I Can't Go On, I'll Go On (5/12)
Title: I Can't Go On, I'll Go On
Author: musicbendr
Rating: R overall; light R for this chapter because of language
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Artie/Tina, Mike/Kurt, and other various slash, het, and femslash pairings
Length: ~3760
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: Title stolen from Bandslam.
DAY TWENTY
MIKE
Been laying in the hospital for five days. Can't stand it without exercising. They won't let me go to the bathroom without one of the nurses and one of them sits by me every mealtime to make sure I eat. Gross. Want to run and throw up, but can't. Doors are locked every night and got guards everywhere. Think I'm in some sort of intensive care unit or something. Watch soap operas during the day because nothing else to do. Sometimes Mr. Schue comes in and tries to talk to me, but I won't say anything. What can I say? Can't tell him I hate this stupid hospital bed and want to strangle myself because I feel my muscles deflating and my stomach pushing out. Gross. Mr. Schue wants me to be perfect and get better. He keeps showing me all these statistics and charts about how I need to eat and bulk up to a certain fat percentage to stay alive. Doesn't get it. Don't want to live if stuck in some huge body looking like a sumo suit. Gross. Mr. Schue thinks I should want to live like a normal person, normal body type, normal muscle type - can't dance if you look normal, have to be extraordinary. Can't be anything more than a Wal-Mart bag boy, if you look normal. Have to look perfect. Mr. Schue won't let me be perfect now with these stupid food regulations and these nurses and all these soap operas with their stupid incest scandals. Creepy. Gross. Don't like watching them, but can't help it because there's nothing else to do. No nurses will talk to me, Matt comes in all the time but he hasn't got much to say. Just sits and asks so much about what to do with Rachel, how to have a romance and then how to do silly things. Every morning, comes in his pajamas w/ two shirts and two pants and asks me to tell him what to wear. Didn't think it was too weird when we shared a room, b/c I was there and it was easy to ask. Now seems creepy, childish, something's wrong. Don't have much to say about his relationship problems b/c I think Rachel's using him, but don't have the heart to tell him that. He wants to be nice and happy but is too scared to do it. Too scared.
Kurt visits every few hours and brings any magazine he can, slipped in with a laxative he got Puck to steal from one of the nurses. So excited when I found those, even if had to get medicine from nurses to stop it. They found out yesterday when I passed out again, scared everyone again. Scared me. Kurt says to be strong and play along, b/c you can't get away w/ anything in this room w/ this bed in this gown. Get fatter for a minute, he says, and get better for the rest of your life. Force it down if you have to. So I do b/c Kurt's smart and he's got some hold over Mr. Schue, like Mr. Schue won't touch him or catch him for some reason. Kurt's too cool and collected, so talkative about anything and everything. He's interesting. More interesting than Matt or the nurses.
Today, Mercedes comes. Weird. Never friends with her except for w/ Kurt b/c they're friends and we all have eating disorders. She comes in and sits quietly in the chair. Watching I think Days of Our Lives, but not sure. Sort of pretty people having over the top drama. Sort of pretty people, and they're all prettier and thinner than me. Mercedes won't say anything and I don't want to push her b/c Kurt thinks she's been on edge lately. Can't tell what's going on with her.
But then she asks me if I want to die. Tell her no, of course not, just seventeen. She says I don't look seventeen, says I look older, pale, thin, like a vampire. Smile weakly and ask, well isn't Edward Cullen the hottest guy in the world right now? She only counters with Edward Cullen's not real so it doesn't matter what he looks like. Laugh, like laughing at a cruel joke, at how can I compete w/ Edward Cullen if I'm Fat Albert? Not going to happen, no matter what. Always going to be too fat. Mercedes looks confused or hurt when she asks how I think I can live like a vampire. Vampires are dead, all deader than dead. Mike, she says, you're not a vampire. But, I say, at least I'll be pretty. At least someone will like me.
Mercedes tells me she liked me better when I looked like a person instead of a dead body. Would have hurt her, punched her, done something if I could just move w/o feeling like I want to collapse. And then she says - she has the guts to say - it sounds like you would rather die pretty than live unhappily. Ask her why I would want to be unhappy? She says well, if you're alive, you can always get happier. Like Artie. Doesn't Artie look happier? Doesn't he look better? But well if you're dead can't do much about anything. Tell her that if I die pretty then I'll be pretty forever. She says no one will be able to see me, if I'm dead. Yell at her that I don't want anyone to see me if I'm ugly. She gets up, tells me that when I find out I want to live, I should talk to her. After her, as she goes, I scream:
“I'm not going to die!”
ARTIE
Mike being kept by himself and force fed and all that other gross stuff has gotten everyone on edge. We all feel like death's coming or something even though if Mike would just eat a little, he'd be fine. It's having the opposite effect on me, though. Mr. Schue started me on anti-depressants, and they seem to be working pretty well. I'm not ready to host a dance party but I'm not looking to roll myself over a cliff, either. Despite that, Mr. Schue keeps telling me not to get my hopes up, that it's rare a medicine works this fast and this well, and that maybe it won't be doing that forever. It almost sounds like he wants me to relapse into my depression, the way he's talking. I'm just going to enjoy what I can while I can if Mr. Schue wants to sabotage my happiness. I talk to people now, especially Tina and Finn. Tina likes me - likes me likes me - according to Kurt and he says that he'll help me set up as romantic a date as I can in the middle of a hospital. Maybe I can make this work for me. Finn really loves my robots and whenever he's manic or normal he uses them to fight each other and have smackdowns in me and Kurt's bedroom. I'm not too worried about him breaking anything mostly because once he turns them on he doesn't know how to make them do much. It's kind of nice, actually, to have friends.
BRITTANY
When Santana kisses me, it tastes like silence.
PUCK
I think today I'm bored 'cause Finn's busy playing house with Artie and his robots, so I'm gonna bang Berry. Sounds better than sitting on my ass on this bed, anyway.
RACHEL
Noah has been eying me in a decidedly flirtatious manner all throughout the morning activities, which means that my plan has finally come to fruition. The only reason it took this long was Noah's complete lack of interest in anything but destroying the lives of everyone on the staff as well Finn. I don't mind this last one since Finn has been slacking recently in our vocal rehearsals and he needs to be whipped into some sort of decent shape if he wants to continue singing with me. I did catch Noah singing a rather on-key rendition of “99 Red Balloons”, which redirected my positive attraction towards him and away from Finn and his lack of backbone/singing ability. Instead I will look to Noah and his far more chiseled biceps for my comfort, as I am almost out of this faux relationship with Matt. I think that I will feel bad for hurting him when it's over as he has lived up to my albeit low expectations for his role. He grew quite attached to me over these fast few weeks, but in all honesty he should be prepared for this. I am clearly out of his league, so far out of it that he should be counting his blessings just to have been my boyfriend for this brief of a time period.
In addition to my troubles with Noah, Quinn and I have become increasingly hostile toward each other. She attacks me verbally now, as though her rapid switching between personalities is grating on her nerves whenever she is herself. I don't mind Princess Antoinette Annabelle, who dresses up in the most ridiculous garments and insisted on securing a tiara the first time she showed up. She also offers to clean our room and do my laundry as I am supposedly her friend, and she'll do anything for the boys to get them to notice her. I find it disgusting that she is such a clearly subservient female. Eliza is only annoying when she whines, and even then a doll or a yell will quiet her quickly. Jonathon drives me insane the way he prances around loudly and insists that he's the king of the world. He likes to steal the Princess' tiara, and once Noah almost broke it but Jonathon used the charms of Quinn's admittedly attractive body to win it back. I think it's only a matter of time before whatever her root issue is exposed as she's unwilling to take any medication without knowing. Someone of that damaged of a mental state can only withstand so much pressure before imploding.
~
I no longer have to pretend to date Matt now that Noah and I have engaged in our secret rendezvous. Although I orchestrated it so that at least Matt would stumble upon us, thereby saving me the messy conversation during which I would sever ties with him. He looked sufficiently disappointed in the brief glimpse I caught of him before Noah's intense gaze scared him away. A good girl does not kiss and tell, however, so I will not be giving you anymore of the saucy details.
MATT
I've spent all day in Mike's room. Rachel dumped me - for Puck of all people. I know it's only been like two weeks but I get attached really fast and I just thought the two of us clicked. She was so perfect for me, always knew the right thing to do and how to get whatever I needed done. Maybe I wasn't enough for her or something like that. Maybe I won't ever be good enough for anyone. Then I'll have to be alone, by myself, doing everything by myself for myself. It sounds exciting to be that independent, but I'm too scared to try.
What I just don't understand is how other people can be so calm about making their own decisions while I'm stuck having a mini-meltdown every time someone asks me a question. Do I just not count as a person? No one really notices or cares about me, except for Mike. All the others I talk with because of him; even Rachel I went up to based on his advice. I feel invisible and flat, like a secondary character in my own life. Everyone else is so fascinating and quirky and some identifiable and all I can do without help is tie my shoe. The thing is, though, as long as I have at least one person to get me through the daily challenges, I'm totally fine. I can function with a little bit of support to boost me up. Maybe one day I won't need that bit of support - although I don't think I'll ever be smart enough to figure out how to go through the world on my own.
DAY TWENTY-ONE
MERCEDES
Mike came looking for me today. I was in an individual therapy session with Mr. Schue, so I missed him until dinner. In that therapy session I actually answered all of Mr. Schue's questions after telling him that I'm not ready to die just yet, and that's where people who don't get treatment for my illness (I've finally realized that's what it is) end up. When I do die I want it to be after a full and happy life maybe with a couple of grandkids and a CD or two to leave behind. I used to think that I would have to be a famous movie star or a multi-platinum singer, but I'm starting to realize with Mr. Schue's help that those dreams weren't always mine - they were to make my dad happy. See, I grew up with one older brother, a star athlete with the perfect male body and an endless string of girlfriends with perfect female bodies. My dad used to look at those girls and then look at me and say, “Mercedes, why don't you look like those girls Paul's bringing home? Now that's how a woman should look.” My mother never did anything about that, because she was too scared of my father. As a female role model, she would've been good for a '50s housewife. But not for now. All she did was serve my father and do whatever he told her to, which usually meant getting him something to eat while he laughed at me and my size. The ironic part is he was really overweight ever since he hurt his back and had to use a cane to help him get around. He hardly moved, only to go to work.
Mr. Schue says that he was projecting his own insecurities onto me - Dad hated his body, so he used the one that was closest to his size to compare it to, even though I started out at a normal size. Well, I think the old pictures of me still look fat, but according to Mr. Schue I was a healthy weight for my age. So my problems are my dad's problems, thrown at me. I don't know if that makes it easier or harder. On one hand, Mr. Schue's theory makes a lot of sense. On the other, I don't want to believe my dad lied to me my whole life and instead of hating how I looked, he just hated me.
But onto Mike, because that was a good part of my day, and if you don't focus on the good parts, then how do you know what you're fighting to feel?
“Hey,” he said. It was after dinner, like I said, and he just sort of awkwardly slid up next to me on the couch in the living room. Kurt and I had been talking about Gucci, but he left as soon as he saw Mike. I don't what that was about.
Because he was being stupid earlier about dying and stupid people need some sass, I told him, “Come here to read me your will?”
Instead of freaking out he just laughed. “No, not exactly. I was thinking about what you said, about not wanting to die. You've never been as close as I was, have you?” I shook my head, waiting for him to go on. “So I was sitting there and...it's so dumb. I was watching, like, General Hospital or something, and there was this guy in the hospital on it - there's always somebody in the hospital on those things. And he had all these tubes coming out of him and machines beeping and he looked so gross and pale. Like me. That was how I looked. Right?”
“Yeah, you did look pretty nasty,” I agreed with a smile.
He smiled back. “That's not how I want to look. I don't want to look dead. I don't want to look disgusting. I want to look hot. And I want to live.”
It felt too weird to hug him, so I just reached out and put my hand over his. “Well, don't worry; you aren't gonna have to live alone.”
KURT
I can't stand how Mike and Mercedes are just giving up. Why? Because they don't to die? No way. If you do it right, you won't die. If you do it right, they won't catch you. If you do it right, you'll be fine. Look at me. I'm the picture of fabulousity, inside and out. And I always will be, no matter what these bitches try to do.
DAY TWENTY-TWO
QUINN
Dear God,
I know You don't do murders, but can You please make an exception for Rachel? She is a terrible person, using Princess Antoinette Annabelle to do all of her dirty work, Jonathon to destroy my clothes, and Eliza for her entertainment. She's hurt Eliza, I can feel it. Like inside me some small child has something she needs to say and she's struggling to get it out. It must be Eliza, and Rachel must be hurting her. I know I have no proof, but no matter how much I want Eliza to move on to whatever comes next for her, right now she's still part of me and Rachel has no power to abuse any part of me, no matter what. She's a horrible person, obnoxious, and her one good quality is that singing voice of hers. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, but I don't want to listen to it at all hours of the day. I told her earlier that if she was so damn good, why did she need to practice this much? That started a huge blow-up.
“Excuse me, Quinn, just because I have more talent in my larynx than you do in your whole body - ”
“At least people care about me! At least I don't have to sit alone because no one wants to deal with my personality!” I shouted at her, becoming really upset by her huffy diva attitude.
She stomped her foot and stared me down. “For your information, Noah enjoys spending time with me! We spend lots of time together!”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “'Noah' would spend hours with a sock puppet if it would make out with him!”
“We have a much deeper connection than that!” Rachel squealed, like somehow just by talking to her I was ruining the elaborate fantasy she had constructed about herself and believed to be true. I guess she didn't believe it hard enough.
I took the opportunity to deliver what I had hoped to be a death blow. “Face it, Rachel! Noah doesn't like you for you, Matt would latch onto anything that bossed him around! You just like sleeping around, don't you?”
“Do not turn this on me, Quinn Fabray,” she said in her very superior Rachel Berry tone. “Just because you have repressed lesbian feelings for me - ”
“What! You're even more insane than I thought.”
For some reason, that made her smile through her over-dramatic anger and she informed me, “I'm going to see Noah now. But I know your secret, Quinn. You can't hide forever.” Somehow she looked almost...sad, like she was breaking my heart or something. She probably thought she was, since she seems to think that everyone is into her.
The thing is, I keep thinking about what she said, pretending like maybe it could mean something. Does she have a point? No way. No. She can't possibly. I don't like girls. I like boys. But I don't like boys too much, because that would be wrong, too. I like boys just the right amount.
God, I miss You.
WILL
PROGRESS REPORTS/PRESCRIPTION RECOMMENDATIONS FOR DR. SYLVESTER
Abrams, Artie - Currently on Wellbutrin, seems to be working almost too well. Will keep an eye on it.
Berry, Rachel - Uses relationships to mask problems. Now w/ Noah. Really bad relations w/ Quinn. Intensive therapy recommended.
Chang, Mike - Suffered in the hospital for about five days. Has come out with a more positive outlook on his life. Recommend individual therapy as well as joint therapy w/ Mercedes.
Cohen-Chang, Tina - Has made some progress in introceptive therapy, good relations w/ Artie, but I think there's something else going on. No meds for now.
Fabray, Quinn - Becoming more hostile toward everyone, esp. Rachel. Determined to understand her disorder. Requests to be off meds until therapy can discover her root.
Hudson, Finn - Has issues letting go of his dad. The more he talks about it, the more his episodes flare up. Will have to start him w/ lithium in order to stabilize his moods enough to talk to him.
Hummel, Kurt - Stubborn. Won't cooperate. Needs intensive individual therapy and possibly isolation.
Jones, Mercedes - Good progress. Has strayed away from Noah. Is ready to tackle her disorder. Recommend individual therapy and group therapy w/ Mike.
Lopez, Santana - Still can't control her anger, but helping to take care of Brittany has calmed her. Recommend cognitive behavior therapy and sertraline.
Puckerman, Noah - Becoming wilder by the day. Needs to be controlled. Seems to spend more time w/ Rachel. Therapy strongly recommended.
Rutherford, Matt - Heartbroken from Rachel and needs a friend. However recommend to let him sort these problems on his own w/ some help so he doesn't rely completely on others.
Brittany - Even w/ therapy and phone consultations w/ her parents, I can't be sure where this is coming from. She seems so confused, but not sure why. Recommend perphenazine.
Author: musicbendr
Rating: R overall; light R for this chapter because of language
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Artie/Tina, Mike/Kurt, and other various slash, het, and femslash pairings
Length: ~3760
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: Title stolen from Bandslam.
DAY TWENTY
MIKE
Been laying in the hospital for five days. Can't stand it without exercising. They won't let me go to the bathroom without one of the nurses and one of them sits by me every mealtime to make sure I eat. Gross. Want to run and throw up, but can't. Doors are locked every night and got guards everywhere. Think I'm in some sort of intensive care unit or something. Watch soap operas during the day because nothing else to do. Sometimes Mr. Schue comes in and tries to talk to me, but I won't say anything. What can I say? Can't tell him I hate this stupid hospital bed and want to strangle myself because I feel my muscles deflating and my stomach pushing out. Gross. Mr. Schue wants me to be perfect and get better. He keeps showing me all these statistics and charts about how I need to eat and bulk up to a certain fat percentage to stay alive. Doesn't get it. Don't want to live if stuck in some huge body looking like a sumo suit. Gross. Mr. Schue thinks I should want to live like a normal person, normal body type, normal muscle type - can't dance if you look normal, have to be extraordinary. Can't be anything more than a Wal-Mart bag boy, if you look normal. Have to look perfect. Mr. Schue won't let me be perfect now with these stupid food regulations and these nurses and all these soap operas with their stupid incest scandals. Creepy. Gross. Don't like watching them, but can't help it because there's nothing else to do. No nurses will talk to me, Matt comes in all the time but he hasn't got much to say. Just sits and asks so much about what to do with Rachel, how to have a romance and then how to do silly things. Every morning, comes in his pajamas w/ two shirts and two pants and asks me to tell him what to wear. Didn't think it was too weird when we shared a room, b/c I was there and it was easy to ask. Now seems creepy, childish, something's wrong. Don't have much to say about his relationship problems b/c I think Rachel's using him, but don't have the heart to tell him that. He wants to be nice and happy but is too scared to do it. Too scared.
Kurt visits every few hours and brings any magazine he can, slipped in with a laxative he got Puck to steal from one of the nurses. So excited when I found those, even if had to get medicine from nurses to stop it. They found out yesterday when I passed out again, scared everyone again. Scared me. Kurt says to be strong and play along, b/c you can't get away w/ anything in this room w/ this bed in this gown. Get fatter for a minute, he says, and get better for the rest of your life. Force it down if you have to. So I do b/c Kurt's smart and he's got some hold over Mr. Schue, like Mr. Schue won't touch him or catch him for some reason. Kurt's too cool and collected, so talkative about anything and everything. He's interesting. More interesting than Matt or the nurses.
Today, Mercedes comes. Weird. Never friends with her except for w/ Kurt b/c they're friends and we all have eating disorders. She comes in and sits quietly in the chair. Watching I think Days of Our Lives, but not sure. Sort of pretty people having over the top drama. Sort of pretty people, and they're all prettier and thinner than me. Mercedes won't say anything and I don't want to push her b/c Kurt thinks she's been on edge lately. Can't tell what's going on with her.
But then she asks me if I want to die. Tell her no, of course not, just seventeen. She says I don't look seventeen, says I look older, pale, thin, like a vampire. Smile weakly and ask, well isn't Edward Cullen the hottest guy in the world right now? She only counters with Edward Cullen's not real so it doesn't matter what he looks like. Laugh, like laughing at a cruel joke, at how can I compete w/ Edward Cullen if I'm Fat Albert? Not going to happen, no matter what. Always going to be too fat. Mercedes looks confused or hurt when she asks how I think I can live like a vampire. Vampires are dead, all deader than dead. Mike, she says, you're not a vampire. But, I say, at least I'll be pretty. At least someone will like me.
Mercedes tells me she liked me better when I looked like a person instead of a dead body. Would have hurt her, punched her, done something if I could just move w/o feeling like I want to collapse. And then she says - she has the guts to say - it sounds like you would rather die pretty than live unhappily. Ask her why I would want to be unhappy? She says well, if you're alive, you can always get happier. Like Artie. Doesn't Artie look happier? Doesn't he look better? But well if you're dead can't do much about anything. Tell her that if I die pretty then I'll be pretty forever. She says no one will be able to see me, if I'm dead. Yell at her that I don't want anyone to see me if I'm ugly. She gets up, tells me that when I find out I want to live, I should talk to her. After her, as she goes, I scream:
“I'm not going to die!”
ARTIE
Mike being kept by himself and force fed and all that other gross stuff has gotten everyone on edge. We all feel like death's coming or something even though if Mike would just eat a little, he'd be fine. It's having the opposite effect on me, though. Mr. Schue started me on anti-depressants, and they seem to be working pretty well. I'm not ready to host a dance party but I'm not looking to roll myself over a cliff, either. Despite that, Mr. Schue keeps telling me not to get my hopes up, that it's rare a medicine works this fast and this well, and that maybe it won't be doing that forever. It almost sounds like he wants me to relapse into my depression, the way he's talking. I'm just going to enjoy what I can while I can if Mr. Schue wants to sabotage my happiness. I talk to people now, especially Tina and Finn. Tina likes me - likes me likes me - according to Kurt and he says that he'll help me set up as romantic a date as I can in the middle of a hospital. Maybe I can make this work for me. Finn really loves my robots and whenever he's manic or normal he uses them to fight each other and have smackdowns in me and Kurt's bedroom. I'm not too worried about him breaking anything mostly because once he turns them on he doesn't know how to make them do much. It's kind of nice, actually, to have friends.
BRITTANY
When Santana kisses me, it tastes like silence.
PUCK
I think today I'm bored 'cause Finn's busy playing house with Artie and his robots, so I'm gonna bang Berry. Sounds better than sitting on my ass on this bed, anyway.
RACHEL
Noah has been eying me in a decidedly flirtatious manner all throughout the morning activities, which means that my plan has finally come to fruition. The only reason it took this long was Noah's complete lack of interest in anything but destroying the lives of everyone on the staff as well Finn. I don't mind this last one since Finn has been slacking recently in our vocal rehearsals and he needs to be whipped into some sort of decent shape if he wants to continue singing with me. I did catch Noah singing a rather on-key rendition of “99 Red Balloons”, which redirected my positive attraction towards him and away from Finn and his lack of backbone/singing ability. Instead I will look to Noah and his far more chiseled biceps for my comfort, as I am almost out of this faux relationship with Matt. I think that I will feel bad for hurting him when it's over as he has lived up to my albeit low expectations for his role. He grew quite attached to me over these fast few weeks, but in all honesty he should be prepared for this. I am clearly out of his league, so far out of it that he should be counting his blessings just to have been my boyfriend for this brief of a time period.
In addition to my troubles with Noah, Quinn and I have become increasingly hostile toward each other. She attacks me verbally now, as though her rapid switching between personalities is grating on her nerves whenever she is herself. I don't mind Princess Antoinette Annabelle, who dresses up in the most ridiculous garments and insisted on securing a tiara the first time she showed up. She also offers to clean our room and do my laundry as I am supposedly her friend, and she'll do anything for the boys to get them to notice her. I find it disgusting that she is such a clearly subservient female. Eliza is only annoying when she whines, and even then a doll or a yell will quiet her quickly. Jonathon drives me insane the way he prances around loudly and insists that he's the king of the world. He likes to steal the Princess' tiara, and once Noah almost broke it but Jonathon used the charms of Quinn's admittedly attractive body to win it back. I think it's only a matter of time before whatever her root issue is exposed as she's unwilling to take any medication without knowing. Someone of that damaged of a mental state can only withstand so much pressure before imploding.
~
I no longer have to pretend to date Matt now that Noah and I have engaged in our secret rendezvous. Although I orchestrated it so that at least Matt would stumble upon us, thereby saving me the messy conversation during which I would sever ties with him. He looked sufficiently disappointed in the brief glimpse I caught of him before Noah's intense gaze scared him away. A good girl does not kiss and tell, however, so I will not be giving you anymore of the saucy details.
MATT
I've spent all day in Mike's room. Rachel dumped me - for Puck of all people. I know it's only been like two weeks but I get attached really fast and I just thought the two of us clicked. She was so perfect for me, always knew the right thing to do and how to get whatever I needed done. Maybe I wasn't enough for her or something like that. Maybe I won't ever be good enough for anyone. Then I'll have to be alone, by myself, doing everything by myself for myself. It sounds exciting to be that independent, but I'm too scared to try.
What I just don't understand is how other people can be so calm about making their own decisions while I'm stuck having a mini-meltdown every time someone asks me a question. Do I just not count as a person? No one really notices or cares about me, except for Mike. All the others I talk with because of him; even Rachel I went up to based on his advice. I feel invisible and flat, like a secondary character in my own life. Everyone else is so fascinating and quirky and some identifiable and all I can do without help is tie my shoe. The thing is, though, as long as I have at least one person to get me through the daily challenges, I'm totally fine. I can function with a little bit of support to boost me up. Maybe one day I won't need that bit of support - although I don't think I'll ever be smart enough to figure out how to go through the world on my own.
DAY TWENTY-ONE
MERCEDES
Mike came looking for me today. I was in an individual therapy session with Mr. Schue, so I missed him until dinner. In that therapy session I actually answered all of Mr. Schue's questions after telling him that I'm not ready to die just yet, and that's where people who don't get treatment for my illness (I've finally realized that's what it is) end up. When I do die I want it to be after a full and happy life maybe with a couple of grandkids and a CD or two to leave behind. I used to think that I would have to be a famous movie star or a multi-platinum singer, but I'm starting to realize with Mr. Schue's help that those dreams weren't always mine - they were to make my dad happy. See, I grew up with one older brother, a star athlete with the perfect male body and an endless string of girlfriends with perfect female bodies. My dad used to look at those girls and then look at me and say, “Mercedes, why don't you look like those girls Paul's bringing home? Now that's how a woman should look.” My mother never did anything about that, because she was too scared of my father. As a female role model, she would've been good for a '50s housewife. But not for now. All she did was serve my father and do whatever he told her to, which usually meant getting him something to eat while he laughed at me and my size. The ironic part is he was really overweight ever since he hurt his back and had to use a cane to help him get around. He hardly moved, only to go to work.
Mr. Schue says that he was projecting his own insecurities onto me - Dad hated his body, so he used the one that was closest to his size to compare it to, even though I started out at a normal size. Well, I think the old pictures of me still look fat, but according to Mr. Schue I was a healthy weight for my age. So my problems are my dad's problems, thrown at me. I don't know if that makes it easier or harder. On one hand, Mr. Schue's theory makes a lot of sense. On the other, I don't want to believe my dad lied to me my whole life and instead of hating how I looked, he just hated me.
But onto Mike, because that was a good part of my day, and if you don't focus on the good parts, then how do you know what you're fighting to feel?
“Hey,” he said. It was after dinner, like I said, and he just sort of awkwardly slid up next to me on the couch in the living room. Kurt and I had been talking about Gucci, but he left as soon as he saw Mike. I don't what that was about.
Because he was being stupid earlier about dying and stupid people need some sass, I told him, “Come here to read me your will?”
Instead of freaking out he just laughed. “No, not exactly. I was thinking about what you said, about not wanting to die. You've never been as close as I was, have you?” I shook my head, waiting for him to go on. “So I was sitting there and...it's so dumb. I was watching, like, General Hospital or something, and there was this guy in the hospital on it - there's always somebody in the hospital on those things. And he had all these tubes coming out of him and machines beeping and he looked so gross and pale. Like me. That was how I looked. Right?”
“Yeah, you did look pretty nasty,” I agreed with a smile.
He smiled back. “That's not how I want to look. I don't want to look dead. I don't want to look disgusting. I want to look hot. And I want to live.”
It felt too weird to hug him, so I just reached out and put my hand over his. “Well, don't worry; you aren't gonna have to live alone.”
KURT
I can't stand how Mike and Mercedes are just giving up. Why? Because they don't to die? No way. If you do it right, you won't die. If you do it right, they won't catch you. If you do it right, you'll be fine. Look at me. I'm the picture of fabulousity, inside and out. And I always will be, no matter what these bitches try to do.
DAY TWENTY-TWO
QUINN
Dear God,
I know You don't do murders, but can You please make an exception for Rachel? She is a terrible person, using Princess Antoinette Annabelle to do all of her dirty work, Jonathon to destroy my clothes, and Eliza for her entertainment. She's hurt Eliza, I can feel it. Like inside me some small child has something she needs to say and she's struggling to get it out. It must be Eliza, and Rachel must be hurting her. I know I have no proof, but no matter how much I want Eliza to move on to whatever comes next for her, right now she's still part of me and Rachel has no power to abuse any part of me, no matter what. She's a horrible person, obnoxious, and her one good quality is that singing voice of hers. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, but I don't want to listen to it at all hours of the day. I told her earlier that if she was so damn good, why did she need to practice this much? That started a huge blow-up.
“Excuse me, Quinn, just because I have more talent in my larynx than you do in your whole body - ”
“At least people care about me! At least I don't have to sit alone because no one wants to deal with my personality!” I shouted at her, becoming really upset by her huffy diva attitude.
She stomped her foot and stared me down. “For your information, Noah enjoys spending time with me! We spend lots of time together!”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “'Noah' would spend hours with a sock puppet if it would make out with him!”
“We have a much deeper connection than that!” Rachel squealed, like somehow just by talking to her I was ruining the elaborate fantasy she had constructed about herself and believed to be true. I guess she didn't believe it hard enough.
I took the opportunity to deliver what I had hoped to be a death blow. “Face it, Rachel! Noah doesn't like you for you, Matt would latch onto anything that bossed him around! You just like sleeping around, don't you?”
“Do not turn this on me, Quinn Fabray,” she said in her very superior Rachel Berry tone. “Just because you have repressed lesbian feelings for me - ”
“What! You're even more insane than I thought.”
For some reason, that made her smile through her over-dramatic anger and she informed me, “I'm going to see Noah now. But I know your secret, Quinn. You can't hide forever.” Somehow she looked almost...sad, like she was breaking my heart or something. She probably thought she was, since she seems to think that everyone is into her.
The thing is, I keep thinking about what she said, pretending like maybe it could mean something. Does she have a point? No way. No. She can't possibly. I don't like girls. I like boys. But I don't like boys too much, because that would be wrong, too. I like boys just the right amount.
God, I miss You.
WILL
PROGRESS REPORTS/PRESCRIPTION RECOMMENDATIONS FOR DR. SYLVESTER
Abrams, Artie - Currently on Wellbutrin, seems to be working almost too well. Will keep an eye on it.
Berry, Rachel - Uses relationships to mask problems. Now w/ Noah. Really bad relations w/ Quinn. Intensive therapy recommended.
Chang, Mike - Suffered in the hospital for about five days. Has come out with a more positive outlook on his life. Recommend individual therapy as well as joint therapy w/ Mercedes.
Cohen-Chang, Tina - Has made some progress in introceptive therapy, good relations w/ Artie, but I think there's something else going on. No meds for now.
Fabray, Quinn - Becoming more hostile toward everyone, esp. Rachel. Determined to understand her disorder. Requests to be off meds until therapy can discover her root.
Hudson, Finn - Has issues letting go of his dad. The more he talks about it, the more his episodes flare up. Will have to start him w/ lithium in order to stabilize his moods enough to talk to him.
Hummel, Kurt - Stubborn. Won't cooperate. Needs intensive individual therapy and possibly isolation.
Jones, Mercedes - Good progress. Has strayed away from Noah. Is ready to tackle her disorder. Recommend individual therapy and group therapy w/ Mike.
Lopez, Santana - Still can't control her anger, but helping to take care of Brittany has calmed her. Recommend cognitive behavior therapy and sertraline.
Puckerman, Noah - Becoming wilder by the day. Needs to be controlled. Seems to spend more time w/ Rachel. Therapy strongly recommended.
Rutherford, Matt - Heartbroken from Rachel and needs a friend. However recommend to let him sort these problems on his own w/ some help so he doesn't rely completely on others.
Brittany - Even w/ therapy and phone consultations w/ her parents, I can't be sure where this is coming from. She seems so confused, but not sure why. Recommend perphenazine.