Sorry, it's just... I'm hung up on this whole societal view point thing. Society makes it to where, unless you have done something harsh, or something has been done to you, you have no back story, no excitement. It's like you HAVE to be damaged to be beautiful to society.

Why?

Why have we come to this?

My new project is to find the meaning of life.

Before, I have had these little research sessions where I just stick myself to a certain religion or disease and learn all I can about it, which lasts anywhere from 3 days to a few months. 
That is a coping mechanism of mine, I think. I try to know everything I can about something in order to not be so anxious when it comes to that subject.

This past year however, I did a special study.
I learned all I could on cutting, general self-harm, suicide, how to prevent these things, and why things like this happen, like the psychological and physical facts behind it.
For example, cutting can trigger your body into making the same chemical high you get when you do sports.
That's why it is so addicting, because it does, in fact, make you feel better. Cutters aren't just twisted little fucks. They do feel happier and calmer after cutting.

But you see, I've spent a lot of time dwelling over an aspect of death. 

A lot of people would consider it to be hard, knowing so many people who have been suicidal or committed suicide, then there are just the self-harmers, but in reality, it just changes a person's perspective. 

I know that life can be hard, unbearably so.
I know that people can get to that point where they don't know how to handle everything. So they turn to the least recommended option.
They look at their appearance and try to change that to be happier.
Or they look at themselves, forcing blame and regret onto their own shoulders, guilting themselves into a form of punishment.
And often  the torture they inflict on themselves can involve punishment in the form of changing who they are, how the appear, how they act...
I know that some people just decide to be over with punishing themselves and instead throw themselves off of a building or eat a bullet.
Or they take pills, thinking that they'll drift off into a dream-like state and never again have to face reality.
Sometimes, these are just attempts and they are found and get support they need, which may or may not be the tool they need to keep going.

The thing I know best however is how life can change in an instant. You can go from being a happy little middleschooler to somebody who can't wait for a reason to kill themselves or run away and break apart the barrier that keeps you hidden behind walls.
There are these fences that hold you in, these little cages that society sets up, saying "You're safe inside here", "We all love you in here", or even "Nobody will like you on the outside."
Some people figure out how they can live inside those little boxes, being perfectly content, not the slightest bit curious about what lies on the outside.

Then there are the people who challenge the barbed wire that closes them in. They climb over it, bleeding as they go, not afraid to stain their uniforms, not scared to face the delicious red hues that could envelop them or force them to bleed out.

I'm determined to bleed out, all over the place, so that people are forced to see my stains and all that I have done to create those worldly tarnishes.

So, let me reword my goal.

I don't want to find the meaning of life.

I want to find the meaning I have in life.

I want to find what I can do to change future generations. 

I want to know how I should live my life to where I am perfectly content with it.

I don't officially believe in an afterlife just yet, so I'd like to make the life I have worth living.

Punk~

The Literal Definition:

a style or movement characterized by the adoption of aggressively unconventional and often bizarre or shocking clothing, hairstyles, makeup, etc., and the defiance of social norms of behavior, usually associated with punk rock musicians and fans. 
~From Dictionary.Com

My Definition:

A punk is somebody or a style that is willing to express themselves, not afraid of natural judgement by society. They act, dress, and often even talk differently to show that they are, in fact, different.

They bend society's standards and test the boundaries. They test how people think, digging into the closed minds of others and attempting to pry them open.

Punk's are a special breed of awesome, because they, honest to God, don't care what the rest of the universe thinks about them. They just want to act, speak, talk, think, and express in every little way freely.

They embrace what is so wrong with society and make it stick out like a sore thumb, so that maybe other people will take hold of it and change it.

They are human, like you and I, but they may end up having a bit more humanity.

Except for the posers, that is. ;)

Society Scares Me

First day of school~

1st Hour: AP Euro seems pretty kool.

2nd Hour: Overwhelming amount of people in the halls, can't remember my third hour.

Passing Time: Look up my schedule through my phone, notice I'm shaking really bad, heart pounding in my ears.

3rd Hour: Familiar teacher, more relaxed atmosphere. My ex that hates me is in the class and keeps glaring at me.

Lunch: See my boyfriend who I don't want to be my boyfriend anymore because he doesn't fit with plans and has become uninteresting and I'm a bad influence on him. I don't eat. I feel like puking.

4th Hour: Teacher is pretty laid back. Friend convinces me to add another responsibility to my list.

5th Hour: Chilled a bit more and avoided people.

6th Hour: Stood out like a sore thumb in a debate about Earth, ended up panicking slightly once more.

After School: Stayed in my room and avoided people.

I don't want to face school. I get anxious around people too easily.

Why me.

When people are happy, I try to spread their happiness, being upbeat and celebratory.
When people are sad, I try to sympathize/empathize as much as I can to help that feel like they are not alone.

This is what you are supposed to do, isn't it?

How do these things come to be?
Is it just that we care for the people and don't wish to see them sad?
Or is it that we want to just do the right thing so that we are seen in a better light.

Okay,
Whatever,
This was just a random thought guys...

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass.


I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended.

I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure-

I made coffee.

As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day.

As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn't take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows.

Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey's footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey's direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack!

I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit's, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap.

We cheered.

I was no longer sad.

I didn't realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would.


It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth.

I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death.


The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you.

So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty.

Love.

This was always my intent.


My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013


We were spectacular.

Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation.

There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital-

And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-


Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope.


Fatalism.


That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this "flaw" within weeks of its inception.

Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it's system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that's the point.

No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.


To me that's rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.


I wasn't shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It's in the lyrics, it's in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough).

I'm still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn't a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason-


When it's time, we stop.


It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway.


You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music.






Now-

There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one's fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor.


There wasn't even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets...


I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy.

We get the cue to hit the stage.


The show is... good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong.

I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I'm hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade.


All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn't have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say.


What it said is between me and the voice.


I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage.


Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own.


There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims-


That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned?


With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one's terms but our own- the door closes.


And another opens-


This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed "hippie" but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle.

A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device.


He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it-


"This amp talks." he said.

I smiled.

We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home.


When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent's basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90's Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles.


I still have that guitar, and it's sitting next to The Princeton.

He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say.


In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you've learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you.

I feel Love.


I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with-


Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod.


Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing-


My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die.

It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you.

I always knew that, and I think you did too.


Because it is not a band-

it is an idea.


Love,

Gerard

This is what Gerard Way had to say about the break up.

As anybody could imagine, I am absolutely torn up about this, but I will move on... Eventually.

MCR helped me so much. Through cutting, through relationships, though sheer loneliness.

They stood for everything i coul've ever wanted.

They were originial, unique, and they beleived that anybody could change for the better.

Gerard Way started the band, hoping to make a change in this world.

"I literally said to myself, 'Fuck art. I’ve gotta get out of the basement. I’ve gotta see the world. I’ve gotta make a difference.'"

These four men, Frank Iero, Ray Toro, Mikey Way, and Gerard Way, are such an inspiration to people these days. Namely, teenagers, outcasts, and just plain fuck-ups. They weren't always perfect, still aren't, yet they are still here, ready to cheer on anybody in need.

They brought us their Bullets.
They dished out Revenge.
The marched in the Parade.
And they survived the Danger Days.

They will survive.

Long live My Chemical Romance. <3

When the one thing that led you to almost happiness begins starting to make you feel miserable, what do you do? Coming up here and doing other work used to make me so happy, because I could escape for a while.... but now, with the things here taunting me and calling  me unsuccessful, what is there to do?


I'm lost.
I'm scared.
I don't know how to ask for help.
I'm butchered and abused and there's no way for me to stop it.

I've been writing a bit more... I'm not sure as to whether it is actually helping or not... But I don't think it is. Today was an okay day though. I faked sick for two days then went back to school today and it seems that I was missed somewhat. That's a good feeling...

Sorry. I also feel a bit numb right now - trying to read out my feelings and whatnot.... but ya know, whatever.

I try not to cut. I really do. But it is days like this when I feel like I just can't go on. When I cut it shows me just an ounce of the pain I would give people if I did commit suicide. I don't wish any of that pain on them. Yet, here I am, remaining miserable.I don't know what to do. I try to figure out solutions: quit reading a certain kind of book, stop hanging out with that one person, take a day off from school, write about it more.... Nothing ever helps. Help. I'm lost in a sea of despair and there is no ship around to rescue me.

My Chemical Romance

For the past while, this band is what I have sort of held onto for dear life. The members are so talented and passionate about what they do, and the lyrics of their music are almost heart-wrenching.... I'm gonna post some quotes.


"If for one minute you think you're better than a sixteen year old girl in a Green Day t-shirt, you are sorely mistaken. Remember the first time you went to a show and saw your favorite band. You wore their shirt, and sang every word. You didn't know anything about scene politics, haircuts, or what was cool. All you knew was that this music made you feel different from anyone you shared a locker with. Someone finally understood you. This is what music is about."
— Gerard Way


"Homophobia is gay."
— Frank Iero


"These are dangerous days we live in and you, the artists, are our last defense."
— Frank Iero

Art is the Weapon.

Imagination is the Ammunition

Stay Dirty and Stay Dangerous

Create and Destroy as You See Fit

My Most Favorite Poem EVER!!!

Absolutely Nothing

"Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint

And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.


Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen."

Normalities

Normal is not a word I would like to be called. In fact, I would like to be seen as anything but normal. Even if that means people call me ugly, boring, or even rude (which they have), I do not want to be called 'normal'. Normal isn't something anybody should be proud of. Did Julius Caesar become famous for blending in? What about Madonna? Or an even better example: Lady Gaga?! I demand to strive to be as abnormal, strange, unique as anybody could possibly be, without actually prancing around in a meat dress. Normality is something for people that are scared of there future or the surroundings that society has enclosed them in. I want to embrace those and watch them help me soar ever higher. I don't want to be normal. That's the definite point.

What Is This?!

This blog, I think, will mainly be for me to explain "me" to you. It'll involve my hobbies, my social life, things that have happened to me in the past, stuff that is happening now..... Basically, it'll be the rather boring saga of me.... Are you ready? Fine then! I won't tell you what I am going to say!... Nah, I'm still going to say it, so shut up and let me start posting crap that people generally won't read.