Hurricane

March 2005

Pete Wentz was like a hurricane--destroying everything in his path. Or stirring things up so much and so often that you didn't know how things were going to turn out. Pete was completely unpredictable. Often, just as things would get settled, Pete would stir things up yet again.

When I first met him, though, I wouldn’t have believed anyone who told me that Pete was capable of making my life worse than it already was. When I first met Pete all I could see was a smart, kind man. Not someone capable of destruction.

But even after all of the destruction, I still didn’t regret any of it. It was safe to say that Pete was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

So let’s back it up a bit. To before I met Pete.

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There were two things that I could not stand: My parents and Chicago. My parents—well, they didn’t care about what I wanted. They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, you know the usual jobs. But I had wanted to sing. So I had left my home, which was in Chicago, and moved to New York to try and make it. Things had been rough at first. But then I had landed a leading role in a Broadway musical. Broadway. I had never been more thrilled.

But then—the day before opening night, they closed the show. There wasn’t enough interest. Jobless and broke, I could have looked for more work. But that had been kind of a big blow to me. Here I thought that this was going to be my big break, but I didn’t even get a chance to even make myself slightly known.

I don’t know why I took this misfortune as such a big deal. I guess living like I had had finally gotten to me. I had tried out for so many different things and when I finally get a chance, it was ripped away from me.

So that night, I took what little money I had and went to the nearest drugstore, and purchased some over-the-counter sleep medication. I don’t remember much after that. I hadn’t been thinking clearly to be honest. But I do remember sitting in my rat infested New York City apartment, taking pill after pill, until there weren’t any left. And I remember lying down on my bed, closing my eyes—ready to sleep.

I don’t know who found me, but when I woke up I was in the hospital—and my parents were there. I knew what was going to happen next before the words left their mouths. Twenty-three years old and I had to live with my parents. I could see the “I told you so’s” that they wanted to say hiding behind their caring expressions.

I didn’t look at them as they told me I’d have to go home with them. I stared out the window, not really looking at anything. Not the slushy streets. Not the gray sky. I couldn’t see any of that. Tears clouded my vision and all I could think of was how much I hated whoever it was that found me. Why couldn’t they have left me alone?

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The trip to Chicago was silent. Well, as silent as a plane ride could be. There was plenty of other noises, but my parents who sat on either side of me were silent. I knew they were disappointed, and again I longed for that never-ending sleep. Anything would be better than this.

And if I had thought that things couldn’t be worse, I was wrong. My doctor wanted me to start seeing a therapist. A therapist! Sure, I had problems, but the last thing I wanted to do was talk to someone about them.

But one good thing did come from all of this—Pete. As we got closer to Chicago, no one was aware that two hurricanes were moving towards each other, threatening the surroundings of those we cared about. I know that I said that Pete destroyed everything—but that was a lie. I was part of this. And maybe I’m over-exaggerating by saying that things were destroyed. But things did get pretty bad.

And maybe Pete didn’t make my life worse. He was only trying to help. He tried to make my life so much better—he tried so hard. And it worked for a little while. But as I always say, good things don’t last forever.