Emo? Maybe before.
Recently, I’ve heard a lot of people mention how poetry writing and such is something only “emo” people do. It’s really stuck in my head and I started wondering if I was also emo. Looking back at my old pieces, maybe I was, to some degree. To be fair, though, it was real depression and the Zoloft only seemed to worsen things at times. Once I got off the pill, things actually started to improve simply because I was able to get a better grasp on life again.
My late teens was spent, most of the time, feeling really depressed and alone. Once I started writing, I wrote a lot of dark pieces in which I discussed no longer wanting to live and all of that happy material. It was repetitive, but it was honest. I felt like crap. What else should I have written? If I wrote something else, I would have been called “fake”. By being honest, I earned an “emo” label, instead. Catch 22 it seems.
My writing has, undoubtedly, changed over the past year, year and a half. I fought through my depression and moved on to other, larger things. Anger is one of the subjects that I continue to write about. Feeling completely pissed off and wanting to smash your fist through the wall is such a powerfu and pure feeling. While depression often leaves you with nothing, or a scattered collection of too many things, anger helps focus the mind. Considering the stage I’m at in life, most of my pieces now get into the anger somehow. Sure, I have a few poems, here and there, that go into relationships with other people in my life, however, my anger is the demon I always come back to. It was a long battle through my depression and I’m insistent on making it through my anger, also.
So, what does this make? Am I emo because I write about feelings and not things? Maybe, but if that’s the label I have to accept in order to be able to do what I love, then so be it. My writing has been a crutch, a friend, a shield and a helping hand. It’s my passion and my joy. Perhaps I’m terrible at it, perhaps I’m not. Nonetheless, I love it. Call me emo, call me ghetto, call me a wigga, call me whatever you want. I’m okay with it now.
Filed under: Journal
I don’t mind a poem now and then, or some lyrics. Your a technical enthusiast, why not post some techy stuff?
Tony
Because it’s not my passion.
I hate emo.
In fact I nothing emo.
I’ve no problems with getting at your emotions, poems are fine, I write them too, music I can live with, I can even stomach the clothing and makeup.
What really irks me is that the whole movement feels like some sort of mass suicide pact. You’re sad, you’re depressed, you sympathise with the poor people, whatever, we get it, why don’t you do something about it rather than slitting your wrists and whinging about it?
Emotions are what we feel, and that’s fine, because by feeling it, we’re driven to do something, not sit around wearing it like a badge of fashion.
Sorry for the rant…
Oh, well my dress code has never shown me to be emo. I’m good on that front lol.
Don’t put yourself in a box… you’re not emo.