Ordinary, chapter 28
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, he shows his frustration at his condition.
warnings: sadness and anger, plus foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter twenty eight
Ian wiped a few tears off his face as he sat on his bed that morning. He sniffled, took a large gulp, and shoved his feelings down, trying to focus on anything but the date. He kept his mind blank as he walked to the kitchen and took a peach from the fridge. He continued this way as he sat down and stared, without paying attention, at the television, then afterwards, when he threw away the pit of the peach, and took a shower. He stood in cool water, face tense, and lip quivering, with the battle of pushing back the pain.
Of course he was crying. Of course he was upset. It was June 18th, exactly six months after his diagnosis. Six months since his whole life changed, since every thought in his weakening mind was warped and corrupted by the painful feelings caused by his disease, his cancer.
He didn't want to think of it though, knowing his thoughts would explode from him, and his sadness overwhelm him. He spent most of his day shuffling around his house, cleaning, and editing, in attempt to distract himself, in attempt to escape his horrific reality, but his efforts were in vain. The knowledge of the anniversary lingered in the darkest corner of his mind and soured there, darkening that corner further, spreading the cold night through his brain. By the time he was to go to therapy, he felt himself growing tired and frustrated, and could only weakly attempt to suppress the monstrous feelings inside him.
His knuckles were white on his steering wheel as he drove there, on edge. He did all he could to force his emotions away, and denied how poorly he was failing.
Upon arrival, Ruby received no kind smile or nod of respect, and he sat immediately in the chair in the waiting room, hands clenched in his lap, head down. He took deep breaths as he waited for three o'clock, hoping to settle his nerves. At last, he felt himself regain control, and Ruby called him in.
"Ian, hello there!" Kris called out to him from his place standing behind his desk. "Sit down, let me just file these papers real quick, I'll be over in a moment!" Ian shoved down a twinge of annoyance as he sat down in his customary comfortable chair.
Kris shuffled some papers, slipped them into a manila folder, and placed them expertly into his filing cabinet, then quickly moved to sit with his patient.
Ian normally would have commented on his neatness and organization skills, but he did not trust himself enough to open his mouth when he was in such a foul mood.
"So, Ian, how are you?" Kris asked, a broad smile on his face. Ian threw him a look of annoyance, and the smile faded. "Something wrong, my boy?"
"Yeah." Ian answered flatly. "Almost everything's wrong."
"What do you mean, son?" Kris asked in concern.
"I mean...I'm dying." Ian began darkly. "I'm fucking dying. What kind of sick fucking joke is this? Like-like all of this. My fucking life, it's-it's so...it's bullshit."
Kris remained silent for a moment as he saw Ian heat up, about to boil over. The young patient sat rigidly, fists clenched and breathing deeply. He shook his head and spoke again to the man. "What makes you say that?"
"Because it is. It's bullshit. It's bullshit that I have to live like this. It's bullshit that I'm dying now. I'm twenty four, who the fuck says I deserve to die?" His eyes were tearful, but his voice getting louder.
"No one's saying you deserve this, Ian."
"Well the fucking universe is. Or God, or whatever decided to do this to me." Ian shook with anger. "I hope it's the universe, I hope it's all science and crap. Because if it's God doing this, then they're all praying to a douchebag. A psychopath. Who the fuck does this to people?"
"Ian..." Kris said, a soft warning at Ian's increasing volume. Ian ignored him, and spoke again, almost yelling.
"I have cancer. I'm dying, in a few weeks. And there's so many fucking people out there who don't give a shit! All they care about is themselves! They don't fucking know how much pain I'm in, they don't know how lucky they are. Twenty four. I'm twenty four. They get to live for ages, with their houses and their families and their comfortable jobs, and all they do is complain about it!"
Kris looked down, tempted to nod, but remained motionless. He attempted to console the boy, but knew he had said the wrong thing as he opened his mouth- but his words could not be stopped. "Ian, we all suffer-"
"No, don't give me that!" Ian yelled at him, fists tight. "Don't tell me how bad they're suffering! They cry because they don't get what they want, that's their suffering! Do you think they care when I'm having nightmares, when I'm in unbearable pain, when I have to run to a toilet so I don't shit my pants? They get to go out and run without losing their breath, they can eat fast food, they don't have to worry about taking their Demerol on time, and I'm stuck living like this, and all for what? I'm dying in a few weeks, I'm only here to waste my time on all of them!"
"Now, Ian..." Kris said, calmly and firmly, as his patient yelled, not wishing for it to continue. He would've called himself surprised, but he knew he shouldn't have been. Ian was dying, keeping all of his emotions from his friends- it was necessary for him to vent the way he did, even if some of what he was saying was exaggerated or untrue.
Ian was even more furious now, and stood, yelling at the top of his voice, more angry than he'd ever been. "No! No, you don't fucking get it! I'm fucking sick, I'm fucking dying! And I'm stuck in this position, clinging lamely to my pathetic life, spending all my free time either barfing or cleaning out my house for when I'm fucking ashes! And then I fucking pretend everything's okay for Mom and Anthony, when it's not! It's not okay! I'm out of fucking time, I didn't get to see the goddamn world, I didn't get to see Smosh really take off, I didn't get to be old, or married! I didn't get kids, I didn't get to be Anthony's best man, tell him how much he means to me, take care of my mom more, meet my dad, nothing! All I do is pretend to be another one of these average, greedy bastards with another average, meaningless life, when really I'm a fucked up, defeated cancer patient who spends every week in therapy because his disease is driving him fucking insane!"
And, in sudden realization of his surroundings, all anger escaped Ian, and he fell back into his chair, sobbing. He hunched over and covered his face with his hands as he shook, wailing. His face was burning red, his nose ran, tears poured down his face. He had never been in therapy like this. He had cried like that before, harsh and hard and unpleasant, when he fully realized his diagnosis, when he cramped in pain, when the vomit wouldn't stop. But any tears that fell in Kris' office in the past were silent, without sobbing, and either ignored or quickly wiped away. He had never broken down like this before, in this place, this supposed safe haven.
Kris waited patiently, feeling sadness and pity for not just the broken man sobbing before him, but the world. He used his sadness to gather strength, enough to watch the man cry, enough to console him, enough to ignore how awful life could be. He sat, slightly lower than he had been before, and watched, stoic, as Ian sobbed, long and loud, with his face still covered by shaking hands.
The minutes dragged for the pair, as the sobbing continued, and eventually subsided. After a long while, Ian sat straighter, and took several tissues, wiping his eyes and nose. He did not look at Kris, embarrassed, as he spoke again.
"I'm sorry, Kris." He could not find the courage to say more, fearing the repercussions of his outburst.
"I understand, Ian." Kris responded softly. "Frustration is a part of this...process. What you're going through, it's not supposed to be easy. I can understand that you'd lose your temper, and yell a bit. Just as long as you understand that your words can be manipulated by your feelings. I recommend you think of what you've said here, and determine which parts were true, which exaggerated, and which were fueled by anger, and hatred of your situation." He suggested, still softly, and wisely.
Ian only nodded, still avoiding his eyes. "That'll be all for today." Kris said, looking at the clock. "I'll see you next week, Ian."
"Thanks." Ian said quietly, but not standing. "Kris?"
"Yes?"
He turned, and looked directly into his eyes. The warm spark was still there, but it was faded and tired. "Thank you." He said it seriously, keeping eye contact.
"You're welcome, my boy." Kris said, softly, but with a wise, old smile. Ian could not return the smile, but nodded to himself as he stood, and quietly exited the office.
***
It was a struggle for Ian not to look as weak as he felt when he opened the mail with Anthony later that day. His screaming had exhausted him, and his emotions were draining him. Sitting with his friend, he faked a smile, pretended to hear his jokes, and let out robotic laughter, void of real joy. Normally, being with Anthony meant being distracted from the pain, being able to laugh and joke and feel like much less was wrong. Now, though, he didn't feel that. He was miserable, and guilty, and frightened, mulling over his words from earlier that day.
He was truly guilty that he had shouted at Kris like that. He found it disrespectful and ungrateful. But at the same time, he understood that he was human, and that all humans had anger which needed venting at times. And, he had to grimly admit, he was in a stressful situation. He was going to experience anger, and sadness, and guilt.
He recalled his words to the man. I hope it's the universe, I hope it's all science and crap. Because if it's God doing this, then they're all praying to a douchebag. He shook his head, then looked up at Anthony, who was smiling broadly at one of their letters. If God was real, then He wouldn't be all bad, because he had Anthony. And maybe He made bad moments so they could appreciate the good?
All they care about is themselves! Ian shook his head again. People were selfish, that was true, but they could care for others. Not entirely, not for long, but for a time. And maybe they didn't appreciate all they had, but at one point, neither did he. It was just sad that people needed disaster to remind them of beauty. If only the mind were a less selfish thing, if only possession was less important than health, and fellow man.
I'm dying in a few weeks, I'm only here to waste my time on all of them! No. That was a lie. He was there for Anthony, and his mother, and his fans, but it was not a waste of his time. It was time he was grateful for, beautiful extra time that he would've taken for granted, had he not gotten cancer.
All I do is pretend to be another one of these average, greedy bastards with another average, meaningless life, when really I'm a fucked up, defeated cancer patient who spends every week in therapy because his disease is driving him fucking insane! It was true, he could've done more when he found out. He could've traveled the world, could've had a grand adventure. But whether he should have or not, he was out of time now, and breaking. His life was ending, he was falling apart, and there was no turning back. Sometimes, you just had to live with the consequences. He was living with them now, and would until the end.
warnings: sadness and anger, plus foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter twenty eight
Ian wiped a few tears off his face as he sat on his bed that morning. He sniffled, took a large gulp, and shoved his feelings down, trying to focus on anything but the date. He kept his mind blank as he walked to the kitchen and took a peach from the fridge. He continued this way as he sat down and stared, without paying attention, at the television, then afterwards, when he threw away the pit of the peach, and took a shower. He stood in cool water, face tense, and lip quivering, with the battle of pushing back the pain.
Of course he was crying. Of course he was upset. It was June 18th, exactly six months after his diagnosis. Six months since his whole life changed, since every thought in his weakening mind was warped and corrupted by the painful feelings caused by his disease, his cancer.
He didn't want to think of it though, knowing his thoughts would explode from him, and his sadness overwhelm him. He spent most of his day shuffling around his house, cleaning, and editing, in attempt to distract himself, in attempt to escape his horrific reality, but his efforts were in vain. The knowledge of the anniversary lingered in the darkest corner of his mind and soured there, darkening that corner further, spreading the cold night through his brain. By the time he was to go to therapy, he felt himself growing tired and frustrated, and could only weakly attempt to suppress the monstrous feelings inside him.
His knuckles were white on his steering wheel as he drove there, on edge. He did all he could to force his emotions away, and denied how poorly he was failing.
Upon arrival, Ruby received no kind smile or nod of respect, and he sat immediately in the chair in the waiting room, hands clenched in his lap, head down. He took deep breaths as he waited for three o'clock, hoping to settle his nerves. At last, he felt himself regain control, and Ruby called him in.
"Ian, hello there!" Kris called out to him from his place standing behind his desk. "Sit down, let me just file these papers real quick, I'll be over in a moment!" Ian shoved down a twinge of annoyance as he sat down in his customary comfortable chair.
Kris shuffled some papers, slipped them into a manila folder, and placed them expertly into his filing cabinet, then quickly moved to sit with his patient.
Ian normally would have commented on his neatness and organization skills, but he did not trust himself enough to open his mouth when he was in such a foul mood.
"So, Ian, how are you?" Kris asked, a broad smile on his face. Ian threw him a look of annoyance, and the smile faded. "Something wrong, my boy?"
"Yeah." Ian answered flatly. "Almost everything's wrong."
"What do you mean, son?" Kris asked in concern.
"I mean...I'm dying." Ian began darkly. "I'm fucking dying. What kind of sick fucking joke is this? Like-like all of this. My fucking life, it's-it's so...it's bullshit."
Kris remained silent for a moment as he saw Ian heat up, about to boil over. The young patient sat rigidly, fists clenched and breathing deeply. He shook his head and spoke again to the man. "What makes you say that?"
"Because it is. It's bullshit. It's bullshit that I have to live like this. It's bullshit that I'm dying now. I'm twenty four, who the fuck says I deserve to die?" His eyes were tearful, but his voice getting louder.
"No one's saying you deserve this, Ian."
"Well the fucking universe is. Or God, or whatever decided to do this to me." Ian shook with anger. "I hope it's the universe, I hope it's all science and crap. Because if it's God doing this, then they're all praying to a douchebag. A psychopath. Who the fuck does this to people?"
"Ian..." Kris said, a soft warning at Ian's increasing volume. Ian ignored him, and spoke again, almost yelling.
"I have cancer. I'm dying, in a few weeks. And there's so many fucking people out there who don't give a shit! All they care about is themselves! They don't fucking know how much pain I'm in, they don't know how lucky they are. Twenty four. I'm twenty four. They get to live for ages, with their houses and their families and their comfortable jobs, and all they do is complain about it!"
Kris looked down, tempted to nod, but remained motionless. He attempted to console the boy, but knew he had said the wrong thing as he opened his mouth- but his words could not be stopped. "Ian, we all suffer-"
"No, don't give me that!" Ian yelled at him, fists tight. "Don't tell me how bad they're suffering! They cry because they don't get what they want, that's their suffering! Do you think they care when I'm having nightmares, when I'm in unbearable pain, when I have to run to a toilet so I don't shit my pants? They get to go out and run without losing their breath, they can eat fast food, they don't have to worry about taking their Demerol on time, and I'm stuck living like this, and all for what? I'm dying in a few weeks, I'm only here to waste my time on all of them!"
"Now, Ian..." Kris said, calmly and firmly, as his patient yelled, not wishing for it to continue. He would've called himself surprised, but he knew he shouldn't have been. Ian was dying, keeping all of his emotions from his friends- it was necessary for him to vent the way he did, even if some of what he was saying was exaggerated or untrue.
Ian was even more furious now, and stood, yelling at the top of his voice, more angry than he'd ever been. "No! No, you don't fucking get it! I'm fucking sick, I'm fucking dying! And I'm stuck in this position, clinging lamely to my pathetic life, spending all my free time either barfing or cleaning out my house for when I'm fucking ashes! And then I fucking pretend everything's okay for Mom and Anthony, when it's not! It's not okay! I'm out of fucking time, I didn't get to see the goddamn world, I didn't get to see Smosh really take off, I didn't get to be old, or married! I didn't get kids, I didn't get to be Anthony's best man, tell him how much he means to me, take care of my mom more, meet my dad, nothing! All I do is pretend to be another one of these average, greedy bastards with another average, meaningless life, when really I'm a fucked up, defeated cancer patient who spends every week in therapy because his disease is driving him fucking insane!"
And, in sudden realization of his surroundings, all anger escaped Ian, and he fell back into his chair, sobbing. He hunched over and covered his face with his hands as he shook, wailing. His face was burning red, his nose ran, tears poured down his face. He had never been in therapy like this. He had cried like that before, harsh and hard and unpleasant, when he fully realized his diagnosis, when he cramped in pain, when the vomit wouldn't stop. But any tears that fell in Kris' office in the past were silent, without sobbing, and either ignored or quickly wiped away. He had never broken down like this before, in this place, this supposed safe haven.
Kris waited patiently, feeling sadness and pity for not just the broken man sobbing before him, but the world. He used his sadness to gather strength, enough to watch the man cry, enough to console him, enough to ignore how awful life could be. He sat, slightly lower than he had been before, and watched, stoic, as Ian sobbed, long and loud, with his face still covered by shaking hands.
The minutes dragged for the pair, as the sobbing continued, and eventually subsided. After a long while, Ian sat straighter, and took several tissues, wiping his eyes and nose. He did not look at Kris, embarrassed, as he spoke again.
"I'm sorry, Kris." He could not find the courage to say more, fearing the repercussions of his outburst.
"I understand, Ian." Kris responded softly. "Frustration is a part of this...process. What you're going through, it's not supposed to be easy. I can understand that you'd lose your temper, and yell a bit. Just as long as you understand that your words can be manipulated by your feelings. I recommend you think of what you've said here, and determine which parts were true, which exaggerated, and which were fueled by anger, and hatred of your situation." He suggested, still softly, and wisely.
Ian only nodded, still avoiding his eyes. "That'll be all for today." Kris said, looking at the clock. "I'll see you next week, Ian."
"Thanks." Ian said quietly, but not standing. "Kris?"
"Yes?"
He turned, and looked directly into his eyes. The warm spark was still there, but it was faded and tired. "Thank you." He said it seriously, keeping eye contact.
"You're welcome, my boy." Kris said, softly, but with a wise, old smile. Ian could not return the smile, but nodded to himself as he stood, and quietly exited the office.
***
It was a struggle for Ian not to look as weak as he felt when he opened the mail with Anthony later that day. His screaming had exhausted him, and his emotions were draining him. Sitting with his friend, he faked a smile, pretended to hear his jokes, and let out robotic laughter, void of real joy. Normally, being with Anthony meant being distracted from the pain, being able to laugh and joke and feel like much less was wrong. Now, though, he didn't feel that. He was miserable, and guilty, and frightened, mulling over his words from earlier that day.
He was truly guilty that he had shouted at Kris like that. He found it disrespectful and ungrateful. But at the same time, he understood that he was human, and that all humans had anger which needed venting at times. And, he had to grimly admit, he was in a stressful situation. He was going to experience anger, and sadness, and guilt.
He recalled his words to the man. I hope it's the universe, I hope it's all science and crap. Because if it's God doing this, then they're all praying to a douchebag. He shook his head, then looked up at Anthony, who was smiling broadly at one of their letters. If God was real, then He wouldn't be all bad, because he had Anthony. And maybe He made bad moments so they could appreciate the good?
All they care about is themselves! Ian shook his head again. People were selfish, that was true, but they could care for others. Not entirely, not for long, but for a time. And maybe they didn't appreciate all they had, but at one point, neither did he. It was just sad that people needed disaster to remind them of beauty. If only the mind were a less selfish thing, if only possession was less important than health, and fellow man.
I'm dying in a few weeks, I'm only here to waste my time on all of them! No. That was a lie. He was there for Anthony, and his mother, and his fans, but it was not a waste of his time. It was time he was grateful for, beautiful extra time that he would've taken for granted, had he not gotten cancer.
All I do is pretend to be another one of these average, greedy bastards with another average, meaningless life, when really I'm a fucked up, defeated cancer patient who spends every week in therapy because his disease is driving him fucking insane! It was true, he could've done more when he found out. He could've traveled the world, could've had a grand adventure. But whether he should have or not, he was out of time now, and breaking. His life was ending, he was falling apart, and there was no turning back. Sometimes, you just had to live with the consequences. He was living with them now, and would until the end.