#every now and again my emo side tells me to draw mcr

[bear-vi]

I’m not okay (I promise)

[awkwardtaco056]

so now that i’m no longer in the Hell that was school and after finding the lovely blog @endcringe i’ve decided to talk about my own experiences with cringe culture, bullying, and why it’s Really Bad to not let people enjoy inherently harmless things, especially neurodivergent people (read more because this is gonna get long and triggering at times, TW for mentions of bullying, suicide, child abuse, a brief mention of incest shipping. I won’t be naming any of the peers that I discuss my experiences with, because my point with this post is Not to “cancel” anyone, I just want to speak out on my experiences)

I’m neurodivergent; I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 8 years old. I didn’t know a lot about it, and a family member even painted it as “oh it’s nothing blah blah blah just apply yourself more. Because of this, I had no idea about the concept of hyperfixations until I was in my late teens. Due to that, I would obsess over random things and my family would shame me relentlessly for it. My mother said I had an “addictive personality” and that she feared I’d end up a drug addict or alcoholic because of it.

I look younger than what I am, I’m short, and small. AKA, the perfect candidate for being picked on by people bigger and stronger than me. People made fun of my art when I was around 13, but fortunately that was an instance where spite fueled me to improve drastically. However, just because I happened to take the shitty comments and have it fuel me then does NOT mean bullying people will have that effect all the time. At some point someone put my old South Park fan art on a cringe blog. I was temporarily hurt, and a little angry, but I realized that if someone was making fun of a 15 year old’s art, they probably didn’t have much going for them in life, so I moved on.

Fast forward to high school. Everything was horrible and I’m not exaggerating when I say I barely made it out alive. I was living in an abusive household up until January 2018 and I found comfort in many different interests. I’ve always found great comfort in music and the arts in general. In 2016, I drew a picture of a mermaid. I was inspired by the chocolate opal gemstone, and I thought it’d be fun to draw a gay chubby mermaid with dark skin and a rainbow tail and freckles. Junior year was lousy and I wanted something that sparked Joy. I was immediately told that “scientifically, mermaids wouldn’t look like that. Mind you, my take looked like this:

Obviously I wasn’t going for realism, I just wanted to draw a cute mermaid. However, they continued to tell me that they wouldn’t look like that, going as far as writing so on the back of said drawing. When I got angry at her for taking it too far (as I’d established before that I didn’t like it when people wrote on my art without permission), they got angry back, accusing me of being unable to take criticism. Heated by the accusation, I went as far as asking my art teacher if it was fair for them to say that, and she said no, stating that constructive criticism would be talking about how I could improve my lineart and coloring in the digital version. I took her actual helpful criticism and since then have improved Drastically in digital art. Even with that being said, I found myself hesitant to participate in things such as MerMay because I was leery of hearing that peer berate me for having cartoony mermaids. 

 During high school I grew to love many musicians, a lot of emo/alternative stuff, a couple being Twenty One Pilots and Melanie Martinez. I love how unique TOP’s style is, their open discussion of mental illness, and as someone who had a rough childhood, I connected with every single song on Cry Baby. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I started listening to mashups featuring all these different artists I love, adoring how they could change the tone and sound so drastically. A peer Bully of mine in junior year condemned these two artists, declaring that they made “Bad Music” simply because it didn’t fit their tastes. They’d throw my drawings on the ground, write over them in pen, steal my headphones so I couldn’t listen to music, push me around, complain that mashups sucked and gave them a headache, and in general shit all over conetnt that was actively preventing me from committing suicide. 

Some family members were no better. Once high school hit, I began listening to Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Their deep complex lyrics stuck with me. I would write down quotes from my favorite songs and thanks to hyperfixating, I remember each studio album in order My mother resented when I fell in love with the “Emo Trinity” because “the Columbine  shooters were emo and that event traumatized me” Despite that, not only did the Columbine tragedy occur in 1999 and none of the bands got together until the early 2000s, but I have a pretty good feeling those groups aren’t For gun violence. The other side constantly criticized the fact that I love FOB, P!ATD, and MCR because I’m black and “why must you listen to that white people music.”

 I grew fond of Dan and Phil in high school (and I’m still a fan to this day!), I loved Phil’s kindness and positive aura and I deeply connect with Dan’s sense of humor and personality. Their content made me happy during some very dark times in my life. It’s November 2017, I’m over a close peer’s house at the time, and notice PINOF is upon us. I drew the PINOF whiskers on my face, my plan being to quietly watch them in the corner of peer’s bedroom on my phone through headphones, the others were doing their own thing and I knew they didn’t like them, so I thought they’d respect it if I silently indulged in it. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. I was immediately shunned and locked out of the bedroom, told that I’d only be let back in if I washed the whiskers off because “absolutely not”. Me, being stubborn, washed them off temporarily but drew them back on in the room. Life during then was especially bad for me, as the abusive household I was in was getting worse. They noticed, of course, and even though all I wanted was to enjoy this small tradition in a time during a deep depression, I was immediately shoved out the room and locked out, only to have said peer’s family members notice. I’m a relatively shy person, so this was honesty a really harrowing experience that had a lasting effect on me. 

I grew to adore Sanders Sides as well, but the moment I found out most of my peers didn’t like Thomas, I was terrified.  I stopped watching Dan and Phil’s content for months and shied away from other fandoms too, only occasionally indulging in times of complete solitude. One time when said peers were due to visit my house for the first time, I saw the Phandom and Fander stuff I’d hung up on my wall in my little sanctuary that was my bedroom (it was the first time in years I’d had my own room), and I was filled with panic and fear. I took them down and hid them away, genuinely terrified of what they’d do to me if they saw. It’s still incites so much anger in me to this day because they turned around and ended up shipping incest, but somehow liking D&P and Sanders Sides was So. Much. Worse.

They were baffled by my actions, despite having humiliated me Twice by going on a private blog of mine separate from everything so that I could fully indulge and laughing at everything on there, once at a peer’s house, once right in school. I don’t think they realized how traumatizing it was to have a large group of people in public laughing at something I was deeply self conscious about for all of my life. I put on a brave face at the time, but ended up crying in the bathroom after first period began. I continued to be treated as lesser until things came to an ugly head August 2018 when I ended up in the hospital because I nearly attempted suicide. Years of child abuse, bullying, and being deemed “cringy” made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive, that everyone would be happier if I were gone.

After arguably one of the lowest points in my life, I cut them off and slowly began to embrace the Real Me. I started letting myself enjoy the things again, made true friends and even found love, my first boyfriend ever at 18. I still get choked up retelling it, but when PINOF 10 dropped, after he found out how much I’d been hurt over the incident in 2017, I was greeted with a photo of him with the whiskers on his face. I cried for a while, blown away at such a pure act of kindness. He listens to me ramble about my interests, he compliments my taste in music, he watched K-12 with me. 

This got incredibly long, but my point is this: Cringe Culture hurts people. You might think it’s whatever if the Thing doesn’t apply to your interests, but content you’re denouncing as cringy could be something that’s keeping them alive, that one flicker of light in a void of darkness. When I was contemplating suicide, I listened to The Black Parade, repeating Gee’s words to myself over and over, that nothing in the world was worth hurting yourself over. Some friendly joshing here and there is okay, but actively ripping someone to shreds constantly to the point where they have a mental breakdown in front of you and later on plan their own demise is disgusting. Nobody should abuse anyone for having harmless interests, no one. Unless you’re participating in p*dophilic/inc*st/s*xual assault/inherently abusive ships/content and pretending it’s not bad because “Fiction doesn’t impact reality!”, you have every right to like what you like and be happy. Read homestuck. Play Undertale. Draw up the Wildest OCs you can imagine. And stay away from people who try to rob you of innocent fun, life is too short and in this cruel, unforgiving world, you deserve to be happy, whether you’re a 13 year old who draws cute furries, a 16 year old cosplayer on TikTok, a VSCO girl, a 30 year old who writes/draws self insert art or a 20 year old who adores Invader Zim. 

Cringe Culture is just bullying under a different name, and it can lead to many instances of people, especially fellow neurodivergent folk to feel isolated and ostracized. Attempting to bully someone out of an interest they have isn’t going to fix them; it’s more often than not going to cause more damage. I suffer from diagnosed C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I still find myself trying to over-justify my interests. To all who are roped up in bad homes and lousy “friends” who berate you for your innocent passions, I’m sorry you’re suffering, things will one day get better even if it doesn’t feel like it, and fuck those people. I’d also like to note that sometimes even if it seems more terrifying, it’s better to have one or two close friends you can truly trust than a whole group that walks all over you. You have every right to call them out for treating you poorly, and if things don’t improve, you also have every right to leave.

You have a right to live your True Self.

[shadowofadalekmightdeactivate]

Still Human (Chapter 1)

Virgil fiddled nervously with his sleeves. Collage was going to be much more stressful than high school, he could tell just by looking at the massive building he was met with.Biting his lip, he walked in to utter chaos.He was pretty much instantly lost, moving around aimlessly in an attempt to find any kind of admissions office. Surely to god they had one in Collage as well, right?“Oi, newbie!” A voice called. Virgil turned to see a blond girl point back out the door. “Admissions building is at the back of campus.” Virgil’s shoulders slumped. It was an entire building?The girl smiled slightly, coming over. “It’s not hard to find once you know what it looks like. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” Virgil’s voice stuck to his throat-blasted anxiety-as the girl took his arm and led him back out the doors.

The admissions office looked more like an admissions castle. Virgil had to say, he was impressed. The blond girl-who told him her name was Lily-stopped at the massive doors. “It’s cool, eh?” “I-It’s huge…” Virgil found himself smiling. Lily patted his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, bud. Track me down if you need help again. I’m in dorm E, right over there.” Virgil barely paid attention to where she pointed, too busy studying the tapestry on the walls. This collage went a little overboard in their attempts to impress students. His phone buzzed, bringing him back to reality. He denied the call and walked in. The main office was really nice. He made a mental note to come in here if he needed a breather from people and walked to the person at the desk. “U-Um…Hello…?” The person looked up, and Virgil’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Emile!” “Virgil!” Emile smiled. “I didn’t know you were coming here!” “Anything to get away from home. Shit, man, I thought you were dead! Everyone said you crashed your car!” “I’m alive, last I checked.” Virgil moved around the desk. Emile opened his arms, pulling his younger friend into a hug. “I missed you…” Virgil’s voice cracked, heavy with emotion. “I know, kiddo…I’m here now. So, let’s get you registered, hm?”

Virgil stared at the paper in his hand, smiling softly at the familiar writing with Emile’s phone number under it. So far, today was off to a good start. Maybe Collage wouldn’t be so bad! He pulled on his headphones and listened to music as he tried to find the dorm he was in. People pushed past him on all sides. Jeez, this campus was full- He was suddenly shoved down, landing hard on his wrist. He hissed in pain and held it. “Watch where you’re going, emo,” a deep voice growled. Virgil looked up to see a burly blond-haired guy sneering down at him. Typical. Virgil muttered an apology and started to stand, falling when another guy kicked his arm out from under him. A large hand grabbed his small bag, pulling it from his back. Virgil’s blood froze. “Hey! What’re you doing?!” “Just doing a routine check,” a skinny black-haired guy squeaked. The burly blond ripped the bag open and pulled out Virgil’s computer, handing it to his friend. “Give it back!” Virgil jumped up, pained wrist temporarily forgotten. The blond smirked, holding the bag high above him. “What’s the rush, emo? Can’t you see we’re busy?” “That’s my stuff!” “Hold your horses, MCR,” another guy chipped in. “We’re almost done.” “GIVE IT!” Virgil felt embarrassed tears burn at his eyes, jumping up and down to get his bag as the asshole blond held it above his head. The group of boys all laughed, as well as some onlookers. Great, people were watching. And were they doing something? Of course not! Virgil’s heart plunged into his stomach when the bully plunged his hand into the bag and pulled out a sketchbook. “Well, well!” He boomed. “I think we found his poems, boys!” “No, please, they’re just drawings, give them back!” Virgil jumped for the book, his fingertips barely brushing the cover as it was jerked away. The boy with black hair shoved him to the ground harshly. “Shall we read it?” The burly blond sneered. “JOHNATHON TAYLER!!!” A female voice yelled. The crown parted to let a certain blond through. Lily! The burly blond-Johnathon, apparently-actually paled upon sight of her. He forced a smile. “Y-Yo, Lily!” “Don’t ‘yo Lily’ me! What do you think you’re doing?!” Johnathon stuttered. Lily stepped up and poked her finger into his chest. “I asked you a question, Tayler. What. Are. You. Doing?” Johnathon stepped away from her poke. He snapped at his gang to return Virgil’s belongings to the bag. “I-I was just checking if he had drugs!” he lied, smiling nervously. “Y-You can never be too sure!” Lily rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. And I look stupid, too.” Johnathon snorted, shoving Virgil’s bag into Lily’s chest. “Fine. Let the emo get in trouble with Sanders for bringing in illegal drugs. See if I care.” Lily flipped her hair at John’s retreating figure, worry crossing her features when she turned to Virgil. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Virgil growled, wiping his eyes vigorously. “I should have known better than to expect a good first day.” “Hey, no, don’t be like that…” Lily offered her hand to him after giving him his bag. “It’s great here, really. You’ll see.” Virgil looked at her hand. After a short pause, he sighed and took it, letting her pull him to his feet. “If I had a dime for every time I heard that…” Lily shook her head with a fond smile at his pessimism. “So, you got your dorm letter? Where are you living?” Virgil almost had a heart attack. He’d dropped the paper! “Um-one moment.” He dropped to his knees, frantically searching for the light pink bit of paper. There it was, just resting on the floor… Lily looked confused when he straightened up again, holding the paper. He read the neat type. “Dorm…E.” Lily smiled. “You’re with me, that’s great! Come on, I’ll bring you there.” Lily grabbed his hand, almost pulling him off his feet as she ran to the dorm.

Tag list: @tinkslittlebelle

[electriccenturypl]

“A drug and alcohol addiction after MCR split only made his side project Electric Century harder to handle – then Way learned to close the door on a dark chapter.

All the best bands are a ragtag bunch: The Beatles, Oasis, Spice Girls. A collection of weird and wonderful characters, the magic of a timeless musical group comes from their collective identity, Avengers-style, and My Chemical Romance were no exception. The ringleaders of late 00s emo were fronted by iconic, hair dye-wielding singer Gerard Way – a camp, glam-gone-gothic figure who could switch from whispered confessions to blood-curdling howls in seconds. He came backed by guitarists Frank Iero and Ray Toro, punk rock's prince and fretboard nerd respectively. And then there was bassist Mikey Way.

Perpetually shadowy and often sporting emo-staple horn-rimmed glasses, Mikey was MCR's mysterious heartthrob; the quiet yin to his brother Gerard's mad hatter yang. He became something of an anti-hero for many of the band's followers, his quiet demeanour perfectly aping the fragile, teenage anxieties much of their fanbase were battling with. But there was a more troubling edge to Mikey's introspection, hidden behind the eyeliner and that perfectly swooped fringe.

Self-medicating with drugs and alcohol to treat paralysing stage fright and help compartmentalise MCR's anxiety-inducing agenda in the wake of The Black Parade's explosive success , he soon found solace in slinking ever further into the shadows. Mikey became drug-dependent quickly, saying in a Kerrang!interview ahead of MCR's 2011 Reading & Leeds headline slot that he saw intoxication as "a means to an end", cocktailing drugs to both help him to get up on stage, and come down in the aftermath. His sole source of constant light through it all was long-time friend, Sleep Station vocalist and New London Fire figurehead Dave Debiak. The voice notes they sent each other back and forth became a near-decade long exchange of musical ideas for Electric Century, a barely-existent side project Mikey could never find the time for.

Despite living on opposite coasts, Mikey and Dave remain thick as thieves. "We text about music, and life, all day long," Mikey says today, across a patchy transatlantic phone line. Now, he's a notably more chipper character than the one portrayed in his MCR days, peppering his stories with a lively giggle and an almost childlike enthusiasm. His relationship with Dave kick-started at a pre-MCR barbecue held by Dave's brother Marc (former owner of MCR's first record label, Eyeball), where the pair bonded immediately over a mutual love of new wave, post-punk and Britpop. Even now, they share memories of early Duran Duran and Missing Persons shows, and a joint childhood dream of "being Simon Le Bon". "It kinda went from there," Mikey smiles, "We became fast friends, I became a fan of his music, and I was like, 'Man, if I ever want to do a side-project one day, this is the dude I would do it with'."

Electric Century's debut album For The Night To Control is the result of that longstanding friendship. A full-hearted embrace of those early influences, it's a who's-who of late 80s references, sweeping through sultry pop and onto the grittier gloom of new wave. With that joint dream of being Simon Le Bon come to fruition, you can hear the pair's half a lifetime of shared experience throughout – every twist and turn feels like second nature, evidence of a semi-telepathic bond between the two friends.

Before all that could form, though, Mikey hit crisis point. The effects of spending several life-changing years in one of the world's biggest rock bands and the major label "machine" that comes with it began to manifest. Long-standing drug use and a relentless schedule came to a head with the dissolution of My Chemical Romance in 2013. Unable to find an off-switch when things went from 100 to nil, Mikey instead threw himself into his sidelined project without a moment's pause. Struggling with overdoses and failing relationships throughout MCR's latter years, Mikey nevertheless insisted he still had so much to say, but launching straight into Electric Century only exacerbated the problems he was trying to ignore. "I had done MCR for 12 years straight, so I was very much in the 'let's go' mode," he says now. "I didn't want to take a break, I wanted to go right into it." It was a self-destructive measure that led to "complete burnout", he's quick to share. "I was emotionally drained – I was barely human at that time."

It took Dave's intervention to finally drag Mikey out of the shadows. Calling him out to the US' East Coast in February 2014 on the pretence of a recording session, Dave instead spent the time during Mikey's flight phoning every local rehab facility to find one that'd take his friend in. "When he arrived, I just got him in the car and was like, 'Yeah, we're not recording. We're going to rehab'," Dave says. Mikey didn't put up a fight. "He's done so well," Dave continues, "because he definitely knew that he needed the help – it wasn't something that he was in denial of. He was in full agreement that shit needed to change."

And so on the day Electric Century were granted their first magazine cover byAlternative Press, Mikey covertly checked himself into a month-plus stint in rehab. In his stead, Electric Century released just one track, "I Lied", which itself reads like a confession of guilt: "Everything that's weak goes through the window / I gently fill my veins, watching all the doors close."

What followed was a steady road to recovery. All music took a backseat, and Mikey wasn't even sure he'd be able to write again, sober. "I was used to being a certain way when I wrote music," he tells me, of how drug use felt an intrinsic part of his creative process. "I was usually medicated on some level." With Mikey newly sober for the first time in decades, Electric Century sat dormant once more, their hastily-assembled, almost-there debut album For The Night To Control existing as little more than files on a laptop for seven months – a memoir of a dark period Mikey would rather forget. "There's something in me I could never trust ," warns "Until The Light Goes Out On Me", while closer "Live When We Die" practically begs for redemption: "Wrapped up in the comfort of your love / Don't come undone ."

"You can really tell, like, 'That guy's going through something'," Mikey says of the record's subject matter, with a laugh. Flippant though he may be about their first LP, there's no denying its power as a tool of healing. While Mikey worked on rebuilding his personal life, Dave returned to New London Fire. "The healing that needed to take place," Dave says, "the band had to be secondary to that. It's not on the top list of priorities, when you're dealing with getting well." That seems a common sense attitude now, perhaps, but a world away from the relentless, major label "machine" that Mikey says he was trapped in during his darkest moments.

One day, though, that electric feel came flooding back. Digging out For The Night To Control, Mikey found himself inspired once more by the music they'd created. Months spent watching Gerard Way's solo career and Frank Iero's various new projects from the crowd had lit the spark – "I got to watch my brother do his thing, and I got to watch Frank do his thing, and they're fuckin' legends. It was fuckin' awesome!" – and now, the time felt right. Linking up once more in upstate New York come late 2014, they finally finished a story that had started back at the turn of the millennium.

For The Night To Control is a world away from Mikey's past endeavours. Sprawling synths draw on those gloomy, new wave influences like never before, and the bark of My Chemical Romance has been replaced with a more glistening bite. It's a whole different side to the goth kid's coin – a full-stop on a dark chapter of his life. Mikey is quick to downplay any suggestion that he might regret those years at the top, though, and keen to emphasise the importance of MCR's golden years.

"What we had done was once in a lifetime, and I'm thankful for it. That's why I look back and I'm not frustrated – I'm like, 'Dude, what we did? That doesn't happen.' Any amount of time that it existed was fine by me. Just to be there, I was thankful, and just to be able to be part of that was a dream. If it lasted five years or 12 years, it's all icing on the cake to me."

These days, Mikey and Dave have swapped prescription drugs for pancakes at a local diner as the precursor to their writing sessions. Mikey's spark has returned, too, due in no small part to a baby daughter, born this past May. The pair enthuse about "two more albums' worth" of demos and recordings they're now sat on, and talk feverishly about their complex plans for an upcoming duo of debut live shows. There's an energy and excitement that couldn't feel further from the gaunt, bass-toting mope Mikey once was known as. "I feel like the glue is set amongst the pieces now," he says, the caricature of his dark days at last a distant memory. "I feel like a complete person."

Photo credit: Jason Debiak.

Follow Tom on Twitter.” - noisey