The Thing About Pain

The smell of antiseptic burned through my lungs and nose, even though I had smelled this since I've been shipped off to here by my parents, when I was 16. It didn't make sense, it was a mental institute, not a hospital. I've never been one for friends to be honest, and I still had none, being locked up in this sickeningly white place. That's a lie. I had one friend. The only one who'd bother to actually visit me regularly, and tell me when he couldn't. Mikey Way.
It's not like I minded. Having nobody come but him, I mean. Personally, had my good for nothing parents visited I would have punched them. I don't understand why I'm here. They're real! The fuckers sent me here because they couldn't grasp the reality that I had a few people that were after me, and a few friends that they just seemed to mark as invisible. They are not. Next thing I knew, was that I was being brought to the doctors office and interrogated about these friends of mine, and my-
My attention turned to a boy, new certainly, probably around the age of 24. I myself have been here four years, so I was now, what? 20? Anyway, his hair fell over his face, and seemed very messy, but what caught my attention was that his hair was jet black, his cheeks seemed sunken in and you could see the bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in a few months, or eaten. He slouched when he sat down and he had thin pale pink lips that went perfectly with his ivory complexion. He gave off a depressing aura, that drew me closer to him in every way, but I can't get close to people. Timmy doesn't like it. As soon as this mysterious raven haired kid looked my way, I immediately noticed his stunning hazel eyes, and so much pain was behind them. Some people say your eyes are the gateway to your soul, and in a way, I can see that, because by looking in ones eyes, you can see that there is a story. A different one for every person, and I believe that, that is beautiful, no matter how tragic the story may be. When the raven locked enigma broke our eye contact, I couldn't help but see the little trickle of a tear down the side of his face. I looked away from him so I don't seem creepy. He was a mystery to me, and I would unravel it no matter how long it took, because for some reason, I thought he was beautiful, and I wanted to help fix his broken pieces.

"Okay! Let's begin shall we?" Asked Mrs. Lark. She wanted a group therapy session for us all because of the new kid... Joy... Don't get me wrong, enigma over there, him I wanted to meet, but therapy was bullshit. Don't even start me on this shit. "We will be saying our name, something about ourselves, and a hobby we enjoy." She pointed at a kid across the room. Alex I think. He was in for severe depression. It's all I knew.

"Hi, I'm Alex, I-I never had friends, and I played the guitar, the won't let me here, they think I'll break the strings to hurt myself..." The depressed expression took over his face. He must have loved playing the guitar. I know I did, before they took me away from Pansy.

"Hi, I'm Ryan, I'm in here because I nearly killed a kid for imposing his religious views on me. In my defence, he followed me home several times and even walked into my house when I went home. I enjoy just sleeping I guess." He grinned. Ryan seemed like a decent kid, minus the whole 'I nearly killed someone' thing he had going for him.

"Hello, I'm Hayley," Began the girl with bright orange and yellow hair. "I have a little sister who I miss very much, and when I get out of here, I'm going to visit her first an give her a teddy bear. I love to sing."

"Bob. I had to give my piercings to the fucks-"

"LANGUAGE!" Mrs. Lark called out. Yeah whatever. Fuck yourselves. It's a fucking word, get over it dickwads.

"Because apparently, my other personality will try to carve someones face like a pumpkin. I'm from Chicago." He finished. What I liked about the blonde was that he didn't give a fuck what people thought of him, he just went with it. He was built, and tough, nobody fucked with him. On the inside he was soft though. I walked in on him crying about how much he missed his parents but his other personality took over and told me to fuck off, and not to mention that to anyone, then Bob went back to himself and began to cry harder. I just nodded at him and left.

"Frank?" Mrs. Lark asked me. "C-could you try to-?" I shook my head and cut her off. "Alright, I'll do it for you." I slowly nodded, unsure what she'd do this time. "This is Frank," I looked down at my lap. "He played a white Epiphone Les Paul he named Pansy, and he enjoys being alone." She actually gave the truth out to everyone for once.

"Hey, I'm Bert. Don't fuck with me, and I like watching peoples pain. It's fun to watch them suffer." The black haired nightmare laughed. Jesus he was crazy.

"Bert that's inappropriate!" Mrs. Lark scolded. I looked over to the new boy and he was scooting away from Bert, clearly terrified at his outburst.

"Aww, is the new kid scared of me?" He let out a dark laugh. "That's too bad, I think he's rather pretty... What a shame..." Back. The. Fuck. Off. Creep. If you couldn't tell, Bert wasn't only crazy, he loved to taunt people, and get them wrapped around his finger, then he'd never let them go. He'd cause the suffering for them, and he was their nightmare. He was dirty, and smelled like shit. Half his clothes were ripped and torn, and Bert had an overall terrifying face. A scar ran down from the left corner of his lip to his jaw. His eyes sunk into his skull and his smiled curled into a cruel on any time he tried. He constantly looked like he was on drugs, and god forbid he was.

"I-I'm G-Gerard W-W-Way." The enigma stated. "I don't belong h-h-here. I d-draw..." He whispered.

Notes

• Schizophrenia Symptoms:
• Social Withdrawal
• Hallucinations (Auditory and visual)
• Depersonalization (a sense of being unreal, hazy and in a dreamlike state), sometimes accompanied by intense anxiety
• Loss of appetite
• Loss of hygiene
• Delusions
• The sense of being controlled by outside forces
• Disorganized speech