So let's get carried away
Not lose ourselves in the fight
Let's show the world we were right
That we can make it through
And I may be leading the way
But you will always be my light
And I will always love you

It was like a fire was lit within me.

I was determined more than ever to prove to the doctors and everyone I knew and loved that I could actually do this. With their help and support, I could fight the demons within me, and goddammit, I’d win.

I could no longer succumb. I wasn’t a victim, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let it control my life anymore. It was my life and I was the one that should be in control. Not the fear, not the depression and certainly not the twisted hallucinations of my friends and loved ones.

To further pull myself out of the clouded mindset my mental illness brought, I continued weekly therapy sessions without resistance once we returned to Baltimore, which helped significantly. Especially initially. Not only was I finally communicating my dark thoughts to professionals in a safe environment, but I was also regularly getting out of the house on a regular basis, which in and of itself was an improvement.

...well...unless you count the touring I did with Jack. I myself considered those trips only half-successful, considering the first time I’d stayed in the bus almost the whole time and ignored almost everyone around me minus Jack. As for the second time when I actually did try to expand my horizons, well...we all know how that ended up.

But that was in the past. I swore to myself that that was the darkest moment I’d ever have and now things could only begin looking up. I had to acknowledge the positive in my life and no longer dwell on the negative, as my therapist put it.

Though I once sneered at the idea of seeing a therapist, Dr. Gonzalez was a very easy person to talk to. She had the kind of personality that really made me open up. I wasn’t sure what it was--maybe she reminded me a bit of my grandmother, with her salt and pepper hair and homely smile--but whatever it was, it worked.

It took a bit of time, but eventually opening up about more difficult things I’d bottled up inside, you know, like loosing Melody, became a bit easier to talk about. I was finally honest with myself how deeply the loss had effected me; and how that tragic loss had become the seed of which the depression and psychosis fed off of. I knew now that had I been honest from the beginning, that maybe I wouldn’tve fallen as far down the rabbit hole as I had. But mistake or not, the good doctor was always quick to remind me that what had happened to me wasn’t my fault. Mental illness is difficult to control, let alone realize for yourself that you might have it. I’d been in denial (which is normal, apparently) for the longest time, and when I did realize something was wrong, I had been convinced I could control it myself.

Obviously a mistake.

Dr. Gonzalez also had a lot of good advice, which I guess wasn’t all that surprising since she was a therapist and all. It was kind of her job to be well versed with helping those with mental health problems.

For example, she suggested that I try to create new memories in a new environment. In other words, try something that I’d never done-slash-been to before. I had to think about it for a bit, but Jack and I ended up flying to Disney World for the weekend because even after traveling the country on and off for two years, I’d yet to visit the Florida theme park. And, let me tell you, deciding to finally go to Disney World after basically waiting my whole life to go, I wasn’t disappointed. Though the original park will always be number one in my book, spending time in the magical environment did wonders for me. Letting go of the outside world, even for a day or two, was probably one of the best things I could’ve done. It allowed me to loose myself and maybe even revert a bit to a version of myself that still held her innocence close to her chest. I was lost in the magic, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the best vacation I’d had in a long time.

Another thing my therapist suggested was to open up with Jack more, though I didn’t really need her to tell me that. Once I was in the right state of mind, I realized that those months following the accident, I’d closed myself off from Jack. I’d been physically next to him a lot, sure. I never stopped talking to him, but there were far too many incidents where I’d chosen to keep Jack in the dark. She never flat out said that my suicide attempt could’ve been avoided had I’d just talked to him, but at the very least it didn’t help. So, the following months, I begun being more open with him. It was hard at first, don’t get me wrong. Talking to Dr. Gonzalez had been one thing. Things were confidential. But to be more open about those not-so-pleasant thoughts with Jack?

I started small. Morning when I just woke up from rough nightmare, I started telling Jack exactly what plagued my mind. No holding back, the doctor said, so I didn’t. I told him every detail I could, each time hoping he was strong enough carry the burden of these twisted images as well. And each time, Jack would patiently listen, quiet and focused as I spewed my most recent troubling thought. Then, once I was done, no matter how busy or tired he might’ve been himself, he’d always take the time to pull me into a hug and thank me for being so open with him.

That’s not to say it was always easy to tell him things. On the really rough days, when the meds didn’t quite work and those nightmares would try their damnedest to convince me that everything since waking up in the hospital had been a lie...well I had a hard time differentiating dreams from reality, let alone gathering the strength to talk to Jack about it.

But somehow, I did. This was a miracle in and of itself, considering a few months prior I’d been trying to avoid that I even had a problem, let alone talk to Jack about it. On those bad days, it was hard to even bring up that something was wrong, those voices in my head spewing self-hatred so much it almost made me dizzy.

That’s usually when that determination to kick the stupid illness in the ass really kicked in. Before, I’d cower. Hide away. Lock myself in the bedroom.

Not anymore.

I’d blur the voices out, focusing instead on tasks that the doctor had given me. To be open. To be honest, no matter how scared I might be to do so. And though each and every time I was terrified of Jack’s reaction; that he might turn around and leave the way the voices wanted me to believe, he never did.

God, I loved him.

But the funny thing was, the best advice I got since getting out the hospital didn’t come from any doctor. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciated my therapists help in improving my mind, but sometimes those who know us best, our friends, are the ones who head the best advice.

I’d been out of the hospital for a good month at that point. It was early March, and the anniversary of the car crash was looming just over the horizon. I’d tried to ignore this, to continue instead on focusing on my self-improvement, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t in the back of my mind. How couldn’t it be? A year had gone by like *that* and I still felt like I was trying to pick up the pieces of my soul.

I knew Jack was well aware of the upcoming anniversary, too. He’d basically split up his life into two categories: his band, and me. That’s it. Whenever he wasn’t in studio with the band recording some super-secret album (so secret, he wouldn’t even tell me anything about it), he was with me. When he was, he watched me with weary, concerned eyes; more so than usual, that is. He knew I’d been improving, and I think the idea of bringing up the very trauma that started it all scared him. We’d talked about it on the few times Jack joined me at my therapy sessions with Dr. Gonzalez, but it didn’t make the ache in our chests go away at the idea of dealing with such a dismal anniversary. It was like one final punch to the gut that everything that’d happened the past year actually occurred, and I think Jack was deeply worried that this particular day would send me back down that deep rabbit hole I’d fought so hard to get out of.

So, what did my brilliant boyfriend do to ease this pain?

He called Pete Wentz.

You can imagine my shock when I awoke one morning to find Fall Out Boy’s bassist in my kitchen, enjoying a cup of coffee with my boyfriend. You know, like it’s a totally normal and they do it all the time.

They were casually chatting and didn’t even notice me walk in behind them, which looking back was a blessing in disguise. I was still in that half-awake/half-asleep state and looked far from presentable. My blonde hair was still in a tangled mess and my eyes were still a bit droopy having literally woken up from a deep slumber only a minute or two before.

Of course, the second I saw that familiar face happily talking to Jack, that changed. Like I’d downed ten energy drinks, my body jolted back from pure shock. Despite legitimately calling Pete a friend now, I think a bit of me would always freak out a little bit whenever being around him face-to-face, at least for a second or two. What can I say? Once a fan girl, always a fan girl, I guess.

I suppressed a gasp as I stumbled back, eyes wide as I stared dumbly at the two men in front of me. “Pete?”

Both men turned around to face me with matching smiles. “Hey, you’re up!” Jack announced happily, jumping up from his seat next to Pete so he could give me a quick kiss. “Look who came to visit!” He gestured towards Pete, who by that point had risen from his place at the table as well.

“I-I see that.” I stumbled, eyes glued at the famous musician in confusion. After all, he was still living in L.A. as far as I knew, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t touring or anything. So...what the heck was he doing in Baltimore? And after brief, friendly hug between he and I, I asked him just that. “Uh, not that I’m not happy to see you, but...what are you doing in Baltimore?”

Pete huffed a laugh, brushing off my confusion with a shrug. “Eh, I was in New York for a few days and decided to pay you a visit while I was on the same coast.” He paused, pursing his lips. “So, uh...Jack tells me you’ve been getting better?”

My eyes wandered over towards my boyfriend, who’d stepped back into the kitchen to finish his coffee all while totally trying to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Yeah, I am.” I nodded confidently. “I’ve been seeing a great therapist and she’s been helping me tons.”

“That’s great to hear.” His wide, genuine smile made the corner of his eyes crinkle slightly, and I couldn’t help but smile back, unsure of how to respond otherwise. But then, after a minute or two of silence, Pete glanced back over towards Jack and told him, “Hey, is it alright if I talk to her in the other room for a bit?”

Jack nodded, his brown eyes looking back at me in a way that made me think that Jack already knew well in advance that Pete would want to talk to me in private. Dare I say, he planned it? “Have at it. I’ll be in here if you need anything, alright, Sally?”

I licked my chapped lips, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

I followed Pete into the living room, fully expecting him to sit down so we could begin our conversation there. Yet, he kept going, instead turning left towards the tiny hall that lead to the bathroom, Jack and I’s bedroom, as well as the spare room which had been virtually untouched since we’d semi-converted it to the baby’s room. Now it was...I don’t know. A memorial? It sure felt like it, the way it had haunted me. I’d stopped going in the room after my suicide attempt, but every now and then, on those particularly rough days when I felt like I was losing the battle, I thought about it.

“Where are we going?” I asked Pete as I tentatively followed him into the hall, the bright morning sun hitting the light beige colored walls, bouncing back so the specks of dust bunnies could be seen dancing among the sunlight.

He didn’t answer, instead turning towards the very room I’d been avoiding.

Of-fucking-course.

“I can’t go in there.” I shook my head quickly, planting my feet firmly to the floor.

He rolled his eyes, hand already on the door knob and ready to turn. “Come on, Chris. You can’t let your illness control you.”

I admit it, I was offended. “I’m not.” I countered evenly. “I’m getting better, remember?”

“Alright, then why don’t you want to go in?”

“Because I don’t think I’m ready.”

Pete sighed, dropping his head for a second before his dark brown eyes rose to meet mine. “Look. I know how hard it can be battling depression. I’ve been there. And the hardest part of getting out of it is to face those fears, face those demons that have been berating you. Now, I’m not denying that you haven’t improved. I mean, I haven’t seen you since before all this shit, but I still believe you, alright?” He eyed me carefully, brow raised to prove his honesty. Then, he continued. “But I also know that in order to overcome these thoughts, you have to make new memories--happier, brighter ones that you can look back on. So Jack and I came up with a little something for you.”

I stared back at him, the idea of Jack forming a plan with Pete seeming preposterous. I scrunched up my face, my mind riddled with questions yet all I could verbally form was, “You...what?”

“Jack put it all together, obviously, since I’ve been in LA, but I helped with the planning and stuff.” Pete semi-explained, his voice becoming a bit more excited at the idea of revealing whatever scheme he and my sneaky boyfriend had come up with.

I bit my lip, unsure how to feel over the idea of the two men doing something for me without my knowledge. I’d never been a big fan of surprises, and my boyfriend was well aware of this. Yet, this time, for whatever reason, the normal sickly feeling I usually got whenever someone dared to shock me like that, was surprisingly missing. After all, if Pete’s excited tone was evident enough, it was clear the guys were genuinely looking forward to sharing whatever it was they had in store for me. I couldn’t get upset over that. Still, I chose to tease Pete a bit as I reminded him, “You know I hate surprises.”

He shrugged, his eyes glancing over my shoulder. Then, he smirked, gesturing behind me. I spun around to find myself face to face with Jack. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been listening, but I guess it really didn’t matter. He took my hand and gave it a familiar squeeze of reassurance before reply confidently, “I bet you’ll love this one.”

Then, Pete opened the door.

The room I’d remembered, the one that I had snuck into night after night to cry was wiped from existence. Anything reminding me of the baby was gone, instead replaced with what I could only describe as a haven.

What was once a pale yellow room with flying bumblebees was now painted a dark, nearly black blue. It reminded me a bit of the blue that had adorned Midnight’s first album and general color scheme (dark blue, black and white). On said walls were posters galore, some of which I knew Jack had snagged from my mom as I recalled them once being in my old bedroom back at home, while others looked brand new to my eyes. Oh yeah, and they were totally signed. And of course there were pictures. So many pictures of me, Jack and all the friends I’d made while starting this crazy life doing what I loved.

Then, in back corner of the room, set up next to a large computer screen and a rather expensive looking sound system, was a keyboard, a guitar and a mic.

It didn’t take a genius to put together what Jack and Pete had put together.
It was my own home studio.

“This...this is for me?” I muttered, eyes watery as I took in each personal touch the two men had been careful to make. The guitar in the corner even had a ‘Sally‘ decal on it to match Jack’s purple Jack Skellington guitar he played on tour.

After that sweet gesture, I guess I really had to buckle down and learn how to play guitar now.

Jack nodded, eyes bright. “Yeah...I was trying to think of a way to help you get back on your feet. I mean, I know things have been up in the air with midnight lately, but whether things work out with the band or not...”

“...you’ll have an out lit. The meds you’re on and the therapy is good, don’t get me wrong, but us creative types need something more.” Pete finished. “You’ll be able to write down all your feelings and put them into song. It’s super therapeutic. Half of Fall Out Boy’s stuff started out just me needing to get something off my chest at three in the morning.”

I just shook my head, feeling beyond appreciative that they’d done all of that for me. “This is amazing, you guys...” I sniffed, grabbing Pete into a tight hug before he could protest. I then did the same to Jack, adding a kiss to further prove my appreciation. As we pulled apart, I glanced up at him in curiosity. “How the hell did you pull this off? I’ve been here like, everyday.”

Jack rolled his eyes and chuckled. “It wasn’t that hard. I mostly did it while you went to therapy, but you also sleep like a rock, so there were a few all-nighters here and there to make sure this was all done by the time Pete came to visit. He kind of insisted.”

Pete felt the need to add, “Hey, it was my idea.”

“Thanks again, dude.” Jack smiled back at him. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Then to me, he added, “Pete got like, half of the posters on the wall. Did you see the one of Dave Grohl over there?” He pointed to the poster in the upper left hand corner that, upon closer inspection, was signed.

“Holy shit, no way!” I practically jumped over towards the poster to find that not only was it signed, but it had a personal message to me as well. I quickly read the message out loud, “‘Christina, you are an amazing spirit. Keep on rocking!’ signed Dave Grohl? Oh my fucking God, how did you--”

“I have my ways.” Pete laughed, stopping me before I completely freaked out over the priceless memorabilia.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!” I, naturally, attacked him with another hug.

He just laughed.The guys and I conversed for a bit longer inside my newly revealed home studio, going over the other special posters Pete had helped collect for me, as well as the basics of the recording program they’d bought for me. Most of that information kind of went one ear and out the other, as some of it was too technical to really sink in after the surprise I’d been given. Besides, I had something more important to do before I even begun to actually record anything.

I waited until Pete said his goodbyes and until Jack went to bed. I waited until the sky grew dark and those dark thoughts I’d been battling came to light. But this time, instead of calling Dr. Gonzalez or trying to explain it to Jack, I decided to vent these feelings in a different way, just as Pete had suggested.

And I begun writing.

Notes

Posting this unedited because it's been 2 weeks :/ Hopefully it was worth the wait?

Opening lyrics are from "Baltimore" by Go Radio. Enjoy!!!