So, I… was not expecting to open up the news tonight and feel like I’d been kicked in the stomach. I’d barely even thought about Linkin Park in years. They were my brief, embarrassing nu-metal mallgoth phase. They were everyone’s brief, embarrassing nu-metal mallgoth phase. Then they were the band even nu-metal posers made fun of. By that point 15-year-old me had plunged down the rabbit hole and discovered Rammstein, and the Smiths, and the Sisters of Mercy, and KMFDM, and I had so much awesome music to wallow in that I barely had time to feel self-conscious that I’d never really stopped loving Hybrid Theory. (Although I did, a little, because I was 15 and nothing was too stupid to feel self-conscious about.)
But holy fuck did I love that album. “Crawling” is the first music video I have any actual memory of seeing on TV. Linkin Park was the first rock concert I ever went to. (And fuck you, they were awesome.) I loved it for the exact reasons my entire age cohort found it embarrassing as soon as we were out of middle school. It’s a primal scream of rage and anguish, artfully bottled up and beautified, that manages to articulate a lot of the nuances of how people hurt each other and what it’s like to be hurt so badly you can barely hang on. Which means it had its finger squarely on the pulse of what it’s like to be 14. Stuck in a rat cage with a few hundred other rats, all of you hopped up to the gills on hormones, clumsily figuring out all the ways people can hurt each other, how and when to protect yourself, how to judge others’ behavior. And because people learning how to judge get awfully enthusiastic about it and nobody likes the primal anguish or the pants-on-head stupidity of their 14-year-old self, it didn’t take long for us to start finding Linkin Park embarrassing. Their angst is utterly sincere, and sincerity is uncomfortable. Especially when it reminds you of the utterly sincere, solipsistic, overblown, ridiculous angst over trivial shit that your adolescent hormones were pumping through your veins in middle school. Getting over yourself is healthy.
Coming back to listen when I’m pushing thirty, though, nothing on Hybrid Theory makes me think about my mid-teens melodrama. Some of it makes me think about friendships and relationships that turned into the kind of fucked-up shit that makes me want to grab my past self and shout “run while you can.” But most of it–speaking as a grown-ass adult here–most of it makes me think “holy shit, I want to find whoever did that to this kid and kick their ass six ways from Sunday.” It is so fucking unbelievably obvious in retrospect that none of the shit Chester Bennington is screaming about is something you just get over once you’ve grown up a little and escaped the shitheads you went to high school with.
Transmuting pain into art is a natural, almost universal impulse; doing it well is hard. Getting close enough to grab the beating heart of it, pulling it out to dissect it, ruthlessly rearranging it into something with structure and clarity, stepping back far enough to judge what you’ve made… the strange, disconcerting realization that you’ve turned it into something beautiful. Something that will appeal to other people, make them relate it back to their own pain even if it’s not the same. (Something vulnerable that can be criticized and judged and sneered at.) Maybe at first it’s for your own benefit, help you process and understand it, let out a bit of that primal scream… but let me tell you, the first time someone says “thank you” or “I needed this” or “you articulated what I couldn’t” or “this got me through a dark place”… that doesn’t just make it worth it, it humbles the shit out of you. And it makes you want to keep doing it forever. It turns the pain into shared understanding and an offer of comfort.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t make the pain go away.
Chester Bennington was really fucking good at transmuting his pain into art and offering it up with utter sincerity.
So RIP, dude. I don’t know the details of what you were going through, but you gave the world a pretty good glimpse of the broad outlines. And that glimpse got a lot of kids through adolescence, my dumb ass included; I can only imagine what it did for people who were going through the same stuff as you. Life may not be some fairy tale where turning your demons into art is always enough to save you from them, but I wish you’d made it. You saved a lot of other people. Whatever peace eluded you here, you deserve to find on the other side.
Why losing a best friend can hurt the same or ever worse than any romantic relationship
Sometimes the bond between the two of you is stronger than words can describe
She was my ride or die
We were always together and when we weren’t it didn’t feel right
Friendships usually last longer than most romantic relationships and you aren’t told that friendships end as well
I never saw us parting because we were two peas in a pod
We were basically sisters and family doesn’t quit on eachother
But that’s the thing
We just faded
We grew in two separate directions that sometimes have cross streets
But that’s not enough
I want to grow on our own but have every cross street possible
I don’t want our roads to be parallel
I want them to come back together at some point
I miss you so much and I hope you miss me too
A lot of times you can get over a breakup because the relationship wasn’t that long or you can convince yourself that they were a horrible person deep down
But we all know our former best friend was the best freaking person to walk the planet
That’s why we loved them so much
So thank you, my former best friend, for showing me what it means to be a great person. For showing me how to love other people as much as I love my family. If you ever see this please know you can always call me. Because family is forever.
andymientus: 1 year down, Arden. It’s pretty on brand that we’re apart today because we are both making art- your art is the one thing you love more than me (well, maybe art and Papa Johns) and that is my absolute favorite thing about you. The way you see the world has changed the way I see the world. Your bravery to create, to take charge, to attempt the impossible is my bravery. I wouldn’t be opening this show tonight if not for your example. That’s so much better than a corny gift and a rich dinner. It’s not something every couple would understand, but it’s something we have always understood from day one, and even when things are hardest, that’s how I know this is it. Happy Anniversary xo
michaelarden: One year ago today I married my best friend and artistic partner. We don’t have a typical marriage in any sense and I am so grateful and proud of that fact. You inspire me and make me work, think and care harder than I ever imagined I could. I don’t know why you put up with me, my moods and my insanity. But God, am I lucky. And better. Because of you.
Summary: You get into an already occupied taxi and what ensues can only be bad luck. (Done for Kait’s 5k AU Writing Challenge).
Word Count: 2,757
Warnings: Drinking. Throwing up.
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble series, but it is definitely not lol. I hope you all enjoy this first part. It’s gonna be a fun ride :D
The heartache was more than you
could have ever foreseen. You were blissfully unaware of how much value you had
placed on your relationship with your now-ex boyfriend. It was a slap in the
face when he broke up with you and you found yourself crying in a bathroom
stall at work. Cursing at yourself, you wiped your eyes with the coarse toilet
paper, hissing at the sting it caused on the sensitive skin. Kleenex did a much
better job, but the box was currently sitting on your desk, which was in the
middle of the vast office you worked at. And the last thing you wanted was
wandering eyes and gossips flowing around the office with you in the center of
Blowing your nose, you groaned and
buried your face in your hands. Expletives ricocheted back and forth inside
your brain, almost all of them directed at your former boyfriend, but some of
them were for yourself. You had been foolish, utterly and completely foolish.
Thinking that he was as in love with you as you were with him, you had even
asked him to move in the previous week. He had just smiled at you and told you
he’d think about it.
I walked by a Street of abandoned houses tonight and I saw that the door was open to one of them and I took a picture with the flash on and if you look really closely, it looks like a figure is standing in the door way and another is in the window. I also think that’s the same house I’ve walked by in the day light once before where I swear I heard a child screaming.
Summary:We’re all running from something. Whether it’s a painful past, uncertain
future or murky present. One of my favorite things about theatre, is that for
an hour, maybe two – you can escape. You don’t have to be yourself, if you
don’t want to. Better yet, you can find yourself in someone else.
extremely jealous of Y/N staying over at Stiles’ house which leads to some very
tore your eyes away from the maths books in front of you. Stiles was lying
sprawled across his bed, his books now lying in a mess on the floor. You sighed
and got up from your seat, moving to lift the books from the floor.
You shook him gently. No response. “Stiles!” You shouted which scared him
awake, so much so that he fell off the bed and landed at your feet. “I guess
we’re done studying then?”