Okay. Let’s get something fucking straight.
A few weeks ago, I posted a video on Instagram of me fangirling over the newest One Direction music video, “Steal My Girl”. Within an hour there was a comment from someone whom I thought was my friend, saying that she thought me “getting emotional over a boy band is really pathetic.” The comment went on to say that they are just a bunch of people and they aren’t even good. Although I understand that they are humans like me and everyone else, maybe I have not made myself clear that I do not care for such hate.
Here’s a story: A few years back, my mother, older sister, and I moved to go live with my mom’s fiancé. We stayed there for a year before my mom found out that the man she had been dating for more than 7 years was cheating. For a good amount of time, at that.
The year we were there was quite eventful; My sister started behaving strangely (which revealed itself to be three different disorders causing the mayhem), I had lost touch with almost all my friends from back home, I made a new group of friends, I cut off around a foot of my hair, I was only able to see my dad every other weekend (which was okay to adapt to on its own), I began a long road of what I know now as depression, I made my first youtube videos, and a whole lot of crap from my parents’ divorce (which happened when I was three) and their long-gone marriage started resurfacing in my eyes.
What was I to do? I was pretty calm about it all. I let it all happen around me as the arguments and memories unveiled themselves to be so much worse than I thought.
Anyways, the amount of emotion felt in that year overwhelmed me. I can still remember vivid parts of it, from the second my sister and I found out we would be moving to the evening I found out we were moving back. Sometimes I still think my family and friends don’t realize how harsh I mean my tone to be when I express my view on the disaster. When we were back, I spent time with a few friends from elementary school (who are now probably the greatest friends I’ve ever had). The friends from the year away were mostly gone by then. I talked to them a lot. But the messages and calls decrescendo-ed, as relationships inevitably will.
Within the next two years I got intensely more depressed. I couldn’t shake the slideshows as they popped up. So. Many. Memories. Crying every day, writing about my misery on my first blog (this here website, actually), wishing there was a way to just let go of all that happened. My mind became my worst enemy. Trying to forgive my mother for dragging me hours away and back easily was the most important mission in my life, even if I didn’t want to admit it. My heart and mind couldn’t take much more, plus the weight of being a middle-schooler. And despite all this, I wanted to feel. I wanted to be in a place where I could feel ecstasy for people, for the world around me, for the dream of getting away and living alone in the midst of even more ecstasy.
And then I found One Direction.
I always made fun of them and their fans. Like I did to Justin Bieber and my sister, who is still a fan of his. My best friend Kiara told me about how awesome this English-and-Irish boy band is. I let her do her thing for awhile until I wanted to be part of it too. Soon I memorized who is who: Harry Styles is the curly-haired one; Niall Horan is the Irish, blonde (he’s actually a brunette), adorable, constantly-laughing one; Zayn Malik (pronounced “ma-lik” not “mah-leek”, as I had to get used to saying), is the olive-skin, Middle-Eastern, jock-ish one; Louis Tomlinson is the one who looks sort of like Harry but shorter and with straight hair and a lot of striped clothing; and finally Liam Payne is the one who at first had Louis’s hair, then an almost-buzz cut, and now resembles a model in every shape or form.
The band began to make a mark on me. They made me feel happy for them. I was ecstatic. Excited. Stunned. An insane fangirl. I never want to let go of the butterflies in my stomach and the smile on my face whenever I hear about them or talk about them.
From then until now, Kiara has turned me to a wonderful amount of fandoms and people to rave about every single day. 5 Seconds of Summer is also a huge one. Her searching abilities have made me more open to ideas and faster to catch up with celebrities I admire. She brought me from bands to now YouTubers! Online personalities who started out feeling the same way I do! Amazing people! Holy moly, all the different genres of living, breathing people to get invested into. So much love to be spread around.
I am still battling depression. But I have a feeling it would be much more horrible and overwhelming if it weren’t for One Direction. The now man-band (I guess that is what they’d be called now that they are all twenty-somethings) reminds me of my survival in a scarring time. Listening to their music, knowing that they exist, is what makes me happy. And not for one single even quarter of a second am I going to reconsider my love for them because you think they are bad, or that I am being pathetic.
What is the point of saying your rude opinion, without explanation, without reason, just simply because you think it deserved to be put out there? If I wasn’t me, I might take “you’re pathetic” to a whole new level. It might even haunt me as I fall asleep. When I thought you were my friend, you blurted out your words without tasting them first.
I do not condone this. I do not allow fan- or interest-shaming. And God knows I’ve witnessed a crap-load of it.
Please, next time you are about to be the most hurtful you could conjure up, imagine how you would defend yourself if the roles were switched. Thank you.