Dear My Chemical Romance

There are a lot of ways I could go about saying how much this band means to me, and just how much I’ve gotten through because of it. I’m not exaggerating when I admit that I wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for all four of you – five if you count Bob, which I do, but it saddens me to think about him not being a part of the band anymore, even though I wish him the best in whatever he does.

When I discovered My Chemical Romance, I was only nine years old and I guess it shows how unexpected life can be, because I never thought this band and its music would be saving my life, one day.

I’d been one of those kids who are, for some fucked up reason, depressed from the start. I had a loving family, and I didn’t have any friends because we used to move a lot, but I had my brother and that seemed more than enough. My parents had never been perfect, but I never put it against them. I’ll admit that I was more content with life than I am now, but I still used to have thoughts that would scare the shit out of me. I guess a lot of it could be blamed on the nightmares I’d started having at an early age, but it still doesn’t explain it because I know those nightmares have always been caused by my own personal demons.

Maybe my ‘life story’ seems most appropriate to talk about because it’s baggage that I’ll probably never be able to get rid of, but maybe it’s also because not many kids can say they have all the problems I do, and even more would never admit to them. It’s the sad, bitter truth of reality.

I have a long history of self injury, self hatred and suicide attempts, and it honestly makes me feel ashamed of myself because I’m only fourteen years old. Most people would say these are supposed to be the best years of my life, and I could say a million times that I don’t care how the rest of the people my age tend to behave, and how they have their own secure places in society, but I can’t help but feel like a freak because I don’t even feel safe in my own skin and I have to keep telling myself that I’m just being paranoid whenever I feel like everyone would be so much better off without me. Maybe it could all be related to being bullied, at home and in school, but I’ll probably never know.

I think it started to get really bad when we moved to Spain from England, three years ago. That’s when the façade of the ‘perfect’ family fell apart. That’s when the fights started, the insults, the taunting. It was like someone had turned on a switch and there was no more subtlety to belittling each other. Maybe it was just the growing up part that frustrated everyone, but I’m inclined to agree that it was just my parents trying to enforce religion onto us, my dad more so than my mum, and I honestly hate my dad sometimes, because it’s like he’s two people at the same time. One second, he’s calling me his favourite, but then the next moment, the words that come out of his mouth hurt me worse than if he hit me everyday.

People say I’m wise beyond my years, but I find it hard to believe when all I can concentrate that ‘intelligence’ on is my belief that I’m repulsive in every sense of the word and how I don’t deserve anything good because everything is always my fault. Other than the fact that it gives me something else to focus on, I guess I cut because I believe that I deserve all that physical pain as much as the emotional.

The worst part of it all aren’t the fights or the yelling that nearly always manages to leave me in tears, but the fact that my brother changed into someone I can’t even recognise anymore as the best friend I’d had for most of my life. Most days, it’s hard to even talk to him because he’s always too busy for me. I’d like to believe that I’m overreacting because I’m jealous of his friends because then I could easily blame myself and my insecurities, but that’s not the case. People ask me what problems do I have with things like drugs and alcohol, and that’s exactly it – they stole my brother from me, and I hate his friends for instilling those things into him and maybe I can’t judge him because I’ve been addicted to painkillers and antidepressants. The truth is, though, we were both depressed - I don’t know if it’s genetic or our dad’s fault, because it could easily be both - and instead of anchoring us together, it tore us apart. He wasn’t my best friend anymore because he was too busy protecting me from the dark parts of his brain, and I was too uncomfortable with everything to ask for his help. Despite knowing all that, I still blame myself for not being a good enough sister.

Being completely honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough, and it’s been proven by all the people that have replaced me with better, more capable friends. I’m scared that I won’t be able to do what I want to in my life because of that one tiny fact, that there’ll always be someone better than me, and while that doesn’t really bother me, I can see people pushing me aside for that other someone.

If I see someone with the same problems as I, I can’t help but think that they’re beautiful, but it’s the complete opposite when it comes to me. Most of it, though, is because I can see that my parents are disappointed in me, especially when I was diagnosed with depression, two years ago, and I had to see a therapist until my parents managed to convince me that I was ‘okay’. They were embarrassed that their twelve years old daughter was on meds and ‘certifiably a mental case’. The only person who had been worried about me at that time, was my brother. It’s why, while they know about me being ‘formerly depressed’, I haven’t told them that I relapsed, that I cut and that I have panic attacks because of anxiety problems. I just don’t want them pointing even more fingers of disappointment at me.

I really just want to change the world. Maybe it seems stupid that, half the time, I want to kill myself even though that would mean never even getting the chance to try to fulfill that dream, but sometimes it just feels ridiculous because my world changed from bad to bearable because of music and I just want to give that to people. I’ve been writing lyrics ever since I was a kid but I don’t know if they’re any good. I don’t know if I’ll ever live up to my own expectations.

Drawing and writing are also two things that I love doing, but I can’t do anything with those skills, because I’m not good enough at them. I try to inspire people with my words. I try to put their priorities before mine and try to issue forth words of wisdom that would bring a smile onto their face, but I can never say the right thing. I’ve always had a habit of putting other people before me and feeling their pain so much more than I actually want to that it sometimes scares me, because I want to defend everyone and everything. I don’t ever want anyone to hurt, even if I don’t really know them. Maybe it’s because I see beauty in everyone and everything, the same beauty that I fail to see in myself. I believe that everyone has something in them that makes them extraordinary, even if they are the world’s biggest asshole. I write and draw my interpretations of the world and sometimes it comes out darker than usual, but that’s only when I focus on what’s in my mind, because I do believe that this world is beautiful, even after all the bullshit.

I know I am self destructive, because I always end up in bad situations that I can resolve, but I don’t because I feel like I deserve everything I get. I actually break my own heart more times than other people break it - by getting my hopes up, by belittling myself, and it’s like there’s this voice in my head that’s constantly at war with me. It picks me apart completely and all my flaws are bared for the world to see. It’s like being cut open but you don’t know how you became so vulnerable. It hurts and it doesn’t heal, because it will always be there, leering at you and waiting for another opportunity to ruin your happiness, when I honestly just want to make other people happy. Maybe it makes me a pushover, but I never do anything for myself. I try to put a smile on everyone’s face, not so I can take credit for it, but because I can’t stand to see anyone upset, even if it’s a complete stranger, and I guess that’s a huge reason why any relationships I have, - platonic or romantic - I get fucked over, because I’m always giving more than I’m taking, and despite knowing that, I can’t stop doing it. Even now, when I have nothing left to offer, I’m still ready to give away everything to the next person who needs it.

This letter isn’t about how horrible my life is or how close I’ve come to dying in the last three years, though. It’s about how much My Chemical Romance means to me because of all the shit I’ve gotten through because of you guys.

One thing that I’ve learned from this band is that, no matter how amazing you are, there will always be people who’ll refuse to accept you for who you are because of their own ridiculous reasons. You can’t change anyone’s opinion, either, so it’s better to just stop trying and do what makes you happy, because in the end, you’re the only person you’re going to have to live with, the only person you can’t get away from.

There have been awfully bad times in my life when the only thing that stopped me from doing anything to myself was blasting your music at full volume with the headphones in my ears. There are times when the reality that I’m not as pretty, as smart or as talented as everyone else hits me, and blasting the music loud enough to sing along to it is the only thing that stops me from crying all night.

I remember when I was a kid, and I was convinced that I knew who I was. I had all these morals, like how I would never be ashamed of who I was. I thought I was such a smart kid, reading big novels before everyone else and being into more ‘mature’ music before everyone else. Even then, at the age of nine, I wanted to change the world for the better, and that was most probably when I started doubting God’s existence, simply because every friend I’d ever had wound up replacing me, and then I completely lost faith when my grandma died, because for so long, her daily phone calls were what kept me happy and because of the millions of things that are wrong with religion, and how, in a way, it plays a huge part in ruining my life.

As fucked up as my mind seems, I have accepted it. I’ve accepted that I’m one of those people who feel too much and that’s why they can’t take insults that are flung at them about how stupid or ugly or fat they are. The fact that, in the past, I’ve starved myself enough to need meds and that I’ve attempted suicide countless times even though it’s never been enough to even land me in the hospital, means nothing, because they may be relevant right now, but they’re still in the past, and I’d like to believe that I’m getting better, at least, when it comes to the latter, I am. I still don’t know who I am, though, and I know that it’s vital to fixing yourself, because otherwise, you’d just end up putting the pieces back in all the wrong places.

To fix myself and start from the beginning, I have to stay alive for a while longer, though, so, thank you. I may resent it at times, but I’m still really fucking grateful. I guess this is a long-winded way of saying, “Thank you for keeping me alive and sane. Thank you for making music. Thank you for being such good people. Thank you for existing.”

I love you guys, from now until forever.

Your fan,

Annie.