The thing about Pete Wentz is that he is the first person I ever knew of who felt like me. Who wanted to die, and spoke about it, and wrote about it, and said, “hey this is a part of myself”. There’s no platitudes in Fall Out Boy songs, but there is the pain, the grief for the life you might have had, if only you were a little bit different, a little less broken. He had ugly symptoms, scary ones, not just the pretty tears.
And the world was cruel to him and the mainstream fucking hated him and the scene didn’t want him either but I felt like we were reaching out to each other, my little hand to his, “we are the therapists/pumping through your speakers”, and enclosed bubble of Fall Out Boy and acknowledgement, even if the world didn’t want either of us.
And I’m so so happy to get to live to see him 40s and laughing with smile lines being silly with his band and jumping into crowds.
Long live the car crash hearts.
