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When Patrick is 14 he stops feeling. It’s a sudden change, one day he wakes up and he feels empty, like a husk, like a shell of who he once was. And for a while Patrick loves it because it means he no longer has to feel the pain, the heavy, weighted pain that used to reside in his chest. The pain would be so heavy that it would be hard to breathe, it hurt him, it made him feel sad, it made him feel. But now all of that is gone, no more feeling, no more sadness, just the empty hollow.
Patrick can’t remember ever feeling truly happy. Ever since he could remember he felt sorrow, deep and tired sorrow that wouldn’t be laid to rest. He wanted to blame his mother, he wanted to blame her for making him how he was, for her cursed bloodline, for the stupid genetic inheritance of such a disease. A disease that killed you so slowly but gave no mercy, a disease that made you end your own suffering because this disease did not kill of its own volition.
He remembers the day that the change happened, he remembers waking up and feeling like he’d lost something. It was like having an empty stomach but instead of your stomach it was your soul and your food was your feelings.
When Patrick is 15 he wants to feel again. He hates the way he can’t seem to be happy or sad or angry or anything. Patrick hates that the only way he knows he’s living is because of the air that leaves his body, the heart that beats beneath his chest and the occasional ball in his throat that is purely caused by a physical reaction.
When Patrick is 16 he wants to die. He doesn’t have a plan, all he knows is he wants to go away, forever, permanently. Patrick doesn’t see the purpose in living if he can’t feel anything, death would be better than living a life without feeling. After all, you’re only alive if you can feel.
He thinks about all the possibilities, death by traffic, death by hanging, death by drowning, death by bleeding out, death by gunshot, death by overdose, death by jumping… He can’t settle on one (t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶), he can’t be bothered to do it now (he tells himself). He’ll probably do it when he finishes high school, when all reason for living finally goes, not that there ever was one in the first place.
When Patrick is 17 he meets a boy. His name is Joe. Joe has wispy curls and bright blue eyes that would put the colour blue to shame. He meets Joe in a Borders Books in Wilmette while looking for books to use for research on his history project. He likes debating bands with Joe, he likes the nonsensical things that they talk about even though it’s only for a few minutes.
Joe offers for Patrick to come audition for him and his friend Pete’s band, Pete as in Pete Wentz, one of the biggest musicians in the Chicago hardcore scene. Patrick doesn’t really care about Pete. He wants to see Joe again.
It’s only within the next few days that he meets Joe again along with his friend Pete. Pete comments on how Patrick is dressed in black socks, shorts and an argyle sweater. Truth is, Patrick just couldn’t be bothered to pick something suitable out, why bother when he won’t even remember it soon enough.
Patrick tries out on his drums but Pete seems disinterested. Pete asks him to try the acoustic guitar that he brought along with him and Patrick only does so because he thinks fuck it, why not? Pete and Joe stare at him in awe after he finishes singing one of Elvis Costello’s songs to accompany the guitar and he could almost laugh.
“Were my guitar playing skills that amazing?” Patrick smirks with fake confidence.
“No dude, your voice, you’re like, our golden ticket or something.” Pete continues to look at Patrick in awe.
Patrick spends the rest of the afternoon hanging out with Pete and Joe, he decides that they aren’t so bad.
When Patrick is 18 he remembers what he promised at 16. He’s still going to go through with it, just not now. Not while he’s making music, not when his bandmates depend on him to finish writing their first album titled “Evening Out With Your Girlfriend”. He’ll do it once it’s done.
The album ended up mediocre. That’s the only way Patrick can seem to describe it. That’s the only way Patrick can seem to describe anything nowadays.
When Patrick is 19 he realises how close he is to 21. He hasn’t gone back on his promise yet, he just has to finish writing their album “Take This To Your Grave”, the one that’s supposed to set Fall Out Boy on the map in the punk scene. He at least wants to leave something behind.
When it’s done and released, the reception is way more positive than Patrick could have ever anticipated. People seem to love it for some reason yet Patrick can’t bring himself to love it like they do. Sure, it was fun making the album, he liked hanging out with his friends but it never gave him happiness. Everything he makes never seems to amount to anything, it never seems to make him feel anything.
Patrick decides that today is the day, it’s the perfect time for it to happen considering that everyone is out celebrating the six month anniversary of the album. He’s finished the tour, he’s met the kids, he’s seen everything he’s wanted to see, There’s nothing more for him here.
Before leaving the apartment Joe comes up to him. Joe who proceeds to hug him and tells him how proud he is of Patrick and of everything they’ve done. Joe who presses a kiss to Patrick’s head and tells him how much he cares about him. Joe who hugs him and doesn’t let him go until he starts to struggle against him and attempts to pry Joe’s arms away. Joe who lets him go and reminds him that he’s always there for Patrick. Joe who is the last person that Patrick sees before he goes.
He’s standing on the bridge edge now, near the passing traffic, and he can feel as the air whips heavy against his skin. The cars behind him sound so distant that he could almost convince himself that he was alone. That he was the only person that existed in this world. The water below him glistens under the weak light of the waning moon.
One step, he’s falling.
**********
November 7, 2003, 4:18am
i watched you.
i watched you as you stumbled and fell and i didn’t help you up.
i thought maybe you would be able to use your own hands to push yourself up.
i was wrong. your hands didn't work.
i watched you.
i watched you as you turned coral blue, the world too suffocating for you to breathe in.
i thought maybe you would be able to breathe on your own.
i was wrong. your lungs were filled with salt.
i watched you.
i watched you as you got swept away into the ocean, you blended in with the tide and nobody noticed.
i thought maybe you would be able to swim on your own.
i was wrong. you drowned.
- joe