Friendship is a life saver ch 1
I remember as a kid I had a fascination with everything military. Army, Marines, Air Force, Navy, and even the Coast Guard had me infatuated. I would sit in my room for hours setting up large scale battles with those little green army men that every kid in America has played with at least once in their lives. I had them face off against the tan versions of themselves that I set up all over my room. I couldn't tell you how many times my parents would walk in the room to tell me it was dinner or something, only to step on one of them. Needless to say they were pretty pissed.
I took my love for the military everywhere I went. I refused to take showers, only baths, that way I could play with all my navy boats. I would always walk around the house with one of the many Nerf guns I had, pretending that there were bad guys behind every corner. I told my parents that I would someday join the military, but then something changed.
My family has a history of depression, going all the way back to the 1840's when my x6 great grandfather killed himself by a gunshot to the head, unfortunately the trend caught on. It seemed like in every other generation someone in my direct family would kill themselves or suffer depression. I happened to get the short end of the stick and ended up with depression. I only started to notice this when I was eight years old. I remember sitting on the living room couch, eating some Honey Nut Cheerios and watching SpongeBob back when it was still good. I don't know why I was up at 7:00 A.M on a day when I had no school, probably out of habit. It was a cool autumn day, a perfect time to go outside and pick up the giant leaves that would fall out of the tress in front of our house. I was planning to do that when my mom came rushing into the living room and took the remote away from me.
"Mom! I'm watching TV!" I complained. Mom told me that something really big had just happened in New York and she needed to see it. She changed the channel to CNN and got to witness the fucking world trade center was up in flames, me and my mom were shocked, but the worst came not five minutes later when a plane hit the other tower. My mom gasped, I couldn't help but do so also. The news commentators speculated it was terrorists, and they were right. That day I got my first real taste of the real world, how anyone anywhere can be taken away in an instant, much like my father.
Me and dad were unusually close, not in a strange way mind you, but more attached then other fathers and sons. Since my mom constantly traveled to afford the nice house we lived in up in Alaska, she wasn't around a lot. My dad was a lumberjack, and by God did he look like one. He had a long mullet, his arm hair looked like he glued an entire bush to his arms, and his beard was long and well groomed. I inherited his hairy genes, growing my first goatee when I was only fourteen. I remember all the great times we had together. He would be there if I scraped my knee, or if I got sick, which was a lot. He's the one who bought me most of my toys, and I could never thank the man enough. He was a tall motherfucker too, standing at 6'5 and 240 pounds; he was cut out for his job. The greatest memory I had with him is when I was nine or ten and we played Grand Theft Auto III together. We would enter cheat codes and take turns wreaking havoc on Liberty City. Whenever he would get killed in the game we would let out a loud swear, laugh, and hand me the controller. Me and him were close, so why did he have to die?
I remember that day to the exact detail. I remember walking to school during the winter when I was sixteen, nearly slipping on the icy sidewalk. I don't know why we had school that day, granted it was only a half day, but when someone can crack his head open from slipping on the sidewalk on the way to said establishment, I think they should close down for the day. I remember it was during second period chemistry, I was pouring hydrochloric acid into a test tube when the principal walked in and pulled me out of class. I could hear the snickers of my asshole classmates; they assumed I had done something wrong. Once the door to the classroom was closed the principal handed me his cell phone with my mom on the other end. She was sobbing, she could barely speak. She was able to cough up the fact that dad was in a major car crash on the highway, the roads were icy and he lost control, and died on the spot. I closed the cell phone while my mom was still talking, handed it back to the principal, and sat down in the hallway. I didn't cry, I was too stunned to even consider that. The principal told me I could have the rest of the day off, so I took him up on his offer.
The walk home was one of the most painful things I've ever had to go through. For every step I took, I would say "He's dead" over and over until those two words lost all their meaning. My mom wasn't there when I got home, so I spent the time I had to myself crying in my room. I cried for two hours straight, I can't even describe how long that is. My eyes felt like someone had poured acid down them, my body was so weak that I could barely even move, I was at my lowest point ever, and I changed that day. I remember looking around my room, looking at all my military toys and posters, and smiled. I knew if I failed high school I could always join the Army, so that way my chances of coming home a bullet ridden corpse were at their all-time high. But at least I would be with dad. My classmates tried to talk to me following what happened, but I shoved them aside.
I was never the social type to begin with. I hated most of the people in my classes in any given grade, and never made any REAL friends. I was a lone wolf, and preferred it that way. I saw the other kids as mere obstacles blocking my way to class with their fatass bodies; I felt no emotion towards them at all. As I grew older and my depression became more evident I went through a personality change. I went from preppy and fun-loving to downright cynical. I became a misanthrope, a person who hates all other people. Everyone I saw, everyone I came into contact with was the scum of the earth, and they couldn't fool me with their friendly masks they put on. If I didn't hate you I merely tolerated you. There were only nine people I could tolerate: My mom, myself, and the band called Streetlight Manifesto. They were and still are my favorite band; they were the only human beings that didn't make me cringe. The music they played was incredible, mixing punk with Ska, I was hooked the moment I heard them. I bought all their albums up to that point; I bought a few posters, and wore a nice black and red hoodie with the band's logo on it. They even inspired me to pick up a guitar.
On my seventeenth birthday my mom bought me my dream, a Gibson ES-335 with a red satin finish, the same guitar the lead singer from Streetlight Manifesto, Tomas Kalnoky, had. It came with an amp, a guitar pick, an instructional DVD on how to play guitar, and a kiss on the cheek from my mom. For once in over a year I smiled, I had something to escape to whenever I felt down, which was all the time. I learned like a pro, mastering the basics in only a week. I soon did covers of my favorite SM songs which include, but aren't limited to: Here's to life, Riding the fourth wave, Would you be impressed, and The three of us. Every day after school I would fill the house with music from the band, and while I did screw up sometimes, my mom encouraged me.
Me and mom grew close after dad died. She had to quit her corporate job and took up a job as an accountant in my hometown of Juneau, Alaska. We'd sit down at the table and talk over dinner, we would watch movies together, and we somehow made up seventeen years of bonding in only one year. I was on top of the world, I impressed the ladies at school with my guitar skills, I was coming out of my shell, it looked like by depression was beat, but then came college.
After I graduated, and thanks to some recommendations from my high school teachers, I was able to get in to the University of Alaska Southeast, which was only twenty minutes from my house, so mom would visit often. I shared a dorm room with two other people: A guy named Kyle for whom I barely talked to, and Nick, the bassist in the cover band he founded called "Grip." The band mostly did covers of video games and some mid-nineties punk bands. He tried to get me to play rhythm guitar in his band, but I kindly refused, I was too messed up from the change of College. The work I was given made me feel like a fucking slave. I was only going there for my mandatory two years, but by God did they milk me for those two years. Paper after paper, project after project, I barely slept cause I had so much shit to do. All the stress of college, along with all the new and unfamiliar people brought back my depression full swing. I didn't really talk to my roommates, I didn't socialize at all, I only did three things: Eat, work on school shit, and play the guitar, and MAYBE get some sleep if I was lucky. I was back to the way I used to be; it seemed that nothing could bring me out of my depression this time, except a certain TV show involving ponies.
My reaction to the whole MLP: FIM craze was much like everyone else's, why the hell would grow MEN of all people like a stupid little girls' show? I wasn't one of those macho assholes who called the bronies fags or pussies, I just didn't understand why they liked the show, but I soon found out. It was winter of 2013, I had just finished my mid-term exams and had gotten my results. I nearly had a fucking heart attack at what I saw, most of my grades were either C'S, D'S, and I even had an F in calculus. I dropped the report card in shame, I was fucked. I knew I was going to get a stern talking to from my mom, my roommates would laugh at me, and my depression sunk even further. My depression made me irrational, I thought that no one would hire me for any job after this, and that I would live at my mom's house till I was in my forties, then when she would die I wouldn't be able to afford to live in the house, and I would end up dying as a homeless man, forgotten to the sands of time and to anyone that ever met me. I sunk to a new low, and was ready to off myself.
A week before he died, my dad gave me unique birthday present for my sixteenth birthday, a Tac Force TF-800 pocket knife. He told me to use in self defense, or to carve the initials of me and my lover into a tree. On the blade was engraved a message from my father that simply read "Prosper" and underneath that were the letters P.O.M.K, or property of Marcus Kelly. After he died, that knife became my most cherished item. I took it wherever I went, even though the campus had forbidden the carrying of knives or any sort of weapons. I remember holding that knife to my wrist, ready to end it all.
I decided that I would do it during the middle of the night when no one would suspect a thing. My roommates were away on some sort of trip for the culinary class they were taking so I was all alone. I remember sitting at the edge of my bed with my guitar against my chest. I didn't care if it woke everyone in the building up, I needed to sing a very fitting song called Point/counterpoint by Streetlight Manifesto
"I've got a gun in my hand but that gun wont cock
My finger's on the trigger but that trigger seems locked
And I can't stop staring at the tick tock clock
And even if I could I would never wake up.
With a vest on my chest, a bullet in my lung
I can't believe I'm dying with my song unsung.
And if and when I die won't you bury me alone?
'Cause I'll never get to heaven if I'm singing this song."
After I finished singing I put the guitar away and pulled out my knife. I sat on the edge of my bed, and wrote a suicide note.
"Life is painful, death is painless. Life is meaningless; death is the only reason for living. I leave this world to save myself, to save you from me. I am a nuisance to the world. I pollute it, I'm hateful towards it, and others are intolerable on it. I want no funeral, I want no eulogy, I want only to be forgotten. – Marcus
As I put the blade to my wrist I whispered apologies to my family.
"I'm sorry mom, I'm sorry dad, but I couldn't prosper." I was about to make the cut when I got a Facebook message on my laptop. Since I was going to die anyway I decided to view it, cause why not? It turns out my niece sent the message, she was one of the mere three people I had on my friends list, the others being mom and Nick.
Amy Johnson – Omg! MTAF, Y'all need to watch MLP:FIM, it's so good!
Now was my chance to see why the hell MLP: FIM was so fucking popular. I put the knife down and searched for MLP episodes. I came across the series premiere and decided to watch both parts. Then I decided to watch another episode, then another one, and another one, the next thing I knew I had watched all four seasons. I was tired, and thank God I was on Christmas break or else I wouldn't have been able to function. I fell asleep on the bed and woke up at about 2:00 P.M. I looked at the knife and note next to me and put them both in my desk. I was in love with that show. The characters were fleshed out, the plots were great for the most part, the animation was pretty, I simply loved it. I spent the rest of the day delving deep into MLP lore, discovering the older generations of MLP which made me cringe, and read a shit ton of fan fiction. I was happy again, a little girls' TV show just saved a 21 year old nobody from suicide, that's a sign of a good fucking show. To celebrate my new found happiness I decided to treat myself to a drink. Since I had recently turned 21 I still had a bottle of Vodka in the fridge. I took it out and poured myself a shot. I gulped down the shot; the burning feeling that went down my chest was worth it. I poured myself another shot, I could handle that. I repeated this until the room began to spin. I had never been drunk before, so this was new to me.
I nearly fell over numerous times trying to put the bottle back in the fridge. I stumbled over to my bed and lied down. I may have been drunk, but I was sober enough to know not to do anything. As I lay down I noticed a light coming from the closet. It was weird, because our closet didn't have a light in it. I got up and stumbled towards it. I opened it to find a void of light if that makes any sense. Nothing but white light filled the closet. Curious I decided to step inside, which was a bad mistake.
I fell through the light, I plummeted through nothing, and it was a scary feeling. I prayed to every god I could think of to come and save me, but nothing happened. I closed my eyes and waited for the worst. I felt like I passed through something, something wet because I was drenched in water. I opened my eyes to see that I was falling through the sky. Various clouds were floating in the air, I must have passed through one. I looked down to see a small town that I was on course to crash with. I closed my eyes and waited for my demise, until something caught me. I looked up to see a gray Pegasus holding my leg in her two hooves. Her eyes were lazy, her hair was yellow, it was good old Derpy Hooves. I was sure I had too much to drink, so I just went along with it. Derpy tried her best to hold me, but she lost her grip and dropped me. I screamed for about 200 feet until I collided with the ground. My bones cracked, my organs ruptured, I knew it hurt, but the alcohol numbed the pain. I couldn't breathe, I soon lost consciousness. Before I did I heard someone yell "Somepony help him!" So this is how I would die, good enough I suppose.