I Can't Go On, I'll Go On (2/12?)
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, Santana/Brittany, Artie/Tina, and other various slash, het, and femslash pairings
Length: ~3000
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:Not every chapter will feature every character's journal entry. Also, they won't necessarily take place daily. And to answer someone's question, I don't plan on doing third person, but a Will journal entry will certainly make an appearance at some point. Title stolen from Bandslam.
DAY TWO
MIKE
Showed Matt some strength training exercises this morning. He seems to really like me. Cool enough, and it's nice to have someone to work out with. Ran into Rachel at the gym afterwards; she said she has to keep up her routine or her “physique will suffer.” Don't like her very much, but she can sing. She wouldn't stop while she was on the elliptical.
Group therapy in the morning. Interesting to see where everyone comes from: Quinn from Florida then Michigan, sand and sun her whole life. Matt from Chicago, surrounded by skyscrapers and feeling so small in such a big world. Puck from somewhere he wouldn't say, so I think it must be Hell. Finn from Nebraska, talking about the yellow cornfields and how he got lost in them for hours. Rachel from Kansas, hated her whole life in a state that's too small, too empty, to let her shine. Artie from Arkansas, alliteration that he laughs dryly at. Tina from somewhere, I just can't tell where because of her stutter. Kurt from San Francisco, all he wants to do is go home. Mercedes from anywhere and everywhere, her parents both career military and her brother set to follow. Santana from Colorado, she still smells like mountains, fresh air, still sounds like Aspen trees. Brittany from Maryland, I bet her mouth still tastes like crabs.
FINN
Rachel's scaring me a lot. We did our first little singing thing with Brad the nurse who agreed to look after us. We're not allowed to be alone in case one of us tries to kill the other one or something, which I guess could happen because she looked like she was gonna kill me and Brad whenever we screwed up. She did that to me a lot. Brad only messed up once so she mostly just wanted to bite my head off. Plus we had to sing really crappy songs and they were all from Grease. I hate Grease. That cat suit at the end really freaked me out. But it's not like I have anything better to do, and Rachel is really hot (especially for a psycho). So I let her be super intense and kind of rip my manliness to shreds all because Puck won't stop burning things in our room. At breakfast today he tried to burn down the food line with a piece of flint he “found” on the morning outdoor walk. I think that out of the two of them, Puck is way scarier than Rachel.
Like I got back to our room after Brad finally said that two hours was enough and Rachel stomped off to go cry somewhere or something, and Puck was just lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked creepy.
So I asked him, “Dude, what are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
Then he smiled at me like maybe I should start sleeping with pepper spray under my pillow. “You know how I'm a stud?”
“Sure.” I figured he'd probably throw me out the window if I said no.
“Well, I was just thinking about which one of the nurses I wanna bang,” he said as if it was no big deal. I guess maybe he always thinks like that, which is probably why people think he's crazy. “That pretty little redhead needs someone to show her what a real man can do.”
“Dude! You can't just go around doing that!” I know I'm not smart, but I'm not dumb enough to not get that that nurse wouldn't want to do anything with him. So it'd be rape - not cool.
Puck shrugged. “Why not?”
“'Cause that's totally messed up!” I yelled back. I had a feeling that I was probably going to lose it later.
He just laughed. “That's what everyone's telling me. But you know what? Who cares? I'm not gonna live my life one way because someone tells me it's the right thing to do.”
I couldn't really come up with another argument to that because, well, it kinda made sense and all at the time. Now that I think about, he doesn't really have the right to go around hurting people. He can live his life his way just so long as he makes people happy. I want to tell him that, but I'm afraid he'll beat me up.
ARTIE
I met two new people today. Before lunch we all went outside to play basketball under the supervision of Mr. Schue. I used to play, but what's the point now? I'll never be better than any of those guys because of this stupid chair. I'd never even be able to keep up. Instead I just sat on the sidelines and watched everyone out there, having fun without me. I could have wheeled away from the game and no one would have noticed. The big boy who sat next to me, Finn, would not stop crying the whole time. He just sat there with his head in his hands and ruined the quiet. I wish I had the strength to hurt him. The other person I met, Tina, is better. She didn't say one thing the entire time and just watched like she wanted to play, too. I think someone told me she has panic disorder, but I'm not sure. I let my eyes wander between her and the game, wondering why she couldn't get on the court, wondering if I had found a friend.
But I'm just a loser in a wheelchair, and no one would ever want to be my friend.
RACHEL
Though I am exceptionally talented at basketball despite my short stature, I offered my extensive knowledge of the game's rules and regulations to play referee, as Mr. Schuester is clearly not well-versed in the sport. He is not very well-versed in hair care, either, as the mess on top of his head resembles the unholy sexual union of a Jheri curl and a greaser's duck's ass. That is, however, beside the point. I tried to convince Tina, Artie, and Finn to join us on the court, but they would have none of it. Depression is a terrible, crippling illness that systematically destroys their wills to live. Of course, I am of strong mind and body, so I would be able to beat the illness after a good elliptical workout while listening to Barbra.
During my stint as referee, I witnessed what could possibly be the foulest game of basketball ever played. Noah Puckerman - I disapprove of everything about him, save for his clear dedication to his muscular strength - was called for a foul at least every other play, and when I tried to throw him out, Mr. Schuester made him stay in. The nerve of that man! Noah does seem to be at least a decent player, but he certainly could not carry the weaker links of his team. His lack of ability to be a team player severely aided his downfall, something I anticipated from the very beginning. After they lost, I presented Noah with a list of troubles with his strategy. In response, he punched me in the face.
“Like a chick hobbit like you knows shit about basketball,” were his exact words to me. Mr. Schuester came over to subdue his jealous rage, but Noah just did not know how to stop himself. He spat in the man's face as we were all dragged inside since Noah ruined our outdoor recess by fighting. Mr. Schuester says that the idea that we operate as a group is supposed to foster camaraderie amongst ourselves which will eventually lead to better social skills. Perhaps I am here to facilitate the interpersonal development of my fellow boarders. Yes, I think that must be the case. After all some of them have already had some interesting incidents.
For example, I woke up this morning to Quinn sitting in the corner of our room by my dresser with both her thumbs in her mouth. I figured she was in the middle of some sort of psychotic breakdown, so I continued with my routine as usual while waiting for Quinn to return to normal. However as soon as I started moving, she told me, “Wow, you're really pretty.” Except her voice sounded very much like a small child. It was then I noticed Quinn had put her hair into pigtails and was wearing Bedazzled overalls. “What's your name?”
“You already know my name, Quinn,” I snapped. Her dress-up time was ruining my carefully scheduled routine.
“I'm not Quinn. My name's Eliza. Do you have any dolls?”
I stared at her for a moment, contemplating the bizarre behavior, and then strode into the bathroom to take my shower. Utter ridiculousness. I don't know how I will handle these disruptive distractions.
QUINN ELIZA
I like my stuffed lamb. It's cute and fuzzy I want it for me to snugle always. Rachel don't like me much so I cried. This new place is scary. I can't find any color anywhere. Everything was white. Brittany like my lamb, too. She thinks he's pretty. I like her. Mr. Shoester is real scary too becus he tall. But Finn is tall but like a big tedy bare. He is skwishy. Puck looks at me funny and he has a stupid haircut. I hold onto Finn's leg and hid from him. I think he's evil like Jafar was in Aladdin. I don't want too go close to him. I miss my mommy and daddy in Mishigan. I want my dollys.
MATT
Mike and I did some early morning workouts today. He showed me all these amazing stretches to make myself more flexible. We're going to practice every day before breakfast, and then he'll do some more after breakfast. I'm not physically fit enough to exercise that much, so I just watch him. He says he likes having someone to talk to. He also has good fashion sense, helping me pick out a stylish outfit for the day. I don't really understand why Mike's here. I mean, he's totally cool and talented and a really great guy. Everyone else has something wrong with them.
I sat next to Mike today at breakfast with his friends Kurt, Mercedes, and Puck. I only talked to Mike because Kurt and Mercedes were talking to each other and Puck wasn't talking to anyone. He just kept staring at Mercedes' plate, which had almost nothing on it. Once she nodded at him, he stood up and started screaming at Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury. Mercedes dumped the little bit of food she had onto his plate while they were trying to subdue him. It's a clever little trick. Kurt told me that they're going to be released and not “fixed,” based on how they plan to evade the nurses' watchful eyes. I think it might be suspicious if Puck throws a temper tantrum at every meal, but I didn't say that. They probably know how to hide that kind of stuff better than me, anyway.
After lunch, we had to go to group therapy where we were supposed to talk about our families. The only one who ended up talking was Rachel, who went on and on about her two gay dads and their white picket fence and how perfect everything is in her life. I don't think it's nearly as perfect as she described it to be, because she wouldn't be half as screwed up if it was. Santana finally yelled at her to shut up, staring her down with this intense look of fury. In response to that, Rachel said, “I was finished anyway.” That's a lie, because she was just starting to talk about her dream Broadway roles. I get the feeling she talks about this a lot. She kept making goo-goo eyes at me throughout the entire session, which I guess I was flattered by. It's always nice to have someone like you.
Mike told me to go for it later, like he saw her looking at me. That was all the inspiration I needed to go up to her. I pictured Mike watching me from the background and the casually cool way he would approach the situation. Fortunately for me, I didn't actually have to do any of the talking. Rachel took charge in a way that I found very appealing. Most guys find take charge girls to be annoying and/or intimidating unless they're in action movies and the guys don't really interact with them, but I think it's a great characteristic.
Rachel marched up to me and said, “I have deemed you to be an appropriate choice as a suitor. You don't seem like the jealous type, which is good because as an actress I will constantly be kissing and rehearsing with men far more attractive than yourself, but you always knows I will come home to you. If you would like to attempt to woo me - and I assure you I am a very difficult prize to be won - I would happily allow myself to be courted.”
That entire speech was delivered in about eight seconds, so I didn't process any of it beyond the first sentence before replying. “Sure.”
“Good. Tonight at dinner you will prepare a romantic gesture so as to win my heart. Do not be late.” And then she just stomped off in a way that reminded me of Sigourney Weaver in Avatar.
Only Rachel's scarier.
PUCK
OK, so look: this journal thing? It's total BS. So I'm gonna tell you some shit that you probably don't want to hear. OK first I'm pretty sure that Latina chick is banging that girl who thinks my mohawk wants to strangle her in her sleep - or if they're not banging they will be in, like, a day. I'm telling you this 'cause that Latina chick kicked my ass in a fight today, but that only happened since she gets weird Hulk strength when she gets pissed. So she doesn't deserve happiness. And Rachel is gonna be boning that guy who doesn't talk at all - name starts with an “M.” Now she's even worse than the Latina; if I listen to her for even one minute I want to stick my face in a blender. Also I tried to get into Jesus Freak Show's pants today but she wouldn't let me, so I'm thinking she's getting it somewhere else. You know, just as a heads up. And Wheels and Goth Girl - don't even, man. They got more subtext than an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess (which I only watched 'cause someone told me there were lesbian badasses making out in it, but it was all fucking subtext, so I just watched some porn instead). Wheels is super creepy, kind of like a bug-eyed dude version of Rachel. He just sits in corners and stares at everyone. What the fuck's up with that?
So, in conclusion, these people suck and you need to do something about that so I don't have to listen to their whining anymore.
SANTANA
I can't believe I lost it already. One stupid move and I couldn't control myself. Granted, it was Puck who started it, but still. There's no satisfaction in pummeling someone if you don't really understand what you're doing. It feels...like you're dreaming almost, but when you wake up, you realize that it really happened. And there's a release of emotions, the kind that comes after you've bawled your eyes out for three hours just before you're lulled into a peaceful sleep. That only lasts for a split second before the guilt follows. For me, the worst part is feeling that, for however small a time, that I'm not in control of my life. Since I was a kid I've been in control of me. When this happens, I lose it.
My first attack freaked out everyone, except for Brittany, but we'll get there. It was over something stupid Puck did at dinner, throwing another glass at the wall. I'd been feeling kind of tense all day because being in a place where I don't know my way around always does that to me. Then Puck just threw that glass for no reason and it shattered all over right near to my head against the wall. Brittany screamed and Tina started hyperventilating and Artie just sat there like he always does. I got up and went over to kick the shit out of Puck. He barely even realized what was going on before I had him on the floor, my hands all over his face and the colors swirling around me. I remember screaming something at him that involved lots of swearing and I think a few insults about his hairstyle and muscles. I remember not understanding why my fists were going there, but that they needed to be all over Puck. I remember feeling like I wasn't me, or at least who I wanted to be. I remember feeling like I was spinning.
When Mr. Schuester finally pulled me off, Puck's nose was bleeding and he'd probably get a black eye by morning. Mr. Schuester kept on yanking me in the other direction, but I could only stare at Puck. That's what always happens. I heard his voice sort of ringing in my ears, telling me that I needed to go calm down somewhere. Puck looked up at me, laughing, as Mr. Schuester dragged me out of the cafeteria.
Later that night Brittany tied her ankle to the bed because the lamp told her to before she fell asleep. I didn't notice, but you can bet your ass I did when she woke me up with her crying a few hours later because she had to pee. So I got up and untied her ankle from the blanket and helped her walk to the bathroom since it had fallen asleep from the pressure. She hugged me and smiled when I let her go, told me thank you and closed the door. It seems like Brittany is the one of those people who is genuinely good, who would cry if she ever hurt anyone. And it's a bit like how humanitarians need bodyguards whenever they go to third world countries because they're too weak to defend themselves. Or too strong. Or whatever. So that's where I come in, I guess.
It's like one of those primal, maternal urges you hear about all the time, only not exactly. It's something different, but just as powerful. I need to protect her. And what scares me the most is that whenever I try to protect someone, I just end up hurting them.