Shine for Us
Enter Heart-Felt Title Here
Where do I begin? When I decided to be apart of this, I never really knew what I was getting myself into, emotionally. Now I’m not one who likes to show feelings or talk about my beliefs, but I definitely feel like this is something I need to invest in. But where do I begin? I sit here with dirt underneath my fingernails, smoke fuming from the ashtray, and Siren’s Sister blaring from the speakers of my laptop. Thoughts are swarming, but I’m struggling to figure out the perfect words that would completely entice you and capture your every bit of attention. Fuck it.
Growing up in one of the worst towns in the state, I was a child who was completely oblivious to my surroundings. Hearing gunshots in our neighborhood was like hearing planes passing over our heads. It seemed my parents and siblings were invited to more funerals than birthday parties, but I never really knew the faces that were disappearing. Nor did I even really care, to be honest with you. I still had fun in my front yard playing with dolls and pretending that I was Simba and my brother was Mufasa. We were always in our own little world. Seems like some sort of dark satire, doesn’t it?
My grandmother died when I was seven, I believe. I vaguely remember her as a person, but I remember the day my mother lost a part of her. A year or so later, my sister got pregnant and moved to California beause my parents either couldn’t handle it or couldn’t financially substain it. Maybe both. Soon after that, while in his room, my brother shot and accidentally killed his best friend. He was sentenced to prison for six years.
Faces continued to disappear. Mom, why are you crying so much? Can you lay down with me for a little while longer? Stop locking yourself in your room, I need you right now…
I guess it really took a toll on her, because we packed up all of our stuff and moved to California just a few months later. From then on, I was leading a different life. The people were more oblivious to tragedy and sorrow. Fights were less than existant. There were no gunshots or ambulance sirens, just birds chirping and the sounds of kids playing soccer in the grassy fields. It was weird to me.
Through these events, I’ve been diagnosed with PTS: Post-Traumatic Syndrome. It’s effected my speech, social skills, and way of thinking. I have but only a few acquaintances. Boyfriends aren’t a factor in my life because I don’t know how to be that way towards the opposite sex. All I know is what I’ve always done when things were on hiatus: write. Literature, art, and music were the only things that got me through middle and high school.
I was beat up, singled out, and never liked because of my awkward appearance and fascination with privacy. Thoughts and situations would develop in my head and I would respond to them verbally. Some people thought I was crazy, others thought I had an overly imaginative mind. Whatever the case, I was pulled out from regular class to speak with some lady and talk about my thoughts. Then we’d play board games. For a while, I thought she was my friend who actually cared about what I had to say and thought I was the most interesting person alive. Then, as I changed schools, they were always different people that seemed to have just picked up where the last one left off. I grew to understand that they weren’t just ‘overly nice people’. They were therapists assigned to evaluate me for ‘traumatic therapy’.
When I was in my mid-teens, I developed depression and began hating everything and everyone around me. They only wanted to hurt me. They’re setting me up for failure. Whenever I wore something they thought was ugly, they’d make sure I knew just how much they hated it. My shit was always sabotaged and stolen. I’d get publically humiliated in class and people would offend me in front of teachers that would do nothing about it.I began drinking heavily and smoking pot. Self mutilation got out every bit of aggression. If a razorblade was too rusted, I’d clip my skin with scissors.
One summer day, I was drunk at somebody’s house and swallowed over 2,500MG’s of Vicodin, smoked three bowls of pot, and passed out in their front yard. When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I staggered over to my friends front lawn down the street and passed out . After that, I tried to get sober myself so I locked myself away in my apartment for a week. I was never so sick in my life. I was angry, bloated, shaky, and anxious. Music was playing day and fucking night. ‘Dark Light’, ‘Decomposer’, ‘The Black Parade’, ‘Between the Never and the Now’, ‘Dark Light’, ‘Decomposer’, ‘ The Black Parade’, ‘Between the Never and the Now’… I didn’t care about anything else. I surrounded myself with what I was the most familiar with. I just repeated the same thing for days on end.
Finally, I decided that I couldn’t do it alone and told my mom. She came down the same night and got me. I went into therapy and have been sober for nearly 5 months. You know what got me through it all? Listening to music and realizing that my dreams are worth more than pissing them away with senseless suicidal thoughts. I no longer need Effexor to make me smile. I had my support system right there in my stereo.
I watched that documentary on YouTube that you guys did. Shawn – you said you wanted to know about your fans. What other bands they like, what movies they like, what art they appreciate. Well, let me tell you. I’m in love with HIM, Selena, My Chemical Romance, Vendetta Red, Deftones, The Crimea, Shipping News, Sirens Sister, Jolie Holland, & Monty Are I. I’d say my all-time favorite movie is pretty hard to determine. But my top 3 are probably The Boondock Saints, Gossip, and A Clockwork Orange. I could wath all three of them back-to-back for days. As for art, I appreciate anything that keeps my mind busy. With anything in life, I’m not the type who’s able to just sit in a room and focus. I’m rather poor at math, easily bored, and rapidly impatient.
The way you guys have inspired me is probably enough to make me cry. I’m a bit teary as I write this, but you guys have showed me how to be myself with no regrets. I now embrace every opportunity with my hands searching for the sun. There is no dark satire in my life and I hardly even remem ber all the bad shit I’ve done. Jon, you made me laugh back in 2005 when I was on my wit’s end with life. You made me feel like I was important and that you really appreciated me when I said, ‘I love your band’. You will NEVER understand how much that hug you gave me has opened my eyes. Matt, when I first beame a journalist, you opened my eyes to believing that it’s okay to sometimes not know things, but to ask questions. Now, I get offers from WB Records and am pulling in requests for interviews like crazy. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be sitting in the corner scratching my head wondering when the right time would be to approach a musician for an interview. Justin, I never had the chance to talk to you, but my best friend says that you’re one of his favorite bassists and that he absolutely loves your bass lines. He actually told you once that you inspire him. Don’t forget how special you are, even though you’re not longer an actual member, you’re still apart of us.
And Shawn. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have begun drawing again. Before I gave a fuck who the Matches were, I was going to settle into being a graphic designer; which I would never consider being. Then reading interviews, seeing you in action, and listening to your fulfilling words, I’m now going to cosmetology school, working as a part-time journalist, as well as apprentacing to be a tattoo artist. Everyday, people tell me, ‘You can’t do all of that! You have to pick one thing!’ Whenever people try to bring me down about the way I look, the way I dress, the way I think, or the way I want to live, I just say, “Shawn would think I’m fucking cool.” And I’m happy again. And I apologize first-hand for whenever we meet, the only thing I have to say is, “Can I touch your chest hair?” I’m not one for sappy conversations right off the bat. (Tell me you remember me.) I don’t rely on sentimental conversation. I’d much rather make a person laugh, then to put a lump in their throat. Anyway, I just thought you guys should know, if I didn’t have The Matches in my life…I’d never be as happy as I am today. Thank you.
Growing up in one of the worst towns in the state, I was a child who was completely oblivious to my surroundings. Hearing gunshots in our neighborhood was like hearing planes passing over our heads. It seemed my parents and siblings were invited to more funerals than birthday parties, but I never really knew the faces that were disappearing. Nor did I even really care, to be honest with you. I still had fun in my front yard playing with dolls and pretending that I was Simba and my brother was Mufasa. We were always in our own little world. Seems like some sort of dark satire, doesn’t it?
My grandmother died when I was seven, I believe. I vaguely remember her as a person, but I remember the day my mother lost a part of her. A year or so later, my sister got pregnant and moved to California beause my parents either couldn’t handle it or couldn’t financially substain it. Maybe both. Soon after that, while in his room, my brother shot and accidentally killed his best friend. He was sentenced to prison for six years.
Faces continued to disappear. Mom, why are you crying so much? Can you lay down with me for a little while longer? Stop locking yourself in your room, I need you right now…
I guess it really took a toll on her, because we packed up all of our stuff and moved to California just a few months later. From then on, I was leading a different life. The people were more oblivious to tragedy and sorrow. Fights were less than existant. There were no gunshots or ambulance sirens, just birds chirping and the sounds of kids playing soccer in the grassy fields. It was weird to me.
Through these events, I’ve been diagnosed with PTS: Post-Traumatic Syndrome. It’s effected my speech, social skills, and way of thinking. I have but only a few acquaintances. Boyfriends aren’t a factor in my life because I don’t know how to be that way towards the opposite sex. All I know is what I’ve always done when things were on hiatus: write. Literature, art, and music were the only things that got me through middle and high school.
I was beat up, singled out, and never liked because of my awkward appearance and fascination with privacy. Thoughts and situations would develop in my head and I would respond to them verbally. Some people thought I was crazy, others thought I had an overly imaginative mind. Whatever the case, I was pulled out from regular class to speak with some lady and talk about my thoughts. Then we’d play board games. For a while, I thought she was my friend who actually cared about what I had to say and thought I was the most interesting person alive. Then, as I changed schools, they were always different people that seemed to have just picked up where the last one left off. I grew to understand that they weren’t just ‘overly nice people’. They were therapists assigned to evaluate me for ‘traumatic therapy’.
When I was in my mid-teens, I developed depression and began hating everything and everyone around me. They only wanted to hurt me. They’re setting me up for failure. Whenever I wore something they thought was ugly, they’d make sure I knew just how much they hated it. My shit was always sabotaged and stolen. I’d get publically humiliated in class and people would offend me in front of teachers that would do nothing about it.I began drinking heavily and smoking pot. Self mutilation got out every bit of aggression. If a razorblade was too rusted, I’d clip my skin with scissors.
One summer day, I was drunk at somebody’s house and swallowed over 2,500MG’s of Vicodin, smoked three bowls of pot, and passed out in their front yard. When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I staggered over to my friends front lawn down the street and passed out . After that, I tried to get sober myself so I locked myself away in my apartment for a week. I was never so sick in my life. I was angry, bloated, shaky, and anxious. Music was playing day and fucking night. ‘Dark Light’, ‘Decomposer’, ‘The Black Parade’, ‘Between the Never and the Now’, ‘Dark Light’, ‘Decomposer’, ‘ The Black Parade’, ‘Between the Never and the Now’… I didn’t care about anything else. I surrounded myself with what I was the most familiar with. I just repeated the same thing for days on end.
Finally, I decided that I couldn’t do it alone and told my mom. She came down the same night and got me. I went into therapy and have been sober for nearly 5 months. You know what got me through it all? Listening to music and realizing that my dreams are worth more than pissing them away with senseless suicidal thoughts. I no longer need Effexor to make me smile. I had my support system right there in my stereo.
I watched that documentary on YouTube that you guys did. Shawn – you said you wanted to know about your fans. What other bands they like, what movies they like, what art they appreciate. Well, let me tell you. I’m in love with HIM, Selena, My Chemical Romance, Vendetta Red, Deftones, The Crimea, Shipping News, Sirens Sister, Jolie Holland, & Monty Are I. I’d say my all-time favorite movie is pretty hard to determine. But my top 3 are probably The Boondock Saints, Gossip, and A Clockwork Orange. I could wath all three of them back-to-back for days. As for art, I appreciate anything that keeps my mind busy. With anything in life, I’m not the type who’s able to just sit in a room and focus. I’m rather poor at math, easily bored, and rapidly impatient.
The way you guys have inspired me is probably enough to make me cry. I’m a bit teary as I write this, but you guys have showed me how to be myself with no regrets. I now embrace every opportunity with my hands searching for the sun. There is no dark satire in my life and I hardly even remem ber all the bad shit I’ve done. Jon, you made me laugh back in 2005 when I was on my wit’s end with life. You made me feel like I was important and that you really appreciated me when I said, ‘I love your band’. You will NEVER understand how much that hug you gave me has opened my eyes. Matt, when I first beame a journalist, you opened my eyes to believing that it’s okay to sometimes not know things, but to ask questions. Now, I get offers from WB Records and am pulling in requests for interviews like crazy. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be sitting in the corner scratching my head wondering when the right time would be to approach a musician for an interview. Justin, I never had the chance to talk to you, but my best friend says that you’re one of his favorite bassists and that he absolutely loves your bass lines. He actually told you once that you inspire him. Don’t forget how special you are, even though you’re not longer an actual member, you’re still apart of us.
And Shawn. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have begun drawing again. Before I gave a fuck who the Matches were, I was going to settle into being a graphic designer; which I would never consider being. Then reading interviews, seeing you in action, and listening to your fulfilling words, I’m now going to cosmetology school, working as a part-time journalist, as well as apprentacing to be a tattoo artist. Everyday, people tell me, ‘You can’t do all of that! You have to pick one thing!’ Whenever people try to bring me down about the way I look, the way I dress, the way I think, or the way I want to live, I just say, “Shawn would think I’m fucking cool.” And I’m happy again. And I apologize first-hand for whenever we meet, the only thing I have to say is, “Can I touch your chest hair?” I’m not one for sappy conversations right off the bat. (Tell me you remember me.) I don’t rely on sentimental conversation. I’d much rather make a person laugh, then to put a lump in their throat. Anyway, I just thought you guys should know, if I didn’t have The Matches in my life…I’d never be as happy as I am today. Thank you.