#I’ve been looking for literally any excuse to draw kid Riley-

[rileywrites-parker]

A very long, drawn out way of saying thank you.

I debated posting this. I’ve made a promise to myself to be more true. I’m tired of acting. This is going to seem silly to some of you, but it’s the truth.

My name is Riley.

I’ve spent a majority of my life feeling lost. Even surrounded by a family who loves me, I’ve felt completely alone, isolated, and misunderstood. I struggle to put my thoughts and feelings into words that my loved ones will understand; that anyone will understand. Why do I feel the way that I do about the world? About myself? Why am I only ever temporarily happy? Fleeting moments of joy, but always coming to an abrupt end; sometimes so quickly, into such a deep, dark, and toxic despair, the emotional whiplash leaving me exhausted. Always so exhausted; more than physically, but deeply, my soul itself drained.

As a teenager, I absolutely hated myself. There was nothing that I could do that was enough to make me love myself or my appearance. It didn’t matter what anyone had to say. People always have something to say. I was bullied because I was a little different, looked a little different, but no more so than anyone else. (Doesn’t everyone look a little different? Aren’t we supposed to?) Kids can be mean. I don’t think that anyone escapes childhood without a little verbal nastiness from their peers; so I’m not going to blame children. I was a child myself. In many ways, I’m still a child; always will be, I think. I don’t blame them anymore than I blame my grandfather for molesting me. Or for the men who harassed me. They were sick, too. Do these things affect me? Of course. Of course. But I think, maybe, my brain has always been a little sick. Or maybe I was predisposed to illness? Is it intelligence? Or lack of? Maybe all of these things.

“You’re beautiful, I don’t understand why you don’t see that.” “You have a beautiful body, what are you so worried about?” “You’re so intelligent.” “I wish I were as creative as you.” “You’re so talented.” If I had understood why, then perhaps I wouldn’t have done what I did to myself. I remember the first time that I purged, and how ashamed I was of myself; how can anyone be so petty, pathetic, so vain? There are people with ACTUAL problems, and look at you; hugging a toilet, fingers down your throat, wasting food, wasting good tissue; that burn can’t be good. Oh, but it was. That burn took away the other in my brain, and for the rest of that day, in this sick, twisted nonsensical way,  I felt a little better about myself; now I have control over this; a button, a switch that I can flip at any time to make this dark thing cower, for just a little. That turned into six years of binging, purging, starving myself, constantly exercising, not sleeping, crying, feeling horrible; but it was about controlling that dark thing, right? (I see now that on that day, I gave IT control.)

Art has always been the constant. Creative expression always helped me work through whatever this was. Drawing, writing, piddling around on a keyboard or a guitar; something to distract myself long enough to get out from under that dark thing. I’ll show you that I’m worth something; I can make things, beautiful things with these fingers. You can ruin things with them too.

I remember the first time a song really touched me on a level so deeply that it literally knocked the purging right out of me. When I tell people, I feel ridiculous. “I listened to a song on repeat, and suddenly I didn’t need to purge or starve myself anymore.” What?

‘No, you can’t keep letting it get you down, and you can’t keep dragging that dead weight around. Cause if your mind don’t move, then your knees don’t bend. When the morning comes: let it go, this too shall pass.’ Just some letters thrown together to form a few simple words, but they were the right ones.  I’m not telling you that my eating disorder was cured, just like that; the thoughts didn’t go away, they STILL haven’t, but it gave me the strength necessary to control my urge to purge. No more self-harm. At least, not physically. (But then, isn’t it ALL physical?)

It’s almost comical, really, to think that almost as soon as I defeated that particular bit of nastiness, that demon, if you will, I became aware of a much larger, much more draining gaggle of demons. I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought of what I looked like, (as if I could have helped that AT ALL; as if that should even be an issue for ANYONE,) what others thought of how I acted and what I thought, that I had completely neglected my internal self, and what I wanted, who I wanted to be. I found myself already married. I had already given up the one thing that I had always turned to; I had been accepted into a renowned art school, but turned that down for the sake of ‘practicality,’ and partially because, unsurprisingly, I let the opinions of others control my own thoughts. The death of that dream hurt so badly, but more because I let it happen without fighting for it. Complacency can be a killer. I didn’t pick up a pencil for two years.

The world itself is incredibly disheartening. The people in it, the truly bad ones, make it so hard to have faith in anyone, in anything; to trust. Why should I ever make myself vulnerable to anyone? Keep to yourself, kid. Don’t let anyone in, and no one can hurt you the way they hurt others. But that hurts too. What is the point, if not to connect? What is the point of this if there is only ugliness all over the world. Selfishness, waste, violence, ignorance, and hurt; so much fucking hurt. Everywhere. Children, men, women, animals, the planet itself. Constantly bombarded with images and stories of pain.

Not only that, but to be a young adult in this society (you know, the one we created for ourselves,) is almost impossible. Finish high school, go to college, get married, buy a house, have 2.5 kids, retire, and die. Get up, get dressed, go to work, go to bed, sleep; maybe, and repeat. It’s impossible to make enough money to complete this checklist, and even if you do, it feels so fucking hollow. I’m alive, but I’m not living. Empty. Heavy. I’m not alive. This isn’t what I wanted for myself. How can this be what anyone wants for themselves? Why can’t I spend my whole day outside with the trees instead of looking at them through a dirty window? When do I get some space? When does anyone? Why is no one else screaming these things? This isn’t right. Who am I? This world isn’t right. It’s sick. What do I want? I’m sick. What do I do? What do I say, and to who? I can’t even tell anyone what this is, because we’re selfish by nature. It’s only natural, right? What is right?

“How are you?” “Good, and you?” “Good.” Keep to yourself, and no one can hurt you. But that’s not true. You’re hurting yourself, kid.

I wrote this big long, drawn out piece of cerebral vomit to tell you that I am once again being saved by music. My brother shared a song with me not too long ago that sucker punched me right in the brain; because amidst all of the stupid pop songs about how great it is to be alive, this one was true; and it was on the radio. ‘I was told when I get older all my fears would shrink, but now I’m insecure, and I care what people think. My name’s Blurryface and I care what you think.’ ‘Out of student loans and tree house homes, we all would take the ladder/latter.’ ‘Used to dream of outer space, but now they’re laughing in our face saying: wake up you need to make money.’ Holy shit, someone gets it. Someone understands. This is on the radio? More letters turned to simple words, but, fuck, did they hit me.

Immediately I went home and looked for more. I was not disappointed. Never have I listened to an artist and loved every single song, every word, for every meaning. It was literally as if I was listening to that part of my brain that runs on repeat. All of those letters turned into words, into poetry, into art, into feeling and emotion. Understanding. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t run to these guys and spill everything, to have a conversation, because we were already conversing. Excuse the pun, but that burn in my brain, that deep ache that had ached for so fucking long, had been washed with water; soothed, calmed. I’m not the only one who feels this way. I’m not the only who sees. With every word, every line the relief grew; a heaviness that I hadn’t even taken the time to acknowledge began to lift from my soul. What is life really, but to connect? Words have so much power.

Let me just say, I’ve never wanted to kill myself. I’ve been in a horrible place within myself, so many times, and in so many different ways. I’ve thought of death. I’ve thought about what the world would be like here without me (I always came to the conclusion that while it might not make a difference to the world, it most definitely would to the people who love me.) Maybe I’m too big a coward; or maybe the things that I do recognize in life as beautiful are too valuable, too dear, too in need of cherishing, but I do understand depression, anxiety, and self-hate.

Twenty One Pilots has re-awoken that creative part of me that I had given up on. Made me aware of how much my intentional creative constipation was actually hurting me. It feels so good to just do something constructive with my brain. I’m drawing and writing again. I was writing poetry while at work today. Instead of the usual less than positive soundtrack, constructive thoughts filled the time. I’ve even gotten into playing the drums. (Can I just say that literally beating your brain into submission while creating something; especially something that physically alters the air around you and produces such a variety of complex sounds is exhilarating.)

Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun have saved my light. Thank you. I can’t say that I won’t ever get the chance to thank you in person, but here, now, I am nudging your consciousness with my own. I respect you. I see you. Thank you.

‘I know where you stand, silent, in the trees. I want to know you, I want to see, I want to say: hello.’

#cerebral vomit #twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #trees #addict with a pen #kitchen sink #depression #anxiety #eating disorder #adulting #tyler joseph #josh dun #this too shall pass #learning to be true #understanding #thank you #skeleton clique #inspiration #shouting into the void