“The meanest dog you’ll ever meet
He ain’t the hound dog in the street
He bares some teeth and tears some skin
But, brother, that’s the worst of him
The dog you really got to dread
Is the one that howls inside your head
It’s him whose howling drives men mad
And a mind to its undoing” – Anaïs Mitchell

A cold room, a lone soul, a lost cause

And yet the silence screeches in their ears

The pounding of their tired heart echos the dreadful reminder

They are alive

They are not sure they want to be

As doubt seeps

What makes their lives worthy of a statement?

Of a movement?

Nobody is listening because nobody cares

Death is not the thing it used to be

People have died before

Some names are sung, faces memorialized across buildings and cities, their stories shared, their families consoled

Millions left us too soon, untraced and unknown

Ungrieved.

You could be next, or you could be the last

Which is worse?

A dog howls in a cold room

He’s a lone soul, a lost cause

His bark is worse than his bite

But the bark is enough to be a mans undoing

Cover art for the concept album, Hadestown, written by Anaïs Mitchell.

I was on crutches for three-ish weeks and wrote a couple of entries on my experience!:

…

Everyone’s been so accommodating, and I appreciate it immensely but it also sort of makes me want to eat my insides. When my friends go out of their way to pay for my drinks or bring me snacks, or when a teacher runs to grab the door for me and brings the paper to my seat, I know they’re being kind and I would likely want to do the same if roles were reversed but I can’t help being overcome with guilt. The fomo too, absolutely excruciation. Normally, I’m perfectly content staying behind if I don’t feel like leaving my dorm and my friends go out and study or grab lunch, but now it feels different, this time it feels out of my control. I’m not staying behind because I chose to, but because my body is sore and limited and forcing me to stay behind. On the other hand, when I do push myself to go, I slow the group down with my slow steps and while logically, I know no one’s holding it against me, i feel the constant need to apologize and regret leaving in the first place. 

Also, sometimes I take just one crutch instead of two. My best friend was quick to express her disapproval but I insisted that I felt less silly looking when I just used the one. That, and I’ve found that people ask less questions. Maybe its because they could less easily see it, or maybe they thought it couldn’t be that bad if I was just using one so they didn’t ask, but i appreciated every time it was left unvoiced, everytime I didn’t have to think about what kind of assumptions people were making.

…

I felt so sore waking up. I did some youtube research two days ago and have since corrected the way I was previously using the crutches but i presume just the fact that I use them at all is going to be a workout for my arms and abs as they have to bare quite a bit of weight to keep me balanced. I was also internally snappy but externally did my best to politely tell my roommate to please stop asking me how I was feeling after the three times i dodged the question over text. Because truthfully, I felt bad, I was in pain, and I didn’t want to talk about it. 

…

People are too nice, as in, I can state semi-confidently that we do not treat those with actual disabilities with this much out-of-the-way kindness. Is it because we assume they don’t need/ want the help? That’s my general mindset, if someone asks for assistance, I will gladly help them, but I don’t want to infantilize them by assuming they can’t accomplish things themselves. But now people are holding the door for me while I’m still two hallway lengths away, offering to grab me lunch and bring it to my dorm, one girl turned around at the bottom of the staircase and asked if she could hold my backpack, multiple have told told me they’ll pray for my health. And maybe I just have a very warped perception of acts of kindness but this is the most back to back interaction I’ve had with strangers possibly ever and it feels so strange. Of course, I take pride in being very polite, but I’m so used to keeping to myself in public, seeing how many social rules are changed when someone is “hurt” is interesting.

…

The embarrassment is the worst part. Which is pretty dumb because there’s some mornings where I wake up after a long day of walking and the pain is so bad I can’t get up for hours, and yet, the embarrassment is what I still cite as the worst part of using crutches. 

They’re just so loud and people never fail to turn their heads. And even if it’s just a passing thought, i know they’re wondering what caused it. The knowledge that i’m being perceived at all, that I’m more than just a passing person in a crowded pathway, makes my skin crawl. But I was dumb and got hurt and this is my penance.

Also, taking 25 mins on average to get to class is not ideal. We’ve spoken in class how inaccessible this campus is, but to experience it, even if just a bit, has definitely made me understand it in a different way. Swinging on the crutches allows me to go much faster, but takes up so much energy I can’t do it for long without loosing my breath and needing a break. So what would normally be a quick shortcut through Erickson field and walk down to Dunkin’ for a morning egg sandwich now requires three elevator rides (dorm, middle of commons, commuters lounge) and 15 minutes of agonizingly noisy walking. And truly I can complain for however long I desire, in blog world nothing can stop me, but I am so so privileged to feel secure in the knowledge that this is temporary. Urgent care said 4-6 weeks and I’ll feel better. Millions of people use mobility aids for life, with varying conditions that some alternative routes are compatible with and others are not. I want this experience to mean something, I hope I never fail to offer aid, to amplify voices demanding basic necessities that able-bodies neglect are not a given, and most of all, respect an individuals agency.

I loved my sister’s emo phase. She was a true 2010 Hot Topic warrior. Despite what all of my middle school friends would say, I don’t think I ever personally had an emo phase but the early alternative influence was definitely clear. She dyed her hair green at 15 so I dyed my hair pink at 12. She went to Warped tour and had the time of her life, so I tagged along the next (and somewhat last- rip national warped tour) year. I listened to Panic!, and Get Scared, and Motionless in White because she swore they were the best music had to offer. Reading the “What Growing Up Punk Taught Me About Being Gender Nonconforming” reframed how I think about that time though. In the alternative scene, there is such a strong emphasis placed on expression. Whether you were pastel goth, scene kid, or tumblr alt, there were hundreds of different labels you could use to encompass the community you belonged to and the idea you wanted to portray yourself as in society. I think gender builds on the same idea. 

Coming out as queer felt so much more straightforward than being non-binary. I knew what a crush was supposed to feel like, and I knew I had them towards girls. In a way, it wasn’t personal, it was just something that I was, in the same way I’m hispanic, I really didn’t have much say in the matter. 

To me, being non-binary is much more intentional. Not in the sense that it’s a choice, but because I had to come to terms with whether or not I wanted to take it on, allow it to influence my life. Clarifying pronouns, speaking up when tasked to choose between the two binaries, speculating a name change- it’s a constant effort, not a one and done like “I’m gay” felt. 

But I’m thankful I was given the space to explore it, that I never felt trapped between hyperfem and machismo masc. Growing up, all my favorite artists wore makeup, and annoyingly skinny jeans, and cut up to shirts, regardless of gender, there was so much grey area it never really occurred to me that the way I felt towards expression could be from not being cis, I just assumed that was the alternative mindset, which in so many ways it still is.

I hope to continue exploring. I hope to continue to accept myself though every transition with the same empathy I would exert a stranger. The author of the piece confessed they let fear rule them as they got older, I’ve been privileged enough not to experience such discrimination yet but I know it’ll likely catch up with me soon. I hope I make it anyways.

It goes without saying that every concert one attends will be different, factors such as the genre of music, the size of the venue, time of day, will contribute to how the audience will behave that fateful night. I went to my first concert when I was twelve, it was at the Merriweather and my sister and I were in the seated section. While we jumped and sang our hearts out to the older Paramore throwbacks, the majority of their set displayed their newest album at the time, which was far chiller and had more of a pop sound, so the audience was zen as well. I’ve been to many concerts since then, mainly indie and alternative, but with the occasional hardcore band in which I kept to the sidelines and headbanged within the comfort of my own space. I didn’t enter my first mosh pit until April of last year. 

It was such a drastic difference to anything I had experienced before. Watching a pit and being in the center of one was unlike how I imagined. I felt so present in my body and in that moment in time. I was shoved in the shoulder and shoved someone by their arms back. We moved with the pounding rhythm of the song, and I felt fueled by the energy coursing throughout the room. As someone who’s 5’1, I’ve always felt that my body couldn’t make all that much of an impact, I didn’t trust it would withstand roughhousing so I never tried. To be in a setting where people of all age groups and sizes were encouraged to get physical, even when it was painful, it was still so freeing. I wore the cut on my cheek the next day with pride.

I think concert etiquette has changed over the years. The coolest shoegaze and alternative bands have such lively audiences now, but there’s a lack of respect for those who choose not to participate in a mosh. And then, the more mainstream the concert, the more people will opt to record over dance at all. Why don’t we look out for one another, give each other space? Why are we so in our heads, so afraid of looking goofy, that we hold ourselves back if we want to participate? We pay to attend a concert, everyone’s eyes are literally glued to the stage, and yet in the cramped settings, doing anything more than bobbing your head feels taboo and holding your ground at a barricade and not giving into the mosh is rigid. What is the perfect medium? Is there one to be found?