Title: Hidden Lies (It Will Be Fine)
Author: Me
Disclaimer: Own nothing except the writing.
Summary: "Why did you tell me everything was going to be fine?"
Set before the show actually started.
"Why did you tell me everything was going to be fine? Why did you lie to me? Did it ever occur to you that maybe not everything turned out to be fine? You of all people, my own two parents. You two were just too obsessed with your own lives to pay any attention to your son. You left me to the other people…but wait there were no other people.
I had no friends to talk to when I was lonely. My grandpa lived in the same town but he was always too busy to talk. There were the neighbourhood kids who I could try and get along with, but I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to get involved in the tangled webs they wove. I tried to talk to you but you didn't listen. You never listened.
Would you listen if I told you I was depressed? Would you care to sit down and talk about it with me? Would you? I just need to know the answer. Or instead would you ship me off to therapist after therapist so you wouldn't have to deal with it yourself? Please tell me what you would do, I'm desperate for answers.
You must know that something is wrong. You leave for work moments after I walk quietly out the front door. You come home after work to see me sitting either in front of the TV or you hear the blasting music pouring out of my room. You think nothing of it, pass it off as the me being a teenager shit. Maybe that's part of it but would it kill you to talk to me every once in a while?
Sure you call me down to supper and we sit there like the picture-perfect family we aren't. We pass around the food while chatting about our day. When you ask 'how's school', I don't answer truthfully but instead say fine. I then proceed to tell you about the stupid assignment given out in history and you think that everything is fine.
Truth is I hate school. All the kids just push me around. They point and laugh. Call me names behind my back and to my face. I sit in the front of the classroom in each class, the back is solely reserved for the popular kids. At lunch I eat alone at my table on the far left-hand side of the cafeteria. No one cares about the quiet boy who never involves himself in anything.
You told me to go up to people and talk to them. I tried that and all I got was, 'hey nerd boy can you do my algebra homework for me'. Or various other people asking me to do their homework. I've even tried to talk to the girls, they just walk past me saying loser, fag, or other names. I don't let it show how much it really hurts, I smile and laugh pretending that they are just saying that as a friend would joke with another friend.
These kids really don't know how tough it is on me. They have never been the singled out kid. They have always been part of the 'in' crowd. They have never spent more then a few hours away from the millions of friends who surround them daily. They don't know how it feels. They don't have a fucking clue about how the outcasts feel like. Yet they still tease and joke, not caring that inside the people who are getting teased hurt.
The pain from simple words spreads through my body quickly, starting everything on fire. The pain is white-hot, searing pain that I actually enjoy. I enjoy it because it means that I am still alive and able to feel. What would you do if you felt the pain? Would you scream and yell into your pillow, sit in a corner and cry, or face them all with a smile?
Neither of you ever told me what your school lives were like. I know that you two were probably popular or at least had some true friends. I know that you didn't have to sit alone at lunch, or spend your spares in the corner of a library trying to keep out of everyone's way. Were you even ever teased?
Did you ever stand alone? Did you? Did you ever just stand there and watch the rest of the world float by? I have, daily. I watch as they all walk happily to their cars, laughing and reminding each other about the party this weekend. It's stupid. They will laugh and joke with each other, but push and shove at me. Why?
I come home each day, head hanging low staring at my worn-out shoes. My shoes fit me perfectly, scuffed up, worn-out, barley hanging on. I let myself in and to my great surprise you aren't there. My feet just go up to my room and I lie on my bed, listening to music or talking to the people that aren't there.
Call me crazy. Call me insane. Call me anything you want. But when I lie there all alone, the only thing to talk to is the air. What's so wrong with talking to the air? At least it won't answer me back, it won't fling insults around. Talking to the air also cleanses my soul. It lets me get out all my problems. It listens. Well not really since it isn't real, but it feels like it listens to me. That's all I care about, something that will listen.
I once told you I was lonely, the next day you pushed me into the car and drove down to the pet store. You told me I could pick out any pet but I answered you saying I wasn't that kind of lonely. I wasn't. I was the kind of lonely where it can only be cured with someone, meaning a person, to talk with. I didn't mean the type where you can go out, buy a dog and be happy. I didn't want a dog to be my friend, I wanted you guys to.
A child's parents can be their friends. Don't you know that? Or were your parent's never there for you? Did you think that that was fine? Just abandoning you kid because your parent's did it to you? I shouldn't complain, I do have two pairs of warm arms to pull me into a hug when I cry. Some kids don't even have that. But others have their parent's always there for them.
A bitter taste fills my mouth when I think of those people whose parent's are always there. Always buying them new clothes or cars. The thought of how they buy their children's affection sickens me. At least you never did that with me. I mean of course you buy me shit that I don't really need. What makes you different is that you never took me on a shopping trip just because I tripped and scraped up my knee.
You have told me many times that you will always be there for me. Always doesn't mean just when I desperately need you. Always means forever. Every moment that I live is always. It means that I can walk up to you and start a conversation without ever being cut off, or at least not as often as I am now. Always just means being right there, it doesn't mean being somewhere where I can't find you.
Do you like how you make me feel? Do you feel good about yourself for making me feel unwanted and abandoned? Well if you do then congratulations. You two have officially won the 'worst parent's ever' award. Wow. Now isn't that something to feel proud about.
I'm so sorry if this letter really makes you feel bad. I do love you. You really aren't that bad of parents. It just feels as though you are never ever there. Basically I'm just talking my anger out on you because of the way the people my own age make me feel. I know that you have nothing to do with it, but I like to be able to blame someone.
Do you ever feel like you just need to stomp around yelling at anyone who gets in your way? I have, but I've never acted up on it because that just isn't me. I think that maybe one day I should just scream and yell so everyone can hear. The last therapist I went to said that I should let all my anger and sadness out before I do something stupid to people around me or myself.
On that topic, did you ever think of suicide? Did you ever think that it would be better off with no pain to deal with? Did you think that it was the way out of everything that was wrong in your life? I know that your lives were basically perfect but I just want to know if you ever did feel like that. Did you ever feel like death was the only way out? I just want to know that because I've felt like that more then once.
I wonder now if anyone of those kids who appear to be perfect ever felt like that. I wonder if the though of suicide danced across their mind at least once. Probably not because them with their perfect lives don't need to think about that. Because if they died then they couldn't go to that extremely cool party on the weekend. Or they couldn't go out and buy that insane new thing that everyone else has.
I know I'm asking a lot of questions that I'm not going to get answers for. You don't have to answer any of them. Really. I just want to give you something to ponder. Something to make your brain turn while trying to figure out the riddle that is your son. But you won't be able to talk to me, you won't be able to even try and answer one question.
You are probably confused right now, but that last line I mean that maybe I just won't be around anymore. I find that a perfectly logical solution to that line. I mean if I'm just sitting in my room right now then of course you will be able to talk to me. But if say I'm lying on the floor dead then you won't be able to talk to me. You just have to think about it for a second.
And after reading this letter what to you think that answer is. Does your simple mind think that you will walk upstairs to find me sitting on my bed? Does it think that everything will be fine? Does it think that all that needs to be done is ship me off to a mental institution?
So take those legs of yours and walk shakily up the stairs. Slowly turn the doorknob on my bedroom door and walk in. What do you see? No me, am I right? Just walk around a bit more search a bit further for any sign of me.
I didn't ever think it would really come to this. I didn't think that I would proceed with the thoughts that clouded my brain. I really didn't believe that would happen. But it did. I've decided to do it. Kill myself that is. Everything will be great for me on the other side, well maybe not great but a lot better then it is here.
So I'm going to swallow enough pills to knock me out and leave me dead. I was thinking about lying on your bed to die, but then I though that you might not want to have to share a room with my dead spirit. You are probably gasping and tears are coming to your eyes. You probably are silently blaming yourselves for this but don't. Please don't.
Sure you could have talked to me a bit more, but its not you that made me do this. It's me. I'm fucked. Seriously fucked. I really, really wish it wouldn't come to this but you have to understand, please understand. I know that you will hate yourselves from now on, you will think that you killed your son. Please don't think that, you didn't kill me I did.
So as I now finish writing this leaning up against the kitchen counter the tears start to flow out of my eyes too. They are blurring my vision making it harder for me to see and I write these last few lines. I need to get them away, these last lines are the most important lines.
I will miss you both so much, and I know that you will miss me also. Please don't take this too hard on yourselves. Please just continue on with your busy lives. But never forget me. Keep my picture up on the wall and remember the better days. The days when I smiled a smile that wasn't forced upon my lips. And most of all remember one thing.
I FUCKING LOVE YOU BOTH SO FUCKING MUCH!"
Sincerely your son,
Seth Cohen
!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()
Sandy Cohen folded up the piece of paper. He didn't bother to reach his hand up to brush away the tears that had gathered on his face. He just turned to his wife and held out his arms to her. She immediately walked into them, wrapping herself up in her husband's warmth as she sobbed into his chest.
They had never thought that anything was wrong with their baby boy. But the truth was now out, millions of things were wrong with him they just had been to busy to see them. And they had built up and came to this. They still hadn't seen him dead. They hadn't gotten up the nerve to check the one last spot in their house.
The two of them walked out through the sun-warmed glass doors and onto the bricks that surrounded the pool. They walked quietly over to the pool house, Kirsten winding her hand into Sandy's as they walked on. Deep breaths were taken as the door was painfully slowly pushed open.
Loud sobs were heard as they saw the once full of life body of their son. The boy was sprawled out on an inflatable pool chair. Kirsten flew over to him to see if maybe, just maybe he was still breathing. He wasn't. There was nothing they could do now. He couldn't be saved. It was over for Seth Cohen.
His parents though, weren't glad. For even though Seth's pain had ended theirs had just begun. It would be a long, tough road that they would have to walk along for the rest of their lives. Even though he had repeated over and over again that it wasn't their fault, somehow they didn't quite believe that.
The rest of Seth's family were also wrecked. They had all loved the quiet, comic book reading child. They had all known his as a happy boy not this depressed person he had changed into.
At the funeral Sandy read off his suicide note, choking up halfway through and stepping down off the podium. Caleb had to continue until he too couldn't continue. After they had gone through the two of them the note was left unread lying on the wooden stand until it was over and Kirsten grabbed it.
The note they locked in a box where they kept family pictures and other things that reminded them of the old times. The box was only opened when they need to look at something that would remind them of Seth.
The two of them eventually moved on. But still to this day they can't walk past his room without tears springing to their eyes. They can't look at the game system that lies still on the living room floor. They can't touch anything of his without breaking down. The house is exactly the same as it was when he died. They can't stand to change it.
The words 'I love you' hang in the air. Where the words used to be exchanged daily they are now just ghosts of words. No one can stand to say them anymore because they were the last things that Seth ever said to them.
Seth had thought, in his last moments of life, how his parent's might end up feeling. He knew that they would be devastated and heart-broken. And even though he had told them that it wasn't their fault they would think it was. But Seth died happy. Happy that he wouldn't have to see the look on his parent's faces as they came across his dead body. Happy that he wouldn't have to see his family cry at his funeral. He was happy that he never again had to wake up and force himself to school.
Seth Cohen never had to force another smile on his face and pretend that everything was fine. Seth never had to laugh it off while the kids pushed him around. Seth never had to make his parents believe that he was happy. Seth never had to lie again. As Seth had seen it before he died, he didn't have to be anyone's problem anymore.
No, Seth Cohen had been erased from the face of the earth. His spirit had been crushed by millions of stampeding feet, to lie forever in the dusty dirt. To his parents though it wasn't as simple as clicking on his form and pressing delete. To his parents it was so much harder. But Seth Cohen was just acting as he saw them act. Selfish and uncaring of those around him.
Wow! So, sorry if it makes no sense. Its an extremly messed up story and I know that, but I love writing messed up stories.