One day at therapy

"My name is frank iero. 16. I have anxiety, depression and uhh....anorexia"
he whispered the last one so barely anyone could hear it
"I'm doing fine"
"hi frank"
the monotone voices replied. Frank shuddered and kept his eyes down. He always hated group therapy. You don't get help. You only get laughed at by a whole new group of people. Nothing every changes.
At least, that's how frank saw it.
Frank always had a negative view of the world.
He always thought the worst in everyone And was reluctant to meet anyone new or even go outside.
Being a 16 year old, this is slightly out of norm.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that he had to constantly put up with bullying to a vicious extent.
He had his ribs broken multiple times and got lightheaded easily due to so many kicks to the head.
Or maybe it had to do with the fact that's he was raped ages 7- 14.
It wasn't even a stranger.
It was his dad.
And no one ever believe him because "boys can't get raped"
either of those factors may have contributed to his mental illnesses but the anorexia, he left to the school health department.
At the beginning and end of every year, the school required the student to measure and weight themselves.
Thats where it started

_________flashback_________

"120"
the gym teachers emotionless voice rang through franks ears.
120? That can't be right! He's only 12!
"Frank, you'll need to lose some weight if you want to be healthier. Try eating less junk food and exercising more.


And that's exactly what frank did.
Every morning at 4 a.m, no matter what Time he went to bed the night before, frank would get up and sprint around his neighborhood for an hour and a half.
Then go home, take a shower, get dressed, and leave for school. Skipping breakfast.
Hes been doing this since he was 13.

back to the group therapy.

Frank sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs and gazed around the blank, beige room.
There were a few other teens there as well. All with different problems and different stories. But they are stories for other days.
Frank sighed silently and started biting at his lower lip, a habit he developed at an early age and resulted in constantly chapped lips.
Frank barely listened to the others share their problems until.
A voice.
Not just any voice.
The voice of an angel.
"Hi. My name is gerard way"

Notes

So this fic is a little different from my other one "never coming home"
as you can tell, I find mental illnesses fascinating.