AN: Please read the authors note at the bottom.

Italics are Gordo's journal.

Overcoming Insanity

April 17th, 2004

I've drafted and redrafted this story so many times it's hard to believe it was ever true. I sat down and omitted parts so people would feel that, hey, this man is just like me. I rewrote it again and again erasing tidbits and pieces in hopes that it would make sense. The reality is always much harder to accept than fantasy. The fact is everyone is broken, and people lie, and relationships fall apart.

Things change and people do, too. And sometimes you can't get back what you've lost. Sometimes you can turn around before it's too late. Sometimes it's too late to turn around. I've tried to rewrite this story so I would sound as sane as possible, but as I learned to know who I really was, I noticed one key factor about myself.

I am not sane.

I was raised normal. I grew up with two loving parents, and two very wonderful best friends. I even fell in love with the most normal girl in the world. When I turned seventeen, it all fell apart. You see, my parents, they died in a car accident. I fell apart. I was raised by them; I didn't know how to live without them. And, really, how can you live without your parents? You spend your entire life learning to love them, then eventually it progresses to hate, and then you love them again…when it's too late.

My name is David Gordon.

I'm a writer, producer, and director of my own company.

And I am not well.

Gordo quietly sat, staring at the wall of his apartment, waiting to see if anything would change. The message light flashed repeatedly in the background. Lizzie had called seventeen times in the last hour, checking up and making sure he was okay. No, of course he wasn't okay. He would never be okay.

He'd moved out of his parent's house at sixteen, officially emancipated, and living on his own, working at a restaurant in Sacramento. He felt his parents were smothering him, and he needed to grow up without their help. He called it freeing his wings so he could fly. His apartment was tiny, cramped, and messy. Pages upon pages of manuscripts were stacked against the walls. None were finished.

His dream was to be a writer, a movie director. He'd always had that dream, ever since he was old enough to hold a camera. And then, he gave up.

Yet one single person always had hope in him.

The same person who continued to try and reach him.

The phone rang for the eighteenth time that hour, Lizzie's soft and kind voice came over the line, worry evident in every single word. "Gordo, my mom told me what happened. Please tell me you're going to call me back. Give me a sign; let me know you're okay. Please, Gordo."

He rushed to pick up the phone, but the message stopped and she had hung up. Now, sitting by the phone, he paced and stared at the blinking light, saving the messages for a later time so he could keep hearing her voice. Even when she was so far away, yet right beside him. He couldn't bear to see her right now.

The newspaper headline was in big bold letters on his bed; Head On Collision Kills Two, Leaves Four Injured. Of course, it was strangely evident who those two people were; Howard and Roberta Gordon, the most loving and knowledgeable people in the entire universe. His parents, which had stuck with him and supported him from day one, and helped him up whenever he fell down.

Gone in an instant.

He didn't cry. The reality was that he knew it was going to happen, but he didn't know when. He wouldn't cry over this, it wasn't worth the tears. His mother had taught him it was okay, but he didn't want to yet. Not while the memory was still fresh on his mind.

He'd overcome this. He had friends to help him. He had people that would stand by his side and fight for him, right?

Miranda was going to college in the fall. She was leaving for Florida. Lizzie would stay as long as time would allow, so he could continue to heal through the grieving process, but then who knew where she was going? Gordo felt lost and hopeless.

It couldn't be that hard to overcome a loss, could it?

He turned back to the wall and stared at the image. His mother stood, holding him as an infant, with his father behind him, wearing a proud smile. They were always so proud of their child. How could he have thrown away what he had with them?

The phone rang again. He picked it up. "I'm okay." He started off with.

"Gordo, you're not okay. Your parents just died." Lizzie bit her tongue, hard, knowing she had said the wrong thing. "Please talk to me, Gordo."

"I'm fine, Lizzie." He spoke quietly, gently. "I'll be okay."

"Gordo, please don't lie for my sake." Lizzie answered, fighting back tears. "Let me come over."

"Stay where you are. I'll be okay." He faked a smile, trying to make her feel better. She couldn't see over the phone, but Lizzie always knew by his tone when he was happy. Lizzie had never seen him cry, or punch walls, or cut, or scream. He'd always been calm and depressingly happy. "Don't worry about me, okay? Graduation is in a week, you know."

"Yeah. Are you going?" She asked casually, knowing he'd changed the topic for a reason.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." He lied. "Will you be there?"

"My mom wants me to go for the sake of pictures, but I really don't want to. I'll go if you go." She frowned. "Listen, if you need me, Gordo, I'm here."

"Thanks, Lizzie…but I'll be fine. Mom and dad are in a better place now. At least they aren't suffering." He looked away, reading the headline on the paper again, for the tenth time that hour. Since he'd found out at seven that morning, he'd been finding every possible picture he had of his parents. Videos and letters, and packing them up so he'd never see them again. Gordo loves his parents, but moving on without them would be difficult. "Parents are supposed to support you in everything you do, even if it's the wrong thing…so, I support my parents."

"Gordo, this wasn't a choice…" Lizzie answered calmly. "…It was an accident."

"And it was for good reason. My parents were too good for the world to live with. Their kindness knew no bounds. The world couldn't handle that." Gordo answered, clearly in denial. "I'm sure it's okay, Lizzie."

"Are you positive? I can stop by on my way to work." She added, her voice cracking slightly at her best friend's now monotone voice. She'd never say it out loud, but she really wanted to see him and be sure he was okay.

"I'm okay, Lizzie," He chuckled slightly. "I promise."

I'm not okay. For seventeen years I have spent my whole life living in a world where my parents were always there, always praising me, always helping me overcome tough spots in my life. My mom, bless her soul, never gave up hope in me. She allowed me to be free with my life, and still support me endlessly. My father, the kind and loving man he was, always gave me advice and help…even when I didn't think I needed it.

But without them around, I find it more and more difficult to cope with the reality of this world. The reality is, the world sucks. It will bring you to your knees and kick your feet right out from under you. It will continue to beat you mercilessly until you can't breathe. And that's what makes this world a terrible place to live. I see why my parents left, because kindness without limits gets you nowhere. It gets you dead.

I thought I was okay to go to the funeral. I thought I was fine. I thought I would be fine with leaving my parents behind, and then leaving high school behind. No, the situation was far less normal than I had hoped. I couldn't let go. I wasn't ready. I couldn't even go to graduation like I had promised my best friend.

I couldn't even stop to breathe most nights.

And every day, until two weeks after graduation, I curled in my bed at my parent's house and cried, praying I could take it all back. But they weren't coming back. They were gone forever and I couldn't accept that.

Three months after the accident, I went with a numb body and soul to clean out what was once my childhood sanctuary. Lizzie, Matt, Miranda, and Jo had helped, promising not to leave me alone. They stood by my side as I crossed the threshold for the last time, and said goodbye to what I had always thought was going to be my life-long home.

Miranda would laugh as she brought up some stupid memory and I would laugh back. But the pain was always evident. Lizzie knew.

Lizzie never stopped knowing.

She found a pendant while digging through my dresser. It had been given to me at my Bar Mitzvah by my father, having been passed down from his father, and his father before that. It was a Silver Star of David on a chain, one that my great grandfather had worn during the holocaust, having been sent to a concentration camp for six years. When he was freed, the necklace was passed through the generations until it finally stopped with me.

I told her to throw it away.

I never really did ask if she did or not. I never saw it again after that.

When Jo asked me if I wanted to keep the tapes I'd made growing up, I told her no. I wanted to get rid of them. They went into a box and stayed there until no one in particular would bring it up in passing and open it up. They were nothing special to look at, if you asked me, which is why I never understood my parents' constant support of my artwork.

Another few weeks after that, I stood across the street and watched a new family move into my childhood home. They had two children, two daughters; they seemed happy enough, so I put my hands in my pockets and walked away like it never happened.

As of August 9th, 2004, I was going to move on with life and pretend I had always been this way.

Gordo died that day with my parents. From that day on, I was David Gordon. And I would never let that change.

This is written for Thomas, my brother, because Thomas is dealing with a lot right now. I understand what he's going through. In a way, the first part explains my feelings towards this story. I didn't want to post it at all; it was just a free-write for my brother. But now that I think about it, I want it to be posted. It's got a rating of T+ because it's incredibly dark, and I had felt that it may be too dark for this category. If it never goes read and it never gets reviewed, that would be fine with me. I just felt I needed to write it.

I used Gordo because of his intelligence. As someone had once said, there's a very, very fine line between intelligence and insanity, and many people dance on that line until it snaps.

Welcome to the story.

This story is not for the faint of heart, or for people looking for fluff. You won't find it here. This is about reality and depression, and overcoming schizophrenia. This is about a real struggle with a real person – using someone else as my medium.

I hope you enjoy it, and maybe learn a thing or two from it. And yes, I, River Tam/Kitt Wilson…am not okay.