Tokyo is so fucking hot……ah…my electricity bill last time almost reached 5,000 yen….
Flying home for summer holiday is a good decision. >.>
- *A guy and a girl walk in and order their coffee. They sit across from each other and just start talking. The guy asks her if she'd like to go out with him. She politely turns him down and says she's not interested. The guy begins to rant about how "nice guys finish last"*
- Guy: I've known you since freshman year! I've been there during all your break ups with jerks and you treat me like this?
- Girl: So just because you're there for me, I should date you? Is that what you're saying?
- Guy: I'm just saying you should give me a chance.
- Girl: Listen, I just don't like you in that way. I'm not looking for a relationship and I want us to be friends, and nothing more. I'm sorry, I just want to stay where we are right now.
- Guy: Why don't you like me? It's because I'm not an asshole, huh?
- Girl: You gotta be fucking kidding me. You seriously think I go for guys who treat me like garbage? I go for guys who I like, guys who don't play the "nice guys finish last" card.
- Guy: I'm just saying what needs to be said. You don't appreciate all the things that I've done for you.
- Girl: Oh yeah? Like what?
- Guy: There was that one time I got you some pads when you were on your...you know....
- Girl: OH, SO BECAUSE YOU HELPED ME PREVENT MY PANTIES FROM LOOKING LIKE SOMETHING THAT CLEANED UP A MURDER SCENE, I SHOULD TOTALLY FUCK YOU, RIGHT?
- Guy: Please, just lower your voice, you're causing a scene-.
- Girl: NO, LET THEM KNOW YOU'RE A FUCKWAD THAT THINKS I SHOULD RIDE YOUR DICK JUST BECAUSE YOU TREAT ME LIKE A HUMAN.
- Girl: I don't owe you ANYTHING. I'm grateful for the things you've done for me, but it's hard to remain grateful when you act like an inconsiderate jerk like you're doing right now.
- Girl: Do me a favor and get your head out of your ass, it's not a hat. Stick to a fedora like all the other "friend-zoned" guys out there.
- *the whole cafe sits in silence*
- *barista starts clapping*
Whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.
I was driving down the 134 on my way home from Warner Bros Records, and I noticed that the weight of The Beetle was unbalanced, not dangerously so but more than noticeably so.
I realized this was because my car was full of mail addressed to me c/o WBR. Full. And as I struggled (only in the smallest way) to keep the car centered passing a semi I thought, “What an incredible problem to have”.
About a year ago I put up an address to a P.O. Box at my local post office in Tarzana. This quickly became such an inconvenience for the post office, such a hassle for them- that I had to close the box. This slowed up the reading process, as all of the mail would now go to WBR, which at the time was fairly far from me. But thankfully, because an amazing individual at Warners keeps it for me safe and sound, I am able to occasionally pick up and go through the mail.
I don’t talk about it much, because to me, it is an incredibly personal thing between author (you) and reader (me). But as long as it didn’t get sent back to you, I have read it or will read it if I haven’t already. What I will say about them is the amount of gratitude, connection, courage, and positivity contained within them is staggering. Another reminder that what I am living is in fact dreamlike. And I thank you for everything, for letting me know what music can do for people. You are all proof against the dismantling the arts, especially since the creativity and talent contained within the mail is as massive as their volume. Also, they helped me a great deal, possibly more than some of you feel I helped you.
And though being able to send something back seems even more impossible than it did in the early months of the process, what I can do is “send something back” by always following my heart in the art I make, and never letting fear get in the way of that. And I hope that matches the sincerity of the letters themselves.
Thank you, and I look forward to hearing from you.
Warner Bros Records
c/o Gerard Way
3300 Warner Blvd,
I was having a conversation with someone important to me a few months ago and they said something I had never heard before.
We were talking about depression. More specifically- the flash-flood of bulletproof mania, and it’s inevitable descent into lengthy, paralyzing anguish- our shared condition.
“The Happy-Sads.” they said. “That’s what my doctor calls them”.
I rested in the hum-quiet lapse that happens every so often on the phone.
It seemed such a simple way to put it, but it summed it all up. I hear these little pieces all the time- I think we all do- someone says something, a turn of phrase, or a sentence fragment- and it sticks. It resonates. It becomes a short story or the subject of a comic, a song title- sometimes more.
It felt like something larger and smaller at the same time- it made sense of everything, boiling it down to a simple phrase- and I laid down under it’s gravity.
I remember being a boy, and the times where everything was quiet. Those were the briefest moments, and you had to catch them like comets. Then came chaos and noise- reckless, indestructible enthusiasm. That part lasted longer than the quiet, but not nearly as long as the empty.
I think it was easier for those older than me to say I was simply shy, and I wasn’t to hear the word “introverted” until I got to high school, and I didn’t hear anyone seriously talk about “depression” until I was in college- and even then it was just something you could “will away”. No one’s son or daughter was “crazy” or a “manic-depressive”. Labels. From youth to adulthood I would bounce back and forth from “very artistic” to “quiet”.
If my depression was robbing the bank, then my anxiety was waiting in the get-away car outside, masked and armed. There would be stretches that would go on for weeks where I thought I was going to Hell. These would segue into stretches where, knowing that everyone was going to die eventually and I would lose everyone I knew, I couldn’t spend more than 2 minutes in school before going home in hysterics. I just didn’t want to lose a single moment with people I loved- moments I could never get back.
My anxiety found different ways of manifesting itself- more subdued versions as I got older, but the back and forth, the up and down, stayed the same. You couldn’t wind a watch to it, but you could see it just over the hill, and you’d wait for it to hit.
Years of it.
Then I learned to use it, to tap into it, but I was hiding, not facing.
Being a singer in a band allowed me to tap into 2 very extreme emotions, and ones I knew very well- violent happiness and theatrical despair. This worked for me for years. And the more I could use them every night, the less I had to deal with them during the day, or night afterwards. Zeroes in a bunk, zeroes in the morning, drinking coffee, watching mile-markers.
Zeroes. Years of them.
I then decided to deal with it.
I had another conversation, again with someone important to me, but this person was life-threateningly ill. They said to me one thing that was the most important.
“Everything is temporary. When you’re happy- it’s temporary. Sad? Temporary. Job? Temporary. Bought a house? It’s only yours until you no longer need it. “
There were two ways to look at it- happy or sad. But everything was temporary.
In your worst moments, where you are staring into the blackest hole, the razor-lined mouth of a vicious, rabid animal- when you aren’t good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough- when the worst thing inside you chooses to attack- it is temporary. Likewise, when you are in those moments of pure joy, surrounded by your loved ones, high scoring skee-ball, holding your best friends hand at a concert- it is also temporary.
And that is ok.
It is life, and living, or the closest thing to it- but more than that there is help.
I go to therapy- my doctor and I don’t use labels, because she believes that every single person is a different case. What one person has more of, another has less of.
And in the differences, we are all the same- imbalanced, and some of us need an assist. I grew up in an era that came off the tail end of damning the notion of mental treatment, so it was a dirty phrase. Unfortunately it still is today. The labels linger, the stigma exists, and all of it keeps help further away.
This is the part where I get serious and say that if you suffer from severe depression, you should seek treatment. If no one takes you seriously- find someone that will. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t fear a single repercussion for taking my mental health seriously and in my hands. Nothing would stop me. Not a label, or a joke- nothing.
I hope you find comfort in this. I hope you know that a lot of people, including myself, battle the beast all the time, and we win. I have finally gotten myself to a place where I no longer face the extremes, but it takes work, every week- I get up, and I make sure I am at my session- even the days where I don’t want to be there. I would imagine you’d feel the same way sometimes, and that is ok. Maybe it’s even hard for you to take the first steps- and that’s ok too.
I know you can.
WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD
easy there henry
whos henry what thef uck?
*faint laughter from Britian*