I need to write this.

I’ve been traveling alone in Japan for the better part of three weeks now, and It’s been so remarkable an experience for me that I can’t book a ticket home yet. I haven’t spoken very much out loud these days, but I’ve been thinking to myself in what feels like surround sound. I can see so many things clearly, and feel so connected to myself and the world around me that I need to share the perspective with you.

I’m already aware that when I sing, say or write anything, 50 percent of the response will be in support of it and the other 50 will want to discount it. This blog, though, is directed to 100 percent of people reading it. If my blog truly does have any cultural effect, then it should be used for more than just pictures of sneakers and funny youtube videos. (If you don’t think my blog has any effect, than you can’t by definition be reading this right now and therefore don’t have to respond to it in any way. Isn’t that tidy?)

What I’m about to write isn’t about fame or success or celebrity or the media. That’s my business.

This is about us all.

This is about a level of self consciousness so high in my generation, that it’s actually toxic.

This is about the girl in her bedroom who poses in front of the camera she’s awkwardly holding in her outstretched hand. She’ll take a hundred photos until coming up with one she’s happy with, which inevitably looks nothing like her, and after she’s done poring over images of herself, will post one on her myspace page and then write something like “ I don’t give a f*ck what you think about me. ”
This is about the person trying out for American Idol, who while going off about how confident they are that they were born ready to sing in front of the world, are trembling so badly they can hardly breathe.

This is about me, the guy who walks through a throng of photographers into a restaurant like he’s Paul Newman, but who leaves a “reject” pile of clothes in his closet so high that his cleaning lady can’t figure out how one man can step into so many pairs of pants in a week.

This is about us all. Every one of us. Who all seem to know deep down that it’s incredibly hard to be alive and interact with the world around us but will try and cover it up at any cost. For as badass and unaffected as we try to come off, we’re all just one sentence away from being brought to the edge of tears, if only it was worded right. And I don’t want to act immune to that anymore. I took the biggest detour from myself over the past year, since I decided that I wasn’t going to care about what people thought about me. I got to the point where I had so much padding on that, sure, I couldn’t feel the negativity, but that’s because I couldn’t feel much of anything. And I think I’m done with that.

I’m not the first person to admit we’re all self conscious, Kanye was. But what I want to do is to shed a little light on why we’re all in the same boat, no matter the shape of the life we lead: because every one of us were told since birth that we were special. We were spoken to by name through a television. We were promised we could be anything that we wanted to be, if only we believed it and then, faster than we saw coming, we were set loose into the world to shake hands with the millions of other people who were told the exact same thing.

And really? Really? It turns out we’re just not all that special, when you break it down. Beautifully unspectacular, actually. And that truth is going to catch up with us whether we want to run from it or not. The paparazzo following me to the gym ain’t gonna be Herb Ritts and the guy he’s following ain’t gonna be Bob Dylan. It’s just a matter of how old you are once you embrace that fact. And for me, 30 sounds about right.

What now, then? I can only really say for myself: Enjoy who I am, the talents and the liabilities. Stop acting careless. In fact, care more. Be vulnerable but stay away from where it hurts. Read. See more shows. Of any kind. Rock shows, art shows, boat shows. Create more art. Wear hoodies to dinner. Carry a notebook and hand it to people when they passionately recommend something and ask them to write it down for me.

Root for others.

Give more and expect the same in return, but over time.

Act nervous when I’m nervous, puzzled when I don’t know what the hell to do, and smile when it all goes my way. And never in any other order than that.

And when it’s all over, whether at the end of this fabulous career or of this life, which I hope takes place at the same time, I should look back and say that I had it good and I made the most of it while I was able. And so should you.

I’m going quiet now.


—  John Mayer
Scars On Us


Murphy x Reader

Scars On Us

You had never meant to hurt yourself and like it. You had never meant to just stop eating. You weren’t even sure why you cried so much. But one day you just got so sad. None of the other hundred had noticed. It started with silently crying at night when you knew everyone was asleep. But then you released with a blade. Then you stopped eating, thinking if you were thin, you’d feel better. But so far nothing was happening.

Tears were easy to hide. So were scars. So was the fact that you weren’t eating much. At least you thought you were hiding it well. Apparently someone had been watching you for a while. Murphy had been watching you for weeks, noticing how you’d only drink water and not even touch the meat for dinner. He even followed you sometimes late at night and heard you sobbing. He always thinks about saying something to you, but decided he couldn’t. How was he supposed to say he was basically stalking you and then noticed you were sad? He wasn’t going to say anything.

One day, after dinner- that you didn’t touch- you went back to your tent. You zipped up the front quickly and went to search for your knife. Unfortunately for you, it was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed and did something you never thought you’d do; you left the tent and asked if you could borrow someone’s blade. Everyone went on a search for one for you, but Murphy took his out of his boot and got up to hand it to you. He sat it in your palm before looking up at you.

“What do you need it for?” he asked.

You forced a smile, thinking of something to say. “I just need it, don’t worry. I’ll give it back in about an hour.”

Murphy stared at you with a hard face. You were scared that he wouldn’t let you use it at first, but he sat it in your hand and just nodded. “Have it back soon.”

You nodded and sighed in relief. You ran into the forest and got a safe distance away from the camp before sitting down and resting against a tree. You took out the blade and stared at it before pulling up your sleeve, seeing the old marks. You’d cut, clean the blood off of the knife at the creek, and then you’d give it back. Simple.

You took a deep breath and started to slice away, not even batting an eye. Then you heard leaves crunching behind you. You didn’t think anything of it. It had to be an animal. You continued with your actions before a dirt covered hand grabbed the knife from your hands.

Looking up, you made eye contact with Murphy’s beautiful green eyes.

“Oh my god,” was all you could say.

He looked down at the knife before looking back at you. You thought he’d yell at you, you’ve seen what he did to other people. But he just stuck the knife in the waist band of his pants and put his hand out. “Come on, let’s clean you up,” he said with a soft tone.

You timidly put your hand in his and he lifted you from the ground. Before moving further, he looked down at your wrist, turning it to fully see the cuts. His eyebrows were furrowed and eyes pained. After seconds of this, he finally started to lead you to the creek. He sat you down at the side of it and told you to put your arm in the water. You did as you were told as he cleaned the blood off of his knife.

When he finished, he sat next to you and took your arm out of the water. It had stopped bleeding for the most part, but some cuts would leave definite scars. He sighed and took a bandana out of his back pocket. He tied it on your arm to apply pressure and then looked up at you. The silence was killing you. He had to say something or you’d scream.

“I’m not going to ask you why, but I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight until I know your done with this stuff. And when I knew you’re eating properly.” He stared at you long and hard, waiting for an answer.

All you could do was nod and against your better thinking, reached forward to hug him. He allowed you to do so, wrapping both of his arms around your fragile form.

“I didn’t think anyone noticed,” you whispered.

He felt sad at the words and tightened his hold on you, careful to be gentile. “I notice everything about you.”

You smiled for what felt like the first time in months. “Thank you.”

“Of course, princess.” Murphy pulled away and smiled at you. However, his eyes wandered to your arms again and he frowned. “We need to let Clarke check those.”

Panic rose in you. You pulled away from him completely and held your arms closer to yourself. “That can’t happen, she’ll force people to watch me. It’ll be embarrassing.”

“I’ll convince her to let me watch you. I just want you to be safe and healthy.”

You stared at your feet for what felt like centuries before nodding. You looked up with tear filled eyes. “Okay.”

He smiled gently and wrapped an arm around you. “Let’s go.”

You then walked back to camp with slight relief. You were now on the road to recovery.


A/N: You guys can come talk to me anytime you want. Having dealt with these things, I will help as much as I can.

Requests open.