“And this is a moment, like many moments before this and the countless lives lost. I will open my heart, to receive what you have to give- anger, frustration, sadness, but in doing so, I know I will never be able to fully understand it the way you do, and surely not experience it. I can only open up to you, and accept what you have to give.”

– Gerard Way: I Will Never Begin to Know the Pain of Black Lives 

This post is about being emo. Yes, the music, the feeling. Growing up in the grey clouded flatlands of the Midwest, it was common for me to walk outside (from October – May) and look up at the dark spotted cumulus that blanketed the sky. While my living situation at the time was a luxury in comparison to others, my heart often cracked and bled on these days. Left as a hollowed emotional mess, the taste of a cigarette always patched the gap leaving me hollow to reflect on the grey I observed above. It was a mirror of the state of my mind, subject to rain, often cold, and the roads that let you gaze into an eternity that lead to no where, much like my thoughts.

While the violence of numetal was at it’s peak, My Chemical Romance poked into the mainstream, and wedged it self tight between. My older sister is responsible for exposing me to much of the emo genre, as well as the concept of suicide and self harm. It may sound like a negative thing, but truthfully this sort of “exposure” to culture in regards to music was often unmonitored, if not encouraged by my parents as a part of self discovery. I would not be who I am today without this type of exposure. The screams from vocalists like Gerard Way, Chester Bennington, Daryl Palumbo, and even Jonathan Davis were very real. Their shrill and broken voices pierced through loud drones of electric guitar reverbs. Or sometimes, were quiet and dreary to something more acoustic.

I know what you’re thinking. “That’s not emo”. That’s true – by definition, the vocalists behind some of these bands fit within different genres. Even so, to me this is emotional music. Some call it “the second wave”. I’m not here to argue anything or explain the phenom to you, though.

It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish

My Chemical Romance in particular came through the mainstream so strongly that I’d like to think some people started paying attention. “The music is bad for you” some would say. In fact, it was brought up a few times during some inpatient group therapy sessions at a ward. “Do you listen to music when you’re depressed? How does it make you feel?” A nervous wreck, forever twisting their guts – I stayed silent. One girl spoke up: “It makes me feel worse. It makes me feel sad”. I agreed. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Like poetry, it is an outlet. You can relate, and sing the songs. It’s fair to say though, the music can give you bad ideas. It can unearth trauma. To some though, this is necessary. Why? It’s necessary to feel… anything. Emo, emotion.

Vampires Will Never Hurt You

At the age of 13, I was engaging in self harm. I would go through a few attempts to overdose various meds, not tell anyone, and be fine the next day. By 14, I was breaking into the liquor cabinet and smoking. I had slashed my left arm with a large pair of scissors. While the cuts weren’t deep enough to threaten my life, due to the size of the blade they were wide and caused thick raised scars. I had been told this activity was a psychological act sometimes performed to kill pain with pain. Other times, it was performed to feel anything at all. In my case, I had performed to kill pain. There was no network for me to speak to about my day to day interactions, and severe anxiety. I hurt myself because I felt betrayed. Of course hindsight is 20/20, and I never fully put together I was being chased relentlessly by guys. I thought I had a friend, and it seemed like overnight I was cut off and replaced after a month of being a part of a group of friends. This happened repeatedly. The hindsight is so staggeringly clear. It was like other girls were being introduced to me to prove that these men were worthy, that I missed out. It hurt, and I didn’t understand. I thought I wasn’t good enough.

The Ghost of You

What is most heartbreaking is not these situations however; I truly to this day often feel selfish for not keeping the genuine relationships I DID have. The men and women that maybe were still interested, but knew I was off limits, or didn’t treat me that way. I was so lucky to be a part of such a diverse culture of individuals. Fear drove me off, I thought that eventually at some point I’d be taken advantage of. Even so, the after effects of emo music and these experiences stick with me. The heartache returns with the melody, and I can reflect on the past and present with clearer vision and understanding. Some of those friends, they graduated in uniform, too. More recently, I’ve come to appreciate the faces of communities I engage with. These people may seem like digital entities, but they are human. They are real, have feelings, and are normal people. With social media, the voices are loud. I resonate with them, I have empathy, and at times I feel like I have to engage. When people beat themselves up, when others say they are giving up on life and have no where to go. I can’t ignore them, and I won’t stay silent anymore. I have to say something.

This Is How I Disappear

It feels parasocial. I feel super guilty replying to strangers online like this. A stranger reaching out saying they can relate. Am I heard or are they hopeless? There was one time I didn’t speak out. April 2024, a vicious downward spiral of a figurehead in the Super Smash Brothers Melee scene with the tag Hax$ went manic in his discord. A person already plagued with negativity, a dark past of psychotic episodes, delusions of grandeur. Admittedly… I did not know of him as this dark shadow that people claimed he cast, the evil creator of the controversial B0XX controller. What I did know, is that he suffered greatly from substance abuse and mental health issues. I had called this spade so early after speaking with him through a few streams, that once he had his first episode in 2024 I removed myself from his community. I should have reached out to him directly I thought, but witnessing the slow deterioration of someone I don’t personally know was too painful. Plus, I’d just be another voice in his head.

At one point I had even reached out directly with one of the NYC TO’s who was at their wits end begging for help on twitter. I offered my condolences, and implored for them to seek any mental health assistance that could be offered. I linked resources, locations, researched safe havens. Yet no one could rescue the fallen prince from his mind palace. Conspiracy swarmed him, and I was just another voice in his head when all he needed was silence. By May of ’25 or so, I began purging my twitter. I realized I was doing more harm than good, particularly to myself for trying to stop a literal train of madness. I honor his memory here, too. With what empathy I have, being placed in similar states of mind. “I wish that, if only I could” – I can’t imagine how many people close to him still mourn the loss and feel guilt, believing that he was okay, that he was getting better. Rest in peace.

The World Is Ugly

If by some chance I come across a stranger who is coming off negatively toward themselves, I want to say something. I’ve seen some so financially desperate they want to sell their body. Someone so focused on loneliness, only seeking romantic relationships, obsessively posting about their own suicide plans. Mourning the guilt of “not fitting in”, plagued by the anxiety of being accepted, the hurt for “yourself” not being enough. I am all of these things. At the same time, I have actually learned so much from the younger generation about myself and my identity, so I appreciate them engaging with me in any context in spite of my dark humor and “cringe” behaviors, too. I’ve never felt more comfortable in my body, accepting that do not conform to the status quo of fashion or outward appearance for a woman in my demographic. I see you for yourself, and if someone is hurting you for that I want you to know it’s not okay and I’m sorry you are subject to hatred. I’ve blogged about “othering” before, so I won’t go too deep… anyway….

It’s my sisters birthday soon. I’d like to thank her for showing me that yeah, the world IS ugly… so it’s normal to feel these feelings. Other people suffer, in same or different ways. That it’s okay to talk about, to cry, to shout – to be “cringe”, but reader(you); promise me you’ll never hurt yourself. That’s not just a physical ask, either. As usual, a rambling mid-lifer like me would say: start to learn to love yourself today. If you need help, seek it. There is hope, I assure you. I refuse to believe we cannot save some.