New york memes deadass

A person's personal history of the 1975

2019.03.11 05:35 deartrudence A person's personal history of the 1975

It wasn’t until when the third album came out that I deliberately listened to any of their music. To give it some context: it was October 2018, I was in my freshman year dormitory, at the University of Notre Dame, when I first read the New York Times interview. I was pretty immediately hooked. I remember talking to my roommate about the band, and once I realized she was also a fan, felt like it could be something more interesting than I thought. When the Sincerity is Scary video dropped, I vividly remember sitting on my bed, in a dorm room that didn’t have proper heating, feeling that the video was the most thrilling intersection of video and music I had ever seen. When the album dropped at midnight on the last day of November, I left my room at midnight with just my phone and my headphones with the album downloaded to walk around campus listening to it.
And holy shit. I don’t even remember where I walked or what I was wearing or when I came back to the room. All I remember was that I kept trying to turn up the volume on my phone even when it was at its maximum. It might have been because of the cold, but during every song feeling as though I was experiencing some out of body experience; even though I could see the world around me I was in a transient atmosphere that would’ve rendered me invisible to anyone walking past. When the album ended, I felt as though I had woken up from a dream, and that sounds like an exaggeration, but when I took my headphones out and looked at something besides the ground, I was almost confused at how I got to where I was, considering for a moment that I had slept walked there. To be honest the feeling was so uncomfortable, that I turned the album over again just to get back to how I felt before, as if I had accidentally woken up and had pulled the covers back over my head to try to fall asleep again. That next day I wore a high-neck sweater and kept my hair down just to be able to listen to the album non-stop during every class, even during dinner (sorry roommates). It was the only thing I consumed for most of the month of December, deadass. When I wasn’t listening to the album, I was watching as many interviews and reading as many reviews and profiles that had been written at the time. I even read a biography of the band that immediately led me to the Drive Like I Do music, which also consumed a considerable amount of time. I stayed up till about 4am two nights every week, just listening and learning about this band that was so fascinating to me. There was just so much substance to everything that was produced that I was amazed almost every time I heard about the 1975.
This obsession obviously became the only conversation content I could provide to anyone, so needless to say my 4 other roommates were caught in the collateral damage. By a week after A Brief Inquiry came out, the Alexa my friend had was programmed to play “I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes) when prompted. During finals week, she was put to good use.
This is just one of the ways that the 1975 punctuated what was becoming the most tumultuous 6 months of my life. I continued almost nightly to listen to the album outside, despite the icy weather and on one particular occasion I was confronted by a college policeman. Though the trail that I was following wasn’t particularly busy, the campus itself wasn’t unpopulated at this time of night. In my conversations with the man, I was asked to give my full name and student ID number, as well as to take my hands out of my pockets, then asked to go back to my dorm after he had written down the information I provided him.
To explain how jarring this was for me, I’ll provide some context:I was born in Ethiopia. I was adopted into a well-to-do family of 10 kids, 7 of whom where biological to my white parents. For that reason, I was privileged to never encounter discrimination in my daily life up to this point. I remember feeling both the recognition and disenfranchisement of my once-latent-now-present identity as a young black woman. In that moment, I responded in what I knew could provide any catharsis; I took out my phone and played “Love It If We Made It”. When the first keys on that record were sent through my headphones all my feelings of discomfort transmuted into a collective desperation for respite. It was a sense of belonging so strong I can only compare it to the moment when a couple are so inseparable that their entities are “we” not “I”.
I don’t know how important this new found love had to do with anything, but just before I found this band, I had begun to dabble in abusing the pills I had been prescribed. As I’m assuming many students did, I was occasionally taking an extra Adderall here or there to study for an upcoming test. It wasn’t anything atypical, but it was new for me. Later, as I did engage with the 1975, I was, as most naive teenagers do, fetishizing the narratives that Matty Healy was describing in interviews. And despite his arrant disdain for the culture that permeates drug use, I couldn’t help but relate to the aid the substances gave him for blocking out the noise. To hear that someone had found a way to do deal with something that had plagued me for some time, I couldn’t help but be interested. I began snorting the pills I was taking to help me function - stimulants, mood stabilizers, sedatives, SSRIs - with a frequency that I still find hard to believe. By finals week, I went 4 days with no sleep, and a mind calmer than I had ever experienced. I felt cured.
The end of my academic semester also came with Christmas break. With newfound time on my hands I could commit to understanding the filagree of the 1975 with greater èlan. This also meant, however that my medications were now administered to me by my parents, which is to say, I was cut off. My average day became waking up at about 2 pm, rewatching, reading or listening to the 1975 type shit, and then going to bed at around midnight. I don’t have any particular memories of Christmas or New Years, besides the occasional year-end lists I would read (so long as the 1975 was included).
By the fifth of January, I was left with one final task, something I had purposely saved until my next sleepless night: take on “i like it when you sleep” in its entirety. I had listened to all of the songs from the album that were performed on tour, and for that reason, I felt as though to hear it all in order would be something worth waiting for and something that needed a clear mind and empty night. And so at midnight, I started the album.
I would do the math to see when the exact time happened, but such details are extraneous. I heard “Nana” and was moved, but because I was tired, it didn’t really do much for me. When the last track began, I was impatient and almost going to skip to where I assumed the music would start, but I didn’t. “She Lays Down” begins, and still to this day I have never (and probably will never) experienced anything like what my first listen to that song was.
Again, a bit of context is needed to understand why I believe this song was life-changing (as it may have been for countless others). I entered my loving family at the age of 6 months, after I was found and rescued to an adoption facility. I still have no explanation for the blessing I got. Maybe I was lucky, or maybe I was chosen for everything that my newfound life would teach me. Before the age of five, I had two more life-changing moments. In July 2004, my older brother Zach took his own life. As embarrassed as I am to say this, I wasn’t terribly affected in a personal way because I was so young, but it was the first time I ever saw my entire family, all 11 of us, cry.
Another blessing came, perhaps in its wake or not, when in February 2005, my little sister Martha was adopted. For a moment, we had true happiness in the house and the enjoyment of life reappeared. From that moment till the last week of June I don’t remember much, perhaps because nothing major had happened.
My fifth birthday however, marked another moment. Having gone to bed after talking to my mom in my bed, I woke up again to the reprise an image so burned in my pea-sized head from July that was so haunting I imagine a younger version of me must have thought I went back in time or something. I soon found out that my mom, who I saw just the day before, was not going to be seen again.
Now to be honest I still don’t know how my mom or brother took their own life. But to hear a song that knew my life so well, by a band I felt I knew so well, broke me more than anything I had ever experienced in years. I cried for the first time I can remember, and played the song on repeat until I saw the morning light come through my window. I don’t think I even left my room the next day. I was almost scared that I would walk out and in some weird twist of life, I would open the door and be in a world where I still hadn’t heard the song. Even now, when I check the number of times I’ve played it on my Apple Music (don’t @me), it says 0 plays. I still get scared that the song doesn’t exist and I’m just in some weird fucking dream. That’s how fundamentally shocking this song was for me. So thank you.
By the time I had gotten back to school, I was pretty frequently snorting my pills, and still no one knew. I would go up to the 9th floor of my university’s library at like 11pm, wait until about 2 or 3 and then pull out the pill bottles, a knife and a VISA gift card I found during my first week. To pass the time after taking a random selection of whatever I chose that night, I started to read some of the stuff Matty had mentioned in interviews. I remember one particular night, I had “La Société du Spectacle,” “Naked Lunch,” and “Infinite Jest,” all open at once, and I was trying to read them all, while “On The Road” was being read aloud in my ears. At this point all interest in music for me had aligned with that guy’s idea that Matty referenced in the GQ interview (his name slips my mind), where he talked about how human interests are eventually funneled into one, more narrowly focused entity that has deeper roots and is in higher resolution. The 1975 kinda took over my life. I concertinaed any interaction with music during this period into strictly the 1975 and its cognates.
This came to a lethal head on February 9 of this year. Having gone on a night out for the first Friday since the album dropped, I had a drink with friends. Upon finishing it, having felt the most intense level of FOMO that the world has ever seen, I went back home. My room was empty so I necked as many capsules, pills and tablets as I had and hit my juul a few times before I started snorting what I remember was around 10 adderall.
And then I got scared. I told my roommates but because I hided my behaviors by shielding my practices with an auspice of just thinking drugs were a good meme, they didn’t take it seriously. I texted my friends who were still out, “ I just tooked 5 of everything I have. Byeeeeede Love uu”. I will never be able to forgive myself for how they must have felt whenever they read that. I’ve never talked to either of them about it. At an hour in, my stomach pain was so crippling that I had to go down to my dorm’s only one-person bathroom, just so that I could contort my body in a way that even putatively felt less painful. Having received nothing from my nearside friends I called a friend of mine- we met when we were thirteen - and expected to leave a voicemail to a call I genuinely believed she would never get the chance to return.
But she picked up. At that point I had to admit to her what I had done, and I felt the guilt and shame wash over me. My stomach pain wasn’t even noted when I was on the phone with her. She stayed on the phone with me while I shoved a tampon down my throat so I could throw up as much as I could. I began puking blood, and I genuinely thought I was going to die. And I was calm. I had rationalized that if it was gonna happen it was gonna happen and it really do be like that sometimes. But I didn’t. I stayed awake that night until about 4 pm, sitting in my dorm’s chapel just flitting between “I should’ve/could’ve been dead by now”. At around 9 the next morning I woke up and again felt that same fear that I felt in my room two months before, stuck at a juxtaposition of desperation and hope that if I left the chapel, I’d realize that I actually had died.
Within the hour, a reply from my therapist to a text I don’t remember sending about talking to her the next day came through on my phone and I considered that sufficient evidence. I went back to my dorm room and sat on my futon, just regaining all that I had expected to lose. I don’t actually know how long I sat there, but I remember going through an encyclopaedic level of emotions before anyone ever came in. I was angry that I tried to die, and also angry that I didn’t die. I was ashamed of having taking that many pills, and ashamed that I called my friend.
When my therapist called, I then began the process that I now refer to as my mental health press conference. For the next week, I was excused from every class by an email I got every morning saying I have to meet with this dean or this advisor or my dorm head or my chaplain. By that wednesday the school had decided that it was best for me to leave school for the rest of the semester, “so as not to interfere with anyone else’s”. So that saturday, I left. I remember the day before, one friend in our circle who I hadn’t told found out and at the dining hall, in front of myself and my friends and their friend’s friends etc., she broke down in tears. I had no idea what to do, so I didn’t do anything. It was the first time I had seen somebody else’s visceral reaction to what I had chosen to do to myself. I was so disturbed by that realization and left her crying while I went to a student center until everyone had presumably gone to sleep. Then I came in and began packing.
When I got home, I immediately went to the same room I stayed in when I heard “She Lays Down”. Listening to the song again, I wasn’t thinking of my mom, I was thinking of myself. Nothing was going to fix my brain, but I also lived, unlike my mom, a point telegraphed by biography not lyrics. So I went back upstairs to my “new” room, and I laid down. I slept for what felt like the first time in about 3 weeks.
Now, as I’m writing this, in the basement of my house, wearing fake converse and makeup that I’ve had on since 8am, I’m going to try to write the happy ending to this story. Because there is one. At least for now.
On February 22, I began treatment at an intensive outpatient program that aids in substance abuse and severe mental illness rehabilitation. It took so long for me to buy into it, but I have and I’m not even sure I have an analogy for this feeling because it’s just so foreign to me. I’m still having the cravings and not sleeping as well as I’d like to be, but I’m healthier than I think I ever have. And though I expected myself to have been past this 1975 phase long ago, I’m still just as invested, but it’s a different type of investment. Me and my little sister are trying to learn the moves from the “She’s American” clip Matty posted on instagram. I’m trying to learn “She Lays Down” on the guitar. Everyday before I go into the program I write GYAT on my wrist. When I need a laugh I think about the way Matty sings the line “and I’m bouncing off the floor of your ceiling” in “Ghosts”.
I’ve still got a loong way to go. And I know that, I think. But I had thought about writing this so many times that I basically had the first three pages written in my head for the past 4 months. I don’t have the time yet to see how I’ll view this period of my life, but I’ll know two things. Music is the single most intangible and omnipresent hinge of everything in my life. And the other, I’ve learned just by being prompted with the question last night by a diary app , I would never chose to restart my life, nor live in my daydreams -- no matter what. This crazy fucking world I was privileged enough to be rescued into is the single greatest thing that could ever happen to me. Looking at my computer now, the tab from the GQ interview is still up. The pull quote from it is “Art, sex drugs, religion. It’s just about losing yourself.”
But Matty missed one thing.
Relationships, engaging in human connection, demands leaving the world created in our heads.
// R E A L L I F E I S A B O U T L O S I N G Y O U R S E L F//
-Angela
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2017.02.24 06:06 censorship_ml_bot1 Daily Censorship Report

The CensorshipBot was notified that the following posts from the Hot 50 in each subreddit were censored by moderators or admins on
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Subreddit # Posts Censored
AskReddit 15
Funny 37
TodayILearned 11
Science 65
WorldNews 32
Gaming 12
Movies 31
Music 7
News 35
Books 25
Television 25
DIY 37
Showerthoughts 26
Space 4
Sports 23
Tifu 62
Futurology 12
mildlyinteresting 33
Jokes 8
food 8
politics 16
dataisbeautiful 27
pokemon 30
nottheonion 84
UpliftingNews 20
philosophy 23
technology 10
atheism 18
europe 9
trees 25
programming 1
the_donald 6
conspiracy 6
uncensorednews 7
starwars 19
askhistorians 14
nba 5
hockey 7
BlackPeopleTwitter 36
EnoughTrumpSpam 5
Trumpgret 3
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