The sound of a pathetic, heartbreaking moan......

I wished it would stop.

"He's waking up!"

Mom?

'Okay....I'm getting up,' can't be late for church......I hate early mornings.

I attempted to lift my head off of my pillow, only to be able to rise not even an inch off of it.

The moaning started again.

I realise it's me.

I'm too tired to move.

Can't open my eyes too well.  Too tired. 

I try again, but a pathetic whimper escapes my mouth.

"Bren....it's okay sweetheart.  Don't move.  Rest," mom's voice sounded raspy.

A sudden wave of sadness, mixed with hopelessness and confusion consumed me whole, hitting me hard.

I tried to get up again, but couldn't move my arms.  They were held down beside me.

"I.....mom.....I.....mom....wha...I..ehhhhhgg."

I tried to move my arms again.  I couldn't.  I managed to open one sleepy eye and looked beside me. 
Everything was blurry and bright.  I couldn't see what was holding my arm down, but I knew I wasn't on my own bed.

I heard someone mumble over my own noises, something before I felt a slight sting in my arm sending me off into a deep sleep.

My eyes sprang open.

Realisation immediately set in.

I was in a hospital bed. 

Shifting my head so my chin was pressing towards my chest on my neck, I could see that both of my arms were restrained to the up cot sides by two separate blue belts. 

I tried to shift my legs, and looking down, I couldn't tell by sight if they were tied too, as a blanket covered me.  I couldn't move them either, but felt that they too were restrained.  I tried to struggle, but couldn't even arch my body up. 

Something was holding me in place.

"Nooooooooooo!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. 

I had failed!  Terribly.

I continued to wriggle, and call out, cursing myself over and over for not doing it properly. 

I should have known.  I can't do anything right!

"Brendon, stop struggling.  You'll aggravate the bandages!" a man who I have never seen before said, leaning over me.

"Let me out of here.......let me out!" I screamed, looking up at him, watching him move away; as I ignored his advice to stop struggling to get out of the belts.  Not that it mattered.  I wasn't getting anywhere.

"Brendon, come on.  Please stop.  It won't work," he said in a calm voice, as my eyes never left him.  I watched him fiddle with a bag hanging on a stand, with what looked like blood in it.  I then noticed that the red liquid  ran into a tube, that was connected to the underside of my elbow. 

Blood. 

Someone else’s blood.

"Get that out of me!" I screamed, attempting to thrash around harder.  Useless.

Right then, I really would have given anything to have my religion changed.  I wished I was a Jehova's Witness.  They wouldn't let them do this to me.  I hopefully wouldn't be here if I was.  With that thought, I stoped struggling and broke down and cried.

"I..... want..... to.... die!  Why won't you.....let...me?" I was resigned.  Hopelessly resigned to the fact I was still here.

The man looked at me sympathetically before walking out of the room, leaving me alone; leaving me to cry, yell, struggle, and cry until I couldn't physically do it anymore. 

Such a long time later, the door opened.

It was mom.

I gasped, not expecting to see her.  At all.  I felt so ashamed, seeing the expression on her face.  Purely heartbroken.

I turned my head to the side, facing away from her.

My heart ached.

I looked at her hand as she reached over and touched my cheek.

"Brendon......why?" she asked in a whisper before I heard her sniff.

I didn't answer her.

"Please tell me why........you would....I don't understand," moms voice intruded my ears.

I focused my attention on a bar covered window, so I didn't have to face her.  Listen to her desperate voice looking for answers.

"I love you Brendon and...you have no idea......how we are all hurting," I heard her say after she had been talking to me for so long, and beside this, I had shut her out.

How could she say that?  I'm the one who's hurting.  I'm the one who doesn't want to spend one more minute on this earth, and she's telling me that everyone else is hurting!

I gritted my teeth and screwed my face up, seething in my self pity, wishing that she would just shut up and leave me alone.  I hated her.  She brought me into this world and...I hated her for it.

After a while more of listening to her cry and shoot words of sympathy and love at me,  I finally looked at her.

"I need.....to go to the bathroom," I hadn't realised up until now that I was just about peeing myself.

"Okay.  I'll get someone," she half smiled, before walking away.

I looked for the first time down at my heavily bandaged wrists and sighed.

I figured that as soon as who ever comes in here and takes these...belts off of me so I can go use the bathroom, I would scratch and pull like mad at my wounds and...do everything in my power to stop them from coming near me so I could go through with what I started.

The same man as before walked into the room holding a green plastic bottle with a handle on it.

"You need this?" he asked, as I shook my head.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I answered, feeling like I was going to burst.

"This is the bathroom kid.  Unless you want to use your bowels...." I sighed.  They were on to me.  Ahhh but...they needed to take off one restraint so I could use it, right?  Wrong.

The nurse pulled back the blanket, and pulled up the white hospital gown that I was wearing....I had no underwear on!

"I....I...can....no...I..." I was so embarrassed.  He took hold of my........and put the top of the bottle over my.......

"Okay.  You can go now," he looked away towards the door.  Was that what they call giving someone privacy?

Well, I couldn’t hold on anymore.

Once I was done, he removed the semi full bottle, covered me up and walked out like it was nothing, leaving me in shock.

For the next two days it was the same thing.  I was fed by someone, I was washed daily with a sponge, and I used the bathroom in plastic objects with someone there to wipe my bottom or to hold a bottle to my.....  When they changed the dressings on my wrists, it was a two person job.  first day it was three, when I attempted to rip at my other bandage.  Now, one nurse holds my arm, while the other redresses it.

With in in a week, I was home.  Mom and dad couldn't bare having me stuck in a hospital tied up.  They were told that I needed to get therapy, so they went and booked me into the hospitals out patient service.

I still really hadn't talked to them, but they didn't seem to mind.  As long as I was home and I promised never to do it again.  I didn't know I was going to hurt myself the first time....how could I promise them that?....but I did.

To be honest, my wrists hurt every time I tried to use my hands for anything, and after how bad it hurt when I cut, I don't think that I was going to do that again in a hurry.  I was still the most unhappiest guy ever.

I never told anyone....or gave reason for what I did.  As I stated earlier....mom and dad didn't care.  As long as I was home.  I think they figure, that god will fix me or something along those lines.

Dad told me that it was Ryan and his uncle who found me in the bathroom and called 911.  I bled pretty bad or so I was told by the nursing staff who were pumping other peoples blood into me.

As soon as I got home, The first thing I did was head straight for my bedroom, closed the door and curled up on my bed, staring at my stupid picture I had of Scott Stapp on my wall.  The second thing I did, was jump off of my bed and rip that poster off of my wall.  The third thing I did was went back on to my bed, curled up again and stared at the blank space on my wall where the poster used to be.

Holding both of my arms up in front of my face, for the first time I managed to make myself look at my bandaged wrists.

I could never get myself to do this before now.  Guilt maybe?  I don't know. 

I shook my head to myself.

'Brendon.....what were you thinking?  You are a very stupid person!'  I was so disappointed in myself for this.  For wanting to do this.  For letting some mindless idiots drive me to do this.

I put my arms down and smiled to myself. 

'I'll show those.......fuckers!  I'm going to be somebody.  No.  Not just somebody.  I'm going to be a house hold name.  I don't care what doing.....but I will be huge,' I decided in the confines of my bedroom a part of my life plan for me. 

As I was deep in thought as to how to go about working on my plan, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"Yeah?" I called out, turning over onto my back and stared at the door.

The door opened and dad stood there, looking uncertain......or maybe it was a look of wondering why I had a big smile plastered on my face.

"Brendon, Ryan Ross is here to see you.  do you feel like a visitor?" he asked, as I found that strange that he was asking me my opinion and not making decisions for me like usual.

Ryan was here? What would he want? Did he want to come and see if it really was true that I had tried to kill myself so he and his new friends could have something else to tease me about? 

"Can he come up here?  I really don't feel like coming down," was I pushing my luck?  I never had people in my room.  Not even Andrew.

"Sure," he winked at me, and smiled.

"Oh and dad?  I was wondering.  Can I do singing lessons?  I want to learn how to sing," I asked, sitting half up, but leant myself against my pillows, resting on my elbows.

"Okay.  I'll look into it.  I'll send Ryan up," he then left leaving the bedroom door open. 

Seconds later, there was Ryan, standing in my doorway.  I didn't right then invite him in, I just stared at him, watching him stare back, blinking his beautiful eyes at me every now and then.  What was my fascination with Ryan and those....deep honey coloured eyes of his?