Scott Hutchison

The first song I ever heard by Frightened Rabbit was “Poke”, and it was just this huge surprise to me – I’ll never forget that first listen. The melody, his voice and god, the lyrics. Honest and brutal in the most beautiful way, I was speechless. Still am to this day.
Please take a few minutes of your time to listen to the beauty of this song.

Lead singer Scott was reported missing a few days ago in a really fragile state of mind… he was found last night, but not how we were hoping.

Following a couple of difficult anxiety days, May 10th was particularly really bad.

Difficult gets bad gets even worse…

I just feel sick to my fucking stomach. After the awful day I had, it felt like a kick in the gut seeing this. I broke into tears and just kept sobbing “no, please, no” over and over and over again.

Devastated. Gutted. Heartbroken. You name it, I’m feeling it. But I’m also really fucking angry. Not at Scott – never at him, but at the lack of knowledge, compassion and understanding surrounding mental illness and suicide. I’m so angry that we lost this beautiful fucking man because he couldn’t believe he was worth it, in getting help. The stigma is a disgrace.

This man and his music has been a constant in my life for almost 10 years now. Almost a fucking decade of my life, music – his music – was there for me when no one else was. Scott had a voice and platform to speak from and he did. The beauty and honesty in his words is what has kept myself and so many other fans going in our darkest moments. It’s so hard to wrap my head around it – same with Chris and Chester; how they save lives with their words, not wanting anyone to feel alone in their struggles… but they couldn’t really see it for themselves. It’s common sadly, I guess, not being able to take your own advice. I know I’ve been guilty of that. We’re human and we’re all different, but we’re not unique in the fact that we all struggle; in different ways and to different degrees.

Scott Hutchison… being able to have met and have a conversation with you, to see you perform live, was a privilege I will cherish every day. And I’m sorry you were in so much pain. You are so, so loved & missed. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your talent and helping me feel a little more understood and less alone in the world. Thank you for everything. ♡

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Summer Pop-Punk Days | June Gloom + July Sunshine | Hungover Love (poems)

Proud to have three of my poems published in my friend Jen Roomes’ kickass zine crapnation!

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Mental Health Recovery: be yourself – flatsound

by
“And to all the self-destructive people who feel they’ll never be themselves again,
just know I understand that self-inflicted pain is self-defense.
So don’t sell yourself short or label yourself as stupid,
because when you’ve hit rock bottom
every movement is a self-improvement.” 

I have been a fan of Mitch Welling, aka flatsound, for a few years now. The guy just has a way with words that is so unique and often hits you like a ton of bricks. He gets into your mind and heart and his words have been an incredible help and comfort to me over the years.

This particular spoken word poem of his, “be yourself” is really special. I usually end up listening to his words and songs every day, but this one in particular is very important to me. I wish I had even half of his talent.

My Last Day of 22

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“Amazing, still it seems, I’ll be 23.
I won’t always love what I’ll never have.
I won’t always live in my regrets.”
23 – Jimmy Eat World

It’s my last day of 22. Half of it I spent sleeping, wanting to experience as little of the day as possible. I’ll do the same tomorrow. But I’m tired of it – of not living.

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This song, by a band very important to me that I grew up with, has been on my mind lately. For obvious reasons. It’s called 23 and tomorrow that’s how old I’ll be. I want this song to motivate me.  I want it to be a part of what gets me to really start living.

Because I have more bad days than good. And some days I can’t even get out of bed. Normal, every-day activities wear me out and I’m tired of wishing my life would just change magically. I know I have to do something about it. It has to be me. I can’t sit around waiting for someone to save me from my loneliness.

And I have been slowly making changes. Slowly but surely. DBT was a huge step for me. I’m writing a book. I’m submitting my writings to different magazines and sites – I’m no longer living stagnant.

I’m in need of a friend – of people – who understand. Where I’ve been, where I need to go. Because I can’t do this alone.

Scars Are Souvenirs You Never Lose

“Scars are souvenirs you never lose; the past is never far.” IMG_20151021_190542734 2
From my art journal – “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls.
I grew up listening to this band. Name had always been one of my favourite songs, but it wasn’t until I started self-harming that it took on a whole new meaning for me, became one of the most special songs in my heart to this day.

I’m very back-and-forth on my scars. On one hand, they’re a reminder of what not to do again, proof I’ve held on this long. But on the other hand, I fucking hate them – they’re a reminder that I was ever so weak to do such a stupid thing, and now I have to live with the physical proof.

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“Cut” by Plumb.
“I’m not a stranger – no, I am yours. With crippled anger and tears that still drip sore. I may seem crazy or painfully shy. And these scars wouldn’t be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye. […] but the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside.”
Another song that’s in that special, tragic place in my heart. I remember so vividly the first time I ever heard it. It was just a few months after my parents found out about my self-harming, in 2006, 12 years old. The way they reacted and dealt with it was totally wrong. And hearing this song for that first time just broke me, saying what I couldn’t.

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And of course, this quote from The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides.
“What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”
“Obviously, doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year old girl.” 

And over the last decade I’ve relapsed and just keep adding to them. Like I said – always recovering, never recovered. 

I’m never not aware of them. I never forget. Some days are easier to deal with – like, this is me, this is my body and my scars and it’s okay because I’m still here. Some days, I just want to hide, they’re ugly and forever a part of me and I hate them.

I don’t want to be ashamed of myself; my mental illness, my body. Every day is a fight to do the right thing.

I am in recovery. I am a work in progress. And I’m still working on being okay with that.

The Power of Music

Like many others, I grew up with music as a huge part of my life.But it was always different for me than the kids I grew up with. With my dad as a musician, I was exposed to all kinds of music and I started playing guitar when I was 10. That’s when I realized just how important it was to me. It simply became a part of who I was. I found it was the best thing I had to express myself, along with writing.

I was 11 when music first started saving my life. Diagnosed with depression, the only thing that kept me sane, that kept me going, was music.

All I cared about was my guitar and going to shows. Those were the only times I never felt truly alone; my guitar, a pen and some paper, or the stereo on full blast; or being in a room surrounded by other people who feel the exact same as you, are there for the same reasons, and the band giving back just as much as we gave them.
To this day, I never feel more alive than in a crowd, all of us pouring our hearts out with the band onstage. It’s really the only time I really feel understood and that comfort is what keeps me going.

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One of the best quotes I’ve come across that really hit me, as shown above from one of my art journals, came from Soupy of The Wonder Years:

“There’s a reason we all listen to punk rock instead of Top 40. There’s a reason I’d rather be stage-diving than at a bar. I think that most everyone I know involved in punk or hardcore is intrinsically fucked up on some level. There’s something wrong with us. Maybe not “wrong”, but certainly different. Because of this, I think we all share a similar outlook and because of that, we share similar experiences. I’m just writing songs about my life, but as it turns out, my life is pretty similar to others and honestly, it feels good to know we’re in this shit together.”

I remember so clearly the first time I experienced this rush and contentment, the first time I was ever in a mosh pit. 2006, 12 years old, with my cousin (who I’d had this shitty all-girl punk band with) where we saw From First to Last and Fall Out Boy. I’d been to shows before of course, but this was the first time I was ever in the pit. I was immediately addicted to the energy.

I miss those days. Yeah, I was going through some rough shit but, for at least those first couple years, I had this outlet that I shared with my cousin; our band. I lived for practices and performing. I continued playing my own music after the band “broke up”, of course, but I’ll always hold those days as some of the best in my life.

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I can’t imagine my life without music. What’s it’s done for me. Punk, especially.

I was 11 the first time music saved my life and it’s been saving me ever since.