Maggie’s letter

Maggie

Age 15

Kansas, United States

I discovered MCR at age thirteen, right before the release of The Black Parade. It was a really dark time for me, and I honestly didn’t start liking them right away- I didn’t care much about anything. I was finally diagnosed with clinical depression at fourteen- I’d lived with it all my life without treatment, help, or understanding. I was always isolated as a kid. Everyone, as early as the first grade, had made an inadvertent plan to befriend me temporarily, steal my trust, and then completely crush me. Maybe it was intentional, maybe not. I’ll probably never know now. Because of this, I had social paranoia as well, and an extreme distrust of people, even my parents and therapist. I’d always been a bit heftier than the other girls my age, as well. I struggled with binge eating, and then making myself vomit. I didn’t know at the time it was called bulimia. I was put on a cacophony of medications, one after the other, none working. Something finally snapped inside me after the umpteenth failed treatment. I decided I was sick of it- living. I would hang myself. I had no access to razors large enough to slit my wrists. I had no pills to overdose on within my reach. But what I did have were belts. Thick, strong belts. And a fire-escape grate outside my basement window. I had selected belts and tied them together. I had written a note telling my parents I loved them and that I was sorry I had burdened them so long. I had music playing in the background, but I hadn’t really been listening to it. Then, Famous Last Words came on full blast. I had never truly listened to the words, felt them. I knew them by heart, but never actually connected them to myself. I sat down and just listened to the chorus of “I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone” and I broke down. I tore up my note and flushed it. I put the belts back in the closet. I played it over and over again, curled up on the floor sobbing in… relief, I suppose. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t better. I’m still not better. I’m recovering from anorexia and I still have lingering depression. But I am “awake and unafraid” for the first time ever. I know this may sound cheesy or clichéd, but this is my life, and I still have it, thanks to My Chemical Romance. I’ve told what I know. I know that MCR is uplifting, not an ‘emo cult.’ I know that they saved my life. And I know that I will never be able to thank them enough.

<3