I woke up to pipes in my nose and needles in my arms. I always was deathly afraid of them, but I didn't seem to have the energy to express my usual fearful reaction.

My mother sat at the end of the bed, she had sore eyes, no doubt from crying, I had that look on my face for many days, I had grown used to red and black rings lining my dark eyes.

My father was off shouting at a doctor, he did always feel so insecure about being in charge, maybe that's why he always felt the need to put me down.

My brother had fallen asleep on the small sofa beside my bed, he looked so much smaller than usual, I bet he had fun finding out what happened to me, I wonder if he was disappointed in me.

"Oh my god my baby, your awake," my mom said as she ran to my head and held my red locks in her hands, kissing my forehead and crying.

My brother slowly woke up and ran to my side.

"Oh my god Gerard I'm so sorry, I never meant any of it, I'm so sorry," he too was crying.

My father walked in slowly, he didn't care about me, he was more focused on missing traffic jams and paying my hospital bills. I hated my father so much, he had always looked at me like a failure, like the son who couldn't play sports, like the son who couldn't get the girl, like everything he hoped I wasn't.

My mother had loved me, once upon a time, maybe my successful little brother just shone brighter, he was someone to be proud of, someone to brag about to her friends, someone who she hoped would come back every holiday when he was all grown up.

I couldn't ever stop loving my little brother, even when he called me a fag, pretended I wasn't his brother, told me to kill myself, because he will always be my little brother, the same little brother who I hugged when he won his races, who I stayed up with at night when there were storms because he was to scared to get to sleep, the same little brother I would babysit and play games with before we ate hot pizza.

I turned on my side, away from them all and just let the skin on my thighs touch each other. The worry in their eyes was so unfamiliar and it scared me, now they would be seen as the family with a suicidal child, the parents who couldn't raise a healthy child, a happy child, a straight child.

"Well, you can leave today but we're supposed to keep an eye on you. Get your clothes on and let's go already." My dad said as he scooped up the belongings my mother had scattered across the room.

I heard my father, but his voice seemed like a stranger, his tone was no longer angry, more annoyed.