Have Kids, Then We'll Talk

I saw my name in a gossip magazine today.

Madelyn; Way out of Control- is what it said.

A bad pun to my last name. Way. A name burnt into my very existence and known across the world, but it does not define who I am. It was just a name given to me by the man I call my father. Of course you know who my father is, otherwise, how else did my name turn up in a magazine? Mikey Way, Bassist of that band. Quiet and shy- but you don’t know him like I do. What about my mother? Well, she’s just the girl who married the rockstar. Don’t even start to think you know me from what you read.

Let me begin by telling you, that magazines lie. I'm sick of seeing my names and their bullshit articles about me an my life. Don't believe what they say, and let me tell you myself. My name, Madelyn Elena Way. Of course, the middle name came from my fathers late Grandma- I've heard about her a million times. I told him he was being cliche. Although I guess because I am the only female Way, the name was a must.

You know what, maybe the magazines are right... just a little. Maybe I am out of control, but they make me out as some horribly selfish rich Daddy’s girl, and think they know who I am. The dark haired daughter of that bassist who’s stuck up, but they don’t know my personal hell or what it's like to live under my Dad's constant watch- just what I had for lunch.

Instead, forget about my freakishly thin body, I consider it a curse from both my parents. Forget about the complexion of my mother and these ocean orbs that are my eyes, or the talent I inherited from my father. Lastly, forget what you read about me. I’m just another misunderstood teenager trying to hold up under pressure, the girl searching for her place in the world. The rebel child your mother warned you about, who sneaks out her bedroom window at nights to escape the protective prison built for her.

Now, I understand that all children are brought up in protective environments built for them by their parents. My parents protection is my own hell, brought on from a life of bright lights and loud music. I was born into a world where thousands of people already knew my name and I grew up around artists, who had fans, who think they know everything about me- even down to the lip ring I got on the morning of my sixteenth birthday, just to piss my father off.

I came into the world earlier than expected, surprising both my parents and the doctors who saved my life. Because of that, I am constantly watched since my Dad has this weird theory I'm bound to kill myself. It feels like I am trapped inside these walls of my own home, with a father who is to afraid to let me out at night in the fear of being called by the cops the next morning after finding me dead in a gutter. Raped, drugged and murdered in the dark of night on the dangerous streets of New York. It comes with being an only child. If only my mother didn’t believe in birth control.

Now don’t get me wrong, I know that both my parents love me. They are just like any other parents, loving and caring. But how can they expect me to still I find my place in the world, when the won't even allow me to experience it to begin with?

I guess you could say that, that is my reason to misbehave and do the opposite of my fathers wishes. He says I am a breaker of the rules imposed upon me- and he hates it. If you say: Don’t do it. I’ll say; Fuck Off. When you say: Stop. I’ll say: Go. I am a walking contradiction- and that’s where Jared comes into play. Jared Way, my younger cousin always there to keep my in line and out of my father’s fury, and probably one of few people who understand me.

I just want to prove to the world that I can take care of myself, and for the magazines to stop bashing my name . I don’t need to constantly be watched, not by the public and not by my father. All I want is to live my life the way I want it... and I guess that's just what we all want, huh? To prove ourselves to the world (aswell as our parents,) and find our place; where we belong. To break away from that stereotype placed upon us and the expectations of what we should be; compared to what we are. Because in the end, we are everything our parents hated about themselves.

So don’t put your faith in me, I’ll only let you down too.