#he's not infallible. he's made so many mistakes in his life. and im not excusing any of them but you know

[pendraegon]

why is pete wentz important to me?? like him, i was a non white kid who grew up in a very white neighborhood in the chicagoland area and it was exhausting and isolating and so so so lonely it could make your teeth hurt. like him, i’m bipolar and no one has ever quite gotten close to describing what my highs and lows are like, but he’s the only one who has gotten close. (do you know what it's like being so so so manic and you know you're not okay and everything rushes around you and you feel like you're on top of the world but you know it's all a lie? an illusion? do you know what it feels like to plummet down so so so so deep and dark and there's nothing but you and that gaping ache inside of you, reminding you just how hollow and fake you are?) like him, i grew up enthralled and obsessed with rock, punk, the hardcore scene of chicago, and there was nothing and no one there for people like me and people who looked like me in a place and sound that i loved more than anything on earth. i saw him reflected in me and in the most non creepy parasocial way possible, he has been one of the most incredible influences of my life. maybe even one of the possible sunshines of my lifetime for all he is still a stranger to me, and i to him.

#for legal reasons as a joke — we’re also both bi. #but he means the WORLD to me. forever and always. #do NOT try to come at me with pete wentz slander i will kill you. sorry for not shutting up about this. im just incredibly annoyed. #he's not infallible. he's made so many mistakes in his life. and im not excusing any of them but you know #i wonder why pete gets SO much virulent hate and always has. might be the racism and ableism. but who knows. not me! #anyways stream mania by american rock band fall out boy (2018). legit life changing fucking album. also stream #their newest album so much (for) stardust. actually stream all their albums they're all so so so so good. i don't know who i'd be or where #i'd be without em. fall out boy forever and ever<3 fall out boy is for lovers<3 #also one last thing: you don't need to like him! you don't need to like fob either! it's just so so so wild the way misinfo about pete #specifically still exists. in fucking 2023. like get a fucking grip babes i was deep in those fucking forums in 2008 i know what's up. #okay. i hope you guys are ready im going to spam patrick images i think. what can i say. i miss them without a concert to look forward to.

[the--sad--hatter]

It's ok if you don't want to answer this but I was wondering what you take meds for? I know you have said you have mental health problems and that you take antipsychotics but I wanted to ask why. Im not trying to be rude or nosey, it's just that I look up to you quite a lot and i have problems as well. Finding out you had to take tablets made me feel a bit better about taking my own. I always felt kind of ashamed about having to take antideppresants but not so much now I know you take stuff too.

I don’t mind answering this at all, especially if someone can relate to it. This is probably going to be a hell of a wordy response though, and may be triggering for some people to read, so proceed with caution guys. 

The story of my mental health is a really long one, and goes back quite far. It goes back to when I was a fetus actually. 

My mother was a drug addict, who used while she was pregnant with me (my dad was unaware of this), and as a result I was born with minor ‘defects’. My lungs didn’t form properly, and a part of my stomach tubing is malformed (We’ll come back to that). During labour, I tore the womb on my way out and nearly killed my mother. 

The trauma of that, as well as her own mental health and addiction issues made it hard for her to bond with me. It’s worth noting that my mum was 19 when I was born, but my dad was 32. They were married about a month before my birth and split up three days later. 

They shared custody for the first year of my life until something went down, but I’m not sure what, and my father took full custody. 

He was a good dad in his defence. He loved me, and did anything he could to keep me safe and happy. But when I was 18 months old, he met another woman and eventually married her. 

My stepmother didn’t want me as a part of her family, but put on a good show for my dad and the rest of the world. Behind closed doors though, she physically and mentally tortured me. The stuff she did to me was vile and it left me quite damaged. 

Because of the stomach deformity, I am prone to vomiting. I was also starved on a regular basis by my stepmother, which left me quite malnourished. I was deathly afraid of her, so when I was sick I didn’t tell anyone because I was afraid of being punished for it. Eventually, I was found out, and my stepmother managed to convince people the vomiting was why I was so skinny. I don’t have a fucking clue how it was never mentioned that I have a hiatus hernia and that’s why I was sick, it was in my medical notes, and I found out when I was 13. 

This kind of stuff continued throughout my childhood. My stepsister had a son when I was 9, and she didn’t really want him, so I had to take care of him. My grandfather died and my granny was very ill, so our living room was turned into a bedroom for her. I nursed her, raised a baby (who called me mum the first time he ever spoke) and all the while I was beaten, starved and tortured. I couldn’t handle it and tried to kill myself when I was 11. 

Because of the suicide attempt, I was put into a childrens home. The abuse could never be proved because the only witness was my stepsister, and she had often joined in so she wasn’t inclined to back me up. My dad decided that he wanted to take his wifes side, and not mine. 

Being in care was not an easy thing, and there was other kinds of abuse to be suffered. Eventually, I snapped. I became incredibly violent, to the point where I can’t excuse the things I did. I would snap, and the people I hurt weren’t always the people trying to hurt me. I hurt innocent people. 

As is the norm, at 16 I was tossed out. I lived in hostels for a while until I managed to get an apartment/flat, but it was in a small town quite a way from the city. I was unable to get help for my mental health, and I declined rapidly. 

That was when i started blacking out. Sometimes it would only be for a few minutes, sometimes it would be for longer. The longest was three days, three days I lost. I once came back to myself while holding a knife to my own chest. I often woke up covered in blood, wounded or miles away from my home. 

That was when I got put in a psychiatric ward where I ended up for a year. 

After being released, I moved 600 miles away to be close to my boyfriend, because he loved me. It was an idiotic thing to do of course, and I quickly learned that once I was there. 

Then my dad had a breakdown, and in the process reached out to me. He ended up on the same ward I had been on and it made him realise the depth of his mistakes. He admitted he knew what had happened to me as a child and he felt guilty. I forgave him, because I’ve fucked up enough in my life to not hold it against someone who truly wants forgiveness. 

My dad got better and moved away from my childhood home, and got a divorce. When he found out I was in an abusive relationship, he drove to England and got me and brought me to live with him. 

I live alone now, and it’s been years since all this happened. But the damage is done, and the wounds aren’t bleeding anymore but they are scarred. There’s much more to it, so much more. There’s the years of self-harming, the singular traumatic events, the betrayals, but I’ve told you the bare bones of my story. 

I could tell you all my diagnoses, list all the damn acronyms, but it wouldn’t explain anything. I struggle to say present in the world, and not disassociate. I have severe anxiety, depression, sleeping problems, paranoia... It’s not exactly shocking.  

What I can tell you is this. I saw my first psychiatrist when I was five years old. I have been seeing them since. I have been to every kind of therapy, taken so many different drugs. It doesn’t always help. But I knew a girl, call her Emily. She was a couple of years older than me, and so much worse. The stuff she had been through made my childhood look idyllic. I had to take her to hospital more than once, I had to talk her off the ledge, pin her to the ground to stop her hurting herself when “they” were trying to get her. 

Emily has a husband and a daughter now. She posted photos on Facebook a couple of weeks ago of her trip to London Comic-Con, her little girl dressed up as Belle. Emily got better. Emily fought for it, she made it, she won and she keeps winning. 

This battle I’ve been fighting my whole life, it IS winnable. 

Take your meds anon, and don’t be ashamed of it. We all have our demons, and they aren’t comparable. We all have our struggles, we all have our own battles. Don’t waste time or energy feeling bad for needing to take a pill to help you fight your fight. If you have a vitamin deficiency, you take vitamins, and if your brain doesn’t produce quite enough serotonin, you take an antidepressant. 

Strength, true strength, is in admitting you need help, be if from a therapist, a pill or a friend. There’s not a single person in the history of humanity who didn’t struggle with something at some point. We are not infallible, we are not unbreakable. Our beauty comes from the way we piece ourselves back together. I’m still working on that part, and I can’t wait to see what I’ll be when I’m finished. The excitement for what i can one day be is far more important than any shame I might feel from needing to take some medication to help me get there. 

Like I said, we all have our battles, and in a battle, you need a weapon. Think of the medication like a blade, stabbing at the demons in your head, and by taking the pills, you’re picking up the sword. 

Don’t be ashamed. Be brave, be beautiful and fight. You’ve got this, and I can’t wait to see what you become one day. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

#Anonymous