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The Punk That Always Never Will Be

Wow. I have a lot to say on here...
In 5th grade, the 'emo' explosion happened. Suicide was popular and dying and hiding your face were just some of the fun parts. I always looked at these people who claimed to be 'emo' like they had a mental illness. Why label yourself? Of course, I was always into punk music; I sometimes consider myself a punk just to save air in arguments. But I was interested in the whole suicide rate and it's climb. I began to do extensive research on suicide and self-harm, doing drugs, abuse, violence, and connections to the music industry. As a ten year old, I was well-educated in topics that our teachers refused to talk about. So then I entered sixth grade with a clear mind and dirty hair.
I had found grunge music. Although I was still into punk, I listened to more Nirvana and Hole. I was still reading more and more about suicides and had learned of the Hannah Bond suicide. My Chemical Romance danced into my life for the second time (I had grown up on their first album).
The winter break of 6th grade, after finishing off the Twilight series, I went over to my friend's house. She was not home. Instead, her sixteen year old brother was there. He let me in since there was about two feet of snow outside. We played a video game and watched a movie. I had called my parents to say that I would be sleeping over there because my friend was supposed to be back soon. Instead of her coming home, her brother restrained me and threatened me with a knife while he raped me multiple times. When I returned home, I pretended as if all were normal and refused to eat anything but the candy I had received on Christmas. My paranoia and the rape had left me highly disturbed. I couldn't numb myself, but I didn't feel alive, so I resorted to cutting.
In seventh grade, my English teacher saw a few scars of mine while I was taking a test. I never did get to eat lunch that day. Instead, I spent the next three hours in the guidance counselor's office, talking about suicide and such. I hated it. They kept calling me down to her office at least three times a week. But that was soon over.
In January, I changed school districts and made friends quickly. Scene and techno was highly liked. Even though I had died my hair red because of Kurt Cobain, I had adopted scene friends. My self-harm journeys continued and I fell into Satanism and Paganism. That made me forget about the pain for a while. I went into the 2010 summer vacation smoothly, scars healed over and shining in the back of my mind.
Skip to eighth grade. I was piecing together my sexual identity. At first, I had thought I was bisexual because I had always thought of some girls in a romantic way. I had started dating a girl as well. We were a good couple until her best friend decided that she didn't like me and told my girlfriend that I was cheating on her with one of my newest friends. So after a fifteen hour panic attack and a constant refusal to the hospital, she was apologizing a lot. She had pissed me off. It ruined the whole relationship. When I broke up with her, she had threatened to kill herself. So we were back together within a week of not dating. What separated us this time was when she started to text me at the end of the year at a graduation party, telling me how drunk she was. So I broke up with her, over the phone. That was the day before the last day of school. I never saw her again. I am thankful for it.
That summer was my most stressful summer. I had never had friends that wanted me to hang out with them outside of school and it was completely new to me when I stayed over at my friend's house at least every week. She and her boyfriend had a rocky relationship. When they separated, I was there to comfort her. Now, whenever I see her crying or pissed off, it really pisses me off; I don't think she has ever realized how good she has it. She never had to take care of three children (some older than her). She never had to cook and clean and get the best grades because she would be yelled at if she didn't. She never lived in a small apartment with seven people or had not had food for three weeks straight because she was too poor to buy food. I don't care for a broken heart as an excuse anymore.
Do you remember how I told you I was struggling with my sexual identity? Well, I'm still working on it all... Anyway, midsummer, I started to pick at my skin a lot more than usual (I have always picked at any imperfection in my skin, but it was getting out of hand now). Turned out that I had a picking disorder. Whenever I cut myself deep enough, I would pull off the scabs until I was smart enough to bandage over it so I wouldn't see it, just so I wouldn't pick at it.
Then I went to a concert that changed my life a bit.
I didn't know I was going to the concert either. I had scars on my arms when I was inside the venue.
I saw Patrick Stump and met him. That show changed my life. I cried through half of his set, not because I have always wanted to see him, but because he did this really slow song on piano and it was just sad. Directly after that piano song, he went into 'Love Selfish Love' which upset me even worse. Either way, it was amazing.
I felt so bad about crying through most of it that I wrote him a letter, still unsent, apologizing.
Even though I still harm and pick, I am getting better at spacing them out, hopefully eliminating them from my mind in the near future.
But music does change a person. I'll always count on alternative punk to be there, but I'll still spike my yellow hair and rebel against the system.
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  1. October 14th, 2011 at 09:28 | #1

    I literally jumped out of my chair and danced after reading this!

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