No Future.

**** trigger warning, this piece talks about suicide.*** 

I spent most of my adolescence and life not even envisioning a future. No young luscious fantasies of having children, a grand wedding, or a dream job. I had a very nihilistic view of myself getting older, I think in large part because I believed aging wouldn't happen for me. I’ve experienced suicidal ideation many times in my life. It appears like a specter, an all-consuming but also a familiar visitor. This unwelcome guest stays for hours, days, and at worst weeks. 

My first and only actual attempt I remember incredibly vividly. I was in 8th grade and had a field trip to the zoo the next day. On autopilot, I downed as many pills as I could find in our upstairs medicine cabinet. Thankfully it was mostly half-filled bottles of old aspirin that I don't think would have done the job. There was a lot of heavy stuff going on in my life but strangely while taking this drastic action I didn’t even particularly feel sad, more so numb. I can still picture the blue glow coming off the TV in our living room where my mom and sister were curled up on the couch. I walked in and told them I wasn't feeling well and asked my mom if I could sleep in her bed. My mom’s dark and cozy room was the go-to “sick day room”. I wrapped myself in her down comforters, not even processing what I had just done. I can't recall how much time went by but I started feeling sick and got terrified to my core. I got on the floor and prayed I wouldn't die, particularly asking my dead father to help me stay alive. Hella dramatic I know, I was still in catholic school at the time and absolutely believed in the power of prayer. After that intense plea, I went upstairs and started projectile vomiting out every fiber of my being. When there was nothing left to puke, I receded to my bedroom and fell asleep. I didn’t make the field trip the next day but I also didn’t die. It would be months before I told my mom what had happened that night. I was so deeply terrified and ashamed of myself. 

Knowing I needed help, I ended up unintentionally blurting it out at my godmother's house in Staten Island, perhaps subconsciously knowing that it would be easier on my mom if she was with her closest sister. My normally very understanding mother’s reaction surprised the hell out of me. She slapped me, started to cry, and was beyond pissed. None of that made sense at the time and left me feeling absolutely horrible. The big puzzle piece I was missing was that suicide had taken my father’s life. It was understandably much easier to tell my sister and I that he died from a heart attack. Who in their right mind would know how to explain something that complex to children? I still have deep regret telling my mom that. I can't imagine how scary that must have been for her to hear that from her 15-year-old, after already going through it with the person she loved and with whom she had started a family. 

Knowing this information about my father forever changed me. In a weird fucked up way it made me feel closer to him. It also probably saved my life. I never stopped having feelings or thoughts of SI since that first experience. They still pop up and I have a feeling they always will. I think the saving grace for me is knowing fully I would never go through with it. I think it’s also kinda helpful to know other people also struggle with this too. I could never hurt people like that. I lived in the wake and wreckage of my father’s actions and still do. It has absolutely contributed to my issues of self worth, my lack of trust in people, and feelings of abandonment. It's strange to hold in one hand the intense empathy and understanding of his choice and equally in the other a deep anger and resentment towards him. A true lesson in two things can be true at once.

Life did what life does after that fucked up night and continued moving on from there. I started public school the next year. My extremely tall, awkward self, found punk/ska music and a few friends that let me hang around them. Music was the only place that I felt like I heard people expressing the deep emptiness I would experience. I didn't have to talk about it either, I could just listen. Christmas of my freshman year my new friend Brian gave me a copy of “Reconstruction Site” by The Weakerthans. I genuinely still remember the feeling of ripping off the cellophane shrink wrap off and popping the CD in my prized white and orange Sony Discman on the school bus heading home. *** que cliche dramatic coming-of-age movie montage ***

“ And the rent is too high living here between reasons to live

Where you can't sleep alone and your memories groan 

and the borders of night start to give

When you can't save

Cash or conviction, you're broke and you're breaking

A tired shoelace or a wave

So long past past-due, a new name for everything”  

- “A New Name for Everything”  

   J.K Samson

I was completely shook, I didn’t know music like this could exist. I would continue to chase this high the rest of my life. That year, I traded my catholic saints for objectively cooler ones. Ani Difranco, Thursday, Rx Bandits, Rilo Kiley, The Clash, Elliot Smith, and The Weakerthans all became holy figures in my life. They were and continue with others to be one of my greatest tools to combat my dark thoughts.  

I’ve continued to prioritize music more than any kind of stability in my life. I would never wanna miss an opportunity to play. I feel like I owe it so much and in all honesty, it's one of the few things I know I actually love. I also can't pretend I haven't struggled with that choice lately. I just wanna be able to do it, to make better records each time, not lose a ton of money doing it, and hopefully, if I am really lucky, help people like me. I’ve gotten to the point of doing this where all of my peers I came up with have either gotten famous from music or quit to have kids, families, and jobs that actually pay them. There's not a lot of in-between anymore. I’ve kind of just always stayed in the same place or if anything had to start completely over with Gladie. I wonder when I'll know when to stop. I’ve started to feel embarrassed by my desire to prioritize music. Much like all parts of my life, I feel like an outsider/late bloomer in music. I’ve never really been able to get “industry help” and although the punk side of me screams “Who fucking cares you can do it yourself anyway” I’d be a fucking liar if it didn’t make me feel like a failure. I still want to be on some sad kid’s altar of helpers. 

I share all of this painfully embarrassing vulnerable shit now because I don’t think we hear people talk honestly about depression, SI, or even failure a ton on social media. We just see each other's highlight reel. On New Year's Day, I posted a bunch of pictures of my year. It was so fraudulent, not that those moments weren't magical but I've been feeling like absolute dogshit the past two months. I’m perhaps in the midst of one of the worst depressions I’ve had since I was drinking like 5 years ago. I posted it because I wanted people to think my life was cool, that I had my shit together, and to not forget about me. It kinda just made me feel worse. 

I thought because I had put so much work into my mental health the past few years I  would never be back here again but one thing I do know about life at this point is it will surely slap you back to reality when you least expect it. Being an optimist with depression is a funny thing.

The last time I felt this bad I read my friend Niko’s substack about her SI, depression, and sobriety and it gave me a real “listening to John K Samson for the first time on the bus kinda hope.” I have a feeling 2025 is gonna be hard as hell, I would like to start it by being honest even if that honesty is kind of embarrassing. I’m gonna try this year to envision a future. Better late than never?  I love you and if you read this whole thing thank you and also sorry haha. Stay alive. <3