couple of other instruments, like a choir room. I almost had an attack just by walking by it. I don't know what I'll do when we go in there for an experimental music therapy. Just thinking about that is making me upset. The pen's getting sweaty in my hand, and I feel like I'm choki -
MERCEDES
The staff is making me eat boatloads of potatoes because I told them I'm a vegetarian. Or at least they think I'm eating them. I was sitting next to Noah Puckerman, who goes by Puck, and he asked if I was going to finish those. I told him if he could distract our nurse, Mr. Schuester, I would put them on his plate. So he threw Rachel Berry's plate at the wall and started screaming curse words at everyone. I got away with eating only four tiny bites of chicken pot pie at dinner tonight, which is definitely a victory. Puck winked at me after he saw all the food on my plate, and he upset Rachel Berry. He gets double points in my book, since that girl is making me want to kill Aretha to get her shut up, and I'd never do that normally.
Tina went into a full-on panic attack when we got back to the room, and was it scary. She was breathing like she'd just run a marathon and sweating all over the place. Plus she kept yelling at me, “I'm gonna d-d-die, Mercedes! I'm gonna-gonna die!” Eventually Ms. Pillsbury came in and calmed her down, but it was terrifying. I don't know how she lives like that.
ARTIE
I'm in a wheelchair. I can't do anything. My life sucks. What more do you need to know?
MATT
Being away from my parents is horrible. I feel completely lost and all I can do is sit here and cry. I don't know how to do anything anymore - I don't know how to make friends with any of these people, and no one will tell me how to help them. No one is there for my like my parents were. I followed my roommate to the gym today, but he was too focused on weights to pay much attention to me. So I just did the same routine he did, because he probably knows more about exercise and muscles and anatomy than I do. I did feel really good after the workout, so I bet he really knows what he's doing. Mike (my roommate) danced for a while, first by himself then with a girl named Brittany. They are both amazing and I just sat in awe watching them. I gave them lots of praise at the end, telling them how wonderful and brilliant they looked together even after only a short time being partners. Brittany told me that frogs like to steal her fuzzy pen, but Mike put his arm around my shoulder and told me, “Thanks.”
Being away from my parents makes it hard - figuring out what to do with myself is next to impossible. But I think that Mike might be a great help.