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“When I’m alone, I can sometimes feel his eyes on me; like he’s still watching,” Gerard said, sat by himself in the plush upholstery sofa. “And I get goosebumps, and I’m unable to sleep. I’ll toss and turn for hours until finally!” Gerard stopped to emphasize the effort it took to fall asleep, “--only to be haunted by him in my dreams.” Gerard rubbed his eyes and pulled up at his eyelids while applying pressure to each side of his temple; the stress taking a physical toll on his body. “An-and I’m-I’m waiting for another letter, but…” He let the thought go, because he knew, but his brain was so persistent on keeping him on edge.
“You know, Gerard, that he’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore,” the doctor said. “He can’t do the things he did to you again or anyone else.”
“I know,” Gerard said. He knew that he can’t physically be here anymore but that factor doesn’t matter; the mental and emotional abuse still lives on. “But why can I still feel him here, watching me? The nightmares I understand but how do I get rid of them?” He was desperate and crestfallen for believing his troubles were gone now that he was gone.
“It’s all symptoms of your PTSD. You’re having flashbacks in the form of feelings associated with what you experienced. Nightmares of the event. Anxiety and fear,” the doctor explained. He noticed Gerard growing angry and before Gerard could respond, the doctor began again. “I think medication can further your recovery. What do you think, Gerard?”
“I think you know what you’re doing and know what’s best,” Gerard said slowly. “I want to feel normal again and go back to the way it was before and if medication can help, then yes.”
“Medication and talk therapy will help control your anxiety and make you yourself again. If you stick with it, therapy will go a long way and you won’t have to live in fear anymore.”
“I think--I think that’s good,” Gerard nodded. They proceeded to discuss medication and counseling. Before the session ended, the psychiatrist asked Gerard if he wanted to talk about anything else.
“Actually, yes. Is it normal to feel bad for Frank? Others would be angry, but after learning why he did it, I felt sad,” Gerard said.
“I think you’re a human being capable of compassion and sympathy and that’s normal. Frank was a troubled individual with a mental illness. He was socially inept, withdrawn, incompetent. He didn’t believe what he was doing was wrong. And his childhood, well you can’t help but feel sympathy for Frank Iero, the person,” the doctor said. Gerard nodded, agreeing how sad of a person Frank was.
He sighed and shook his head. “How am I gonna go back to meeting fans and doing what I love again? It feels impossible, and I feel uneasy about going back but I know that I have to. I want to get over it, overcome it, but it feels like I’m setting myself up and putting myself at risk. I don’t wanna go around fearing for my life around people who love and support me,” Gerard said with tears in his eyes. “It feels like going outside will make it happen again.”
“In your situation, and with being in the public eye, there...there isn’t much you can do to eliminate the odds of it ever happening again. But you can do safety precautions and safeguards for reducing the chances. It could happen to anyone--wrong place, wrong time--but with you being famous, it’s a more difficult situation. That doesn’t mean it can’t be helped,” the psychiatrist explicated.
Gerard felt more disheartened after hearing that. Now, the session was over. “Thank you, Dr. Gideon. See you soon.”
“You’re welcome, Gerard. Take care.”
Their session concluded and Gerard paid and went home. He took a new route--again. It was a safety precaution. By the time he got back home to his apartment, it was a quarter-past seven, and Gerard was exhausted.
Gerard trudged down the hall from the opening to his apartment to the kitchen. After that painful session, he was dry mouthed and thirsty. He grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and chugged it down until the plastic scrunched up in his hand. Then he heard a giggle.
Gerard froze and tears formed from immense fear. The sound came from his room. For fear of the unknown, or what already was known and feared, he traipsed along the hardwood floor as to not make any sudden noise. As he got closer (he could see the doorway from the kitchen and it was only ten feet away), Gerard was sure someone was there.
Sitting on the floor in front of Gerard’s closet was little Frankie with a photo album out on his lap. He stared up at Gerard in child-like wonder and amusement. “You looked so cute as a kid!” Frank pulled out a picture from the sleeve of a page and held it up, “can I please have this one? I want to memorize your face as a child too, so I can know what you’ve always looked like by heart.” He smiled and deep down, whether Gerard said yes or not, he was still gonna take the photo anyway. It was his now, and he was going to cherish it forever.
Gerard, with his eyes blurring and throat burning, whispered, “how?” He look behind him and to the doorway of his apartment. How could he not have seen him? Gerard walked past this room to get to the kitchen. He looked back into the room to find Frank gone and no photo album out. His heart raced and he choked out a sob. His stalker was dead and gone, but his memory will continue.