Affliction
by Ian Gill
High school is a time when many of the nation’s youth may feel alienated by others. I, like many, experienced this firsthand, but until the fall of junior year, found no way to cope.
It was around the end of September when my friends and I started thinking about Halloween. We planned to get together and hang out, and possibly go to a haunted house. However, there was one problem. What’s the point of attending Halloween festivities without a costume? I had absolutely no idea what to dress as; everything I thought up was either overly difficult or just plain stupid. I needed a costume that I could really pull off, something that I could not only dress as, but become.
And then, it dawned on me. I would be an emo kid.
For those not acquainted with the terminology, emo is a sort of culture based around a genre of music. You’ve probably seen them; they’re the ones in the tight, black clothing that are known for being introverted, quiet, and overly emotional. They have black-rimmed glasses and even blacker hair that often covers one of their eyes.
Aside from their unique appearance, emo kids stereotypically have a disposition they must adhere to. “Emo” is short for “emotional,” which pretty much sums up this disposition. Emo kids are supposed to be constantly depressed, sensitive, cry a lot, and cope with their sadness through self-mutilation.
By this point, you might be thinking, “But Ian, everybody makes fun of emo kids! Where is the originality? What sets you apart from all the other people that will be doing this?”
I apologize if my intention was unclear. I would just like to straighten this out: throughout my entire endeavor, I meant no disrespect to anybody. In fact, it was quite the opposite; I wanted to better understand them, and the only way I could do it and seem like I wasn’t serious was Halloween. As a person prone to depression, I have often felt the need to put up a façade to hide my true feelings. A chance for self-expression presented itself to me, and I took it.
This was now my mission: I would immerse myself in their culture and truly experience what it is to be like them. Using Halloween as a cover to hide my true intent, I would explore my own alienation and inner torment.
At the time, I was taking art classes with some of my friends. Our instructor, Ashley (who became my emo mentor as well as art teacher), told me that every emo kid needs to know how to write poetry. My poetic ability is equivalent to my archery prowess; I tried it a couple times, and I was awful at it. However, I quickly learned one doesn’t need the skill of say, Robert Frost, William Blake, or Eazy-E, to write emo poetry. In fact, it’s quite formulaic.
First, you start with a word or phrase that reveals some sort of insight into how depressed you are. Affliction
Next, you elaborate on the aforementioned word/phrase. In the throes of torment, I wail of tribulation.
Finally, end with a phrase that may or may not have any literal connection to the rest of the poem. However, it must keep with the spirit of the poem. Torrential rains; stifling; darkness; death.
Put them together, and voila! A poem to express the pain that permeates my being.
Affliction
In the throes of torment, I wail of tribulation.
Torrential rains; stifling; darkness; death
I tend to use semicolons gratuitously in my writing, but now I have an excuse! It’s artistic!
Music
Music is one of the cornerstones of emo culture; thus, in order to truly transform, I needed to familiarize myself with it.
However, my desire for acceptance and understanding from the world wasn’t worth spending money on, so I went the cheap route: the Internet. I downloaded the song One-Armed Scissor by At The Drive In, one of the quintessential emo bands. My familiarity with this genre was scarce, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
Yes this is the campaign Dissect a trillion sighs away
Slithered entrails Will you get this letter
In the cargo bay Jagged pulp sliced in my veins
A neutered is the vastness I write to remember
Hallow vacuum check the 'Cause I'm a million miles away
Pucker up and kiss the asphalt now
Splintered larynx Send transmission to
Words cannot describe my reaction to this particular genre of music. Pain? Confusion? Angst? With unintelligible lyrics and a melody reminiscent of cattle being crushed by a train, I realized why depression is the staple emotion of the emo kid.
Clothing
Because of my failure to appreciate emo music, I needed to compensate by excelling at another category. I chose clothing.
One of my female friends volunteered to help me on my quest; together, we made a journey to Buffalo Exchange on Telegraph Ave. to purchase an outfit. I will never forget the conversation that took place as we entered the store.
“Ian, what pant size do you wear?”
“I think it’s a 32 x 34.”
“No, in girls. What size do you wear in girls?”
As my eyes froze open in horror, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the ladies section. She draped pants of differing sizes and types across my arms. With a look of embarrassment plastered on my face, I slowly approached the fitting rooms.
“How many?” asked the attendant, eyeing the large pile of pants draped over my left arm.
“…6.” She handed me a card with the number on it without batting an eyelash.
I entered the fitting stall and closed the curtain. I’m about to try on women’s clothing.
“Ian? How do they fit?” called a voice from the other side of the curtain.
“They’re a bit…small.”
“Too small?”
“Let’s just say they’re a bit constricting.”
After finding a suitable pair of pants (tight and black), I was relieved to approach the men’s side of the store. I needed a t-shirt to go with my ensemble. My eyes lit up when I came across an At The Drive In shirt, but to my dismay, my stylist didn’t approve.
“How about this one? They’re an emo band.”
“Ian, you have a lot to learn. See the size? What does it say?”
“Medium. I wear a medium.”
“No. You wear a small.”
Dismayed, I resumed leafing through the shirt rack. Luckily, I found something almost as good; a tight, black t-shirt of a band I had never heard of before, Blood Has Been Shed.
After picking up some other mandatory accessories, such as black boxers and a black studded belt, I needed one more thing: glasses.
The definitive emo glasses are black-rimmed and square shaped, like Elvis Costello’s. I lacked the money to purchase an actual pair of glasses, so I went to the 1-dollar store and bought a pair of reading glasses that, strangely, cost $5. After punching out the lenses, I was ready for the test.
The Big Day
After pulling on my suit of armor and suitably covering one eye with my hair (with the assistance of copious amounts of hair gel), I prepared mentally for what the day could entail. It’s Halloween, so I won’t get dumped in a trashcan by football players, right?
I walked onto the bus that morning in my outfit, and aside from a few strange looks and a few compliments, nothing consequential occurred until the bell rang at the end of 2nd period. On the way out, I overheard a girl talking to some of her friends.
“Another emo kid? Ugh, it’s so overdone. I mean, my friend, like, made a huge razorblade out of cardboard and painted his wrists red. LOL!”
Bitch, I thought. She’s just ignorant, don’t worry, she doesn’t understand my pain.
The highlight of the day came during 5th period. As I entered the class and sat down, the girl that sat next to me told me something.
“So, I was walking with my friend in the hall and we saw you, and he thought you were serious. He actually said that you were stealing his style.”
Me? Stealing his style? Not only did I pull off the outfit, I managed to threaten an actual emo kid with my excellent emoness. Mission accomplished.
In the time since that momentous journey, I have gradually moved farther away from emo. As much as I enjoyed wearing the costume, I can no longer really identify with it. I’ve become happier with the things that life has to offer, and I no longer can see myself as that troubled young man who undertook a journey for self-acceptance.
But, in the event that life starts to get me down, I can always reach into the back of my dresser and relive the magic.