But it wouldn't happen the way he wanted. Nothing ever would. He would sit here, alone, on his couch for the rest of his life, shoving Wheat Thins into his mouth and watching Ricki Lake talk about ghetto booties. That's the way it was going to be because that's the way life was. And don't try to convince him otherwise.
His name is Daniel. Daniel is the sweetest, most compassionate, most intellectual guy you will ever meet. But you will never know that because Daniel has a few problems. He doesn't leave his house. He doesn't talk to his family. He would love to, would die to, would give anything to have a girlfriend. To have a normal job. To make $30,000 a year and say, "Fuck it, I have my family and my dog." But instead, he's Daniel Johns from Silverchair and that's all he will ever be, if you ask him. But like I said, don't try to convince him otherwise. I've tried all that.
My name is Ben Gillies. I'm the best mate of our dear Daniel, and I've done all I bloody can to perk the boy up, to get him out of his sad trance, but the most I got for helping him was a bloody nose and a verbal beating. He gets a little mad when you tell him he's got problems.
I know, I know, the guy shouldn't have to be told that. He's got enough to deal with. But when all he's doing all day long is petting Sweep and daydreaming about how life used to be, the understatement would be to say he's not dealing with it. Because he is dealing with it...in the worst way somebody could deal with anything.
Daniel does not eat meat. And this isn't necessarily a bad thing...no, not a bad thing at all. It's just that he hardly eats anything. Now, a year ago if you took our Daniel out to eat he'd die of laughter when you'd wave a bag of meat under his nose and tell him to "go on, put some pork on your fork!" Today, he'd probably cry and leave without you, murmuring all the way home about how nobody has any respect for him and how everyone should just piss off, he's too annoyed to deal with people.
I love Daniel like he was a
brother to me. He practically is. But
it's getting old. I don't know what to
do with him anymore. I've turned to
everybody, and everybody's getting tired
of my being so worried. But I can't help
it. When you're about to lose your
best friend, protruding bones and all,
to anorexia, it's a bit scary.
Wouldn't you agree?