Memoir of a Fangirl: A Life Lived Through My Chemical Romance
Estimated reading time: 15â20 minutes
People love to hate fangirls.
Weâre often treated like a punchline. Like the things we love are temporary. Like weâll eventually grow up and leave them behind.
But sometimes the things we love grow up with us.
I wrote this essay about what My Chemical Romance has meant to me for nearly twenty years.
I wrote it for my family so they could understand why this band still matters so much to me. Maybe some of you will understand too.
I was twelve years old and I had never felt like I could get life right.
I grew up Italian American Catholic in Chicago. My dad struggled with alcohol. I had my own mental health battles I didnât have names for yet. I felt wrong â not in any way I could point to, just fundamentally, persistently wrong. Like everyone else had received instructions I hadnât.
I had heard Fall Out Boy on the radio. I had my cousinâs burned Panic! at the Disco CD. I had seen My Chemical Romance a few times on TV, in passing, the way you see something without yet knowing what it is.
For my birthday in 2007, I wanted to go to a concert. The only show I could think of near Chicago was MCR at Projekt Revolution. My parents bought me the tickets as my gift, and I started listening to their discography after the fact. I had three months to learn a band before Iâd see them live.
I didnât want to only know the popular stuff, the stuff that played on the radio or the TV. I went looking for the entire catalog. I started with The Sharpest Lives and it didnât quite grab me at first. Eventually I watched the music video for The Ghost of You. I didnât know any of their names yet, but when Mikey got shot I sobbed, and I didnât know why.
I just felt a tug in my chest that threw me into complete obsession.Â
From that point I dove in completely. Three months of consuming interviews, music videos, behind-the-scenes footage, Life on the Murder Scene, anything I could find. I learned their names, their histories, who they were. And somewhere in all of that I understood why it had to be this band specifically.
They were self-proclaimed losers and nerds from New Jersey who stood on stage and said: we donât care if you think weâre lame. Weâre not doing it for you. They stood for people who felt misunderstood. They said, plainly and loudly, that it was okay to not be okay.
It wasnât just one kind of permission either. Gerard made it feel cool to be uncool, to be strange and dramatic and visibly weird. Frank made it feel okay to be messy and intense, to use your voice even if it wasnât perfect. Mikey made quiet awkwardness feel like something that could be worn with pride. Ray made it feel like you didnât have to change yourself to belong somewhere. He was always effortlessly Ray.
Together they showed me there wasnât only one way to be strange. There were a lot of ways to not fit in and still matter.
I had never seen that before. I had never known that was possible.Â
My parents said it was a phase. They bought the merch and the tickets, and left me largely to my own devices â a lot of time online, a lot of time alone with the music. They supported the surface of it without ever taking it seriously. To them, I was just really into a band.
And I was, it was just so much deeper than that.
My cousin took me to Projekt Revolution. The same cousin who had given me the Panic! CD. I ended up in the pit, two people from barricade.
I sobbed for the entire set. Full-on ugly-cry sobbing. It was the overwhelming feeling of being in the same room as them, breathing the same air, surrounded by thousands of people all screaming the same words at the same time. All of us okay with not being okay, for once. The energy and release moved through the crowd like something physical.
At one point Gerard made eye contact with me from the stage. For a split second, the world disappeared. It was like there was a spotlight on me and nothing else existed. I reached up desperately, trying to touch his hand or anything, just to know this was real.
On the drive home my cousin said I was acting like the girls did with Elvis back in his day. Maybe thatâs true. So what if it was?
I got my first MCR shirt that day. The white one with the logo in red blood spatter. Itâs in a box somewhere now, stained with makeup, maybe a hole or two, nowhere near my size anymore. Just a relic. Iâve kept every ticket stub, every piece of merch â a whole collection, from small things like promotional flyers to the bigger things, like my Three Cheers action figures and Black Parade Is Dead coffin set. All of it still there, preserved inside the pine box of the coffin. Iâm not sure I could explain why Iâve kept some of the little things except that getting rid of any of it has never once crossed my mind as an actual option.
me, post-Projekt Revolution
A few months later they came back through Chicago on the Black Parade World Tour. I was still twelve. My uncle took me this time and watched from the balcony while I went into the pit alone. I spent a lot of time alone.
When I entered the pit, I was floating. Literally â my feet were constantly being lifted off the ground by the crowdâs movement. I wasnât particularly big or strong and it was only my second time doing anything like that. The people around me checked on me, kept me safe, held space for a small kid in a big crowd.
They played Heaven Help Us and Desert Song that night â songs they almost never played live. I didnât mind the floating. I feel like Iâm floating when I listen to them anyway.
In 2011 I went to the World Contamination Tour. Sixteen years old.
It had been three years since I saw them live, which seemed like an eternity at that point. This was the first concert I was going to with friends â friends who actually loved My Chemical Romance too. I was buzzing with excitement at the thought of finally experiencing a show I didnât have to enjoy alone. I waited in line for six hours, undernourished and physically unprepared for everything to come. My friends left the line to get a drink and came back having met Mikey Way. They showed me the pictures. I was happy for them, sure, but the pang of jealousy hit my chest like a train. Why couldnât it be me?
I brought gifts for the guys. Various plushes: A purple sparkly microphone for Gerard. A unicorn for Mikey. A cupcake for Ray. A chihuahua for Frank. I threw them on stage and watched the crew pick them up. I think â though I canât be certain â that Frank held the chihuahua for a moment.
Early in the set I lost my footing and went down. The crowd closed around me and I had to kick my feet up so people wouldnât trample me. I got back up, shaken but determined to see this through. A little while later the crowd parted and I found myself with space on all sides â room to breathe, room to twirl. Again that feeling of a spotlight â just me and the band in the room. I closed my eyes and swayed to the song, I think it was S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. That was the best moment of the night.Â
Late in the set I had to leave. I couldnât breathe, I felt nauseous â I hadnât eaten or drunk any water all day. I walked out of the crowd during Vampires Will Never Hurt You and watched from the back. Then I got a text â our ride was coming early and we had to go. I left the venue before Helena finished. I still donât know if they performed an encore that night. It hurts too much to check.
That was the last time I would see them before the breakup.
When they broke up in March 2013 it came out of seemingly nowhere. No warning, no farewell tour â just a small statement and then it was over. One of my friends texted me the news. I had to see for myself, and when the website loaded I dropped to my knees. The devastation felt like a physical sensation coursing through me.
My boyfriend â six months into our relationship, maybe less â came over and found me sobbing, head down at the kitchen table. I didnât care that I looked ridiculous. I couldnât control the response my body was having. It wasnât just losing a band. The only anchor I had to any feeling of belonging had been ripped away like it was nothing. Like it didnât matter.
My boyfriend didnât judge me though. He chuckled sweetly and rubbed my back. He said itâd be okay. He didnât leave. I didnât go to school for a week. I stayed in my room eating Xanax, watching Life on the Murder Scene and crying, trying to pretend it wasnât actually over.
After the initial shock wore off, I started looking for meaning in anything that suggested theyâd come back one day. Danger Days merch said âCalifornia 2019,â and I held onto that for years like it meant something official. I told everyone who would listen. Most of them just nodded politely or laughed like I was delusional.Â
In 2019 I was three months into a new job when I checked my phone on a break and saw the reunion announcement. I collapsed again, this time on the break room floor. They sent me outside to get some air.
I had been right.
When they played their first reunion show I couldnât get tickets. I watched the livestream on our TV, full screen, and fell to the floor when they started playing â I find myself on the floor a lot when it comes to this band â but even through a screen it didnât feel distant. It felt like something opening back up. I hadnât been sure Iâd ever see them again. And suddenly there they were.
During the pandemic, the fact that they were coming back at all became something I held onto. Then everything got delayed. The tickets I had became one of the only things I was holding out hope for.
It all felt like the biggest âfuck youâ from the universe. They were finally back, but the world was closed.
I was feeling particularly depressed and deep into Animal Crossing like so many of us in 2020, including Frank Iero. He was being rather active on Twitter one day, so on a whim I shared a video of my town â which was named The MCRmy. The video featured my town flag, which was the Three Cheers album art, and had the Welcome to the Black Parade intro as the town tune playing in the background. I timed it perfectly to make sure the whole thing made it in. I was really proud and hoped heâd see it.
Thatâs when my phone started blowing up. Frank had quote tweeted it. He said: âthatâs craaaazy.â
I couldnât believe my eyes. I got more than âradâ from Frank Iero. I, of course, started sobbing hysterically. Completely mind blown that Frank Iero acknowledged that I exist. He knows I exist. That was gold to me. That moment carried me until 2022, when the shows started up again.
By then my boyfriend was my husband. We had a son. His middle name is Anthony â my uncleâs name, and conveniently also Frank Ieroâs middle name. My son was born on June 14th, 2022. Strangely enough, it turns out Frank Iero played his first show as a member of My Chemical Romance on June 14th, 2002. Exactly twenty years earlier.
It was finally time to see them. It had now been 11 years since the last time. Eleven tumultuous, uncertain years where I still carried them with me, despite it all. They were there through college, dropping out of college, every job I ever had, moving across the country, becoming a wife, becoming a mother. The decade-long absence didnât stop my love, it amplified it so that I was more prepared than ever for their return.
My sister and I went to Riot Fest together. It was her first MCR show. Sheâs six and a half years younger than me, but a real fan in her own right. The Airbnb host turned out to be a vendor at the festival. She offered to have us help set up her booth before doors opened.
We walked in with her, set up the booth with our backpacks full of water and snacks and electrolytes, and finished about ten minutes before gates opened. We strolled over to the main stage. First spot, dead center barricade.
me, center, with my sister
When the gates opened people sprinted. When the first people reached us at the barricade, they were a little annoyed â asking âwhen did you get here?â âWe didnât see you in line.â Some had camped overnight. I knew it wasnât fair. But after my last My Chemical Romance concert experience, I wasnât going to waste any opportunity to have a better one.
The show was incredible, but it was rough too. My face was mostly pressed into the belly of security guards pulling people out of the crowd. Gerard stopped the show a few times so people could step back and breathe. I was grateful for that.
At one point they played an unplanned version of Cancer to slow everything down after the tour manager threatened to cancel the show. I couldnât handle that thought.
The crowd settled as best it could. The show ended with grace and they sounded as good as ever. Right after the set ended, the person behind me puked down my back. I was too in awe to care. I had just seen My Chemical Romance again. Everything was okay now.
A few weeks later I flew to Denver to see them on the Swarm Tour. My son was three months old and I was breastfeeding, so my family came with me, but I was going to the concert alone.
my emo family, day of the concert
I sat in the car outside the venue, pumping and talking myself out of going, telling myself it wasnât the right time, I couldnât leave him. Postpartum hormones attacking anything that could let me feel happy.
My husband looked at me and said: youâre going. Get out.
I got out. It was 5pm and doors were about to open. People had already been lined up for hours. I was pacing, trying to find the shortest line. A stadium employee opened a side door and gestured me in. It was the arena restaurant. A line forming inside with under twenty people in front of me. A few minutes later they began letting us in. I stopped for merch and then went straight to the stage. I ended up two people from barricade.
Then came When We Were Young Festival, Las Vegas, 2024. We had Sunday tickets. On Saturday night my husband and I stood outside on the sidewalk just wanting to hear their set from the street. Fall Out Boy was still playing, so we walked to a Walgreens for drinks since we had some time before My Chem was going on.Â
On the way back, a festival employee approached me and held out his staff wristband. He said he just got off work and didnât need it anymore. I could get backstage with it if I wanted.
I stood there for a moment contemplating if I was brave enough to go through with it. With my husbandâs encouragement, I took it.
I walked into the employee entrance, scanned in, and watched My Chemical Romance perform from backstage. First show of 2024. First time they had performed The Black Parade in full since 2008. First time they played Famous Last Words into the Welcome to the Black Parade reprise.
I watched all of it from the side of the stage, my mind reeling that any of this was even real. Why me? I watched in an awestruck trance until the set was over.
I had spent years wondering what I would say if I ever got the chance to meet them. And now I could possibly be about to?!
My brain felt like it was melting. Every version of the conversation I'd ever thought of came flooding in at once, loud and overlapping. I so badly wanted to get it right. I wanted at least one of them to know what the band had done for me.
Most of all, I just wanted to thank them.
After they walked off stage, the guys came down one by one, waving to everyone that had gathered around the walkway. I got the opportunity to walk up to Mikey Way and I asked if he'd take a video with me. In it you can hear me say: "Hi Mikey, it's so good to meet you, thank you for existing."
I canât fully make out what he says in the video and I donât remember either. I was pretty much blacked out from the emotion. Iâm still glad I have the video though. Itâs less than 10 seconds. I didnât want to take up his time. I just wanted to get my point across. Iâd be lying if I said I didnât walk away from it thinking ânailed it!â.
I held myself together until I walked through the employee gate on the other side. My husband was waiting. I locked eyes with him and absolutely crumpled against him â hysterical the whole walk back to the hotel, twelve weeks pregnant with my second, stone cold sober but when my sister called asking for a ride back from a club, I was too incapacitated to drive. I was catatonic in the passenger seat while my husband took the wheel.
Thirteen years after my friends met Mikey while I stood starving in a six-hour line. He was the last member I expected to meet first. He was also the only one it could have been.
Later, they came back to Chicago for the Long Live the Black Parade tour. I had barricade on the walkway to the B stage. I watched them walk from backstage to the stage with a front row view. Iâd been following the LLTBP narrative the whole run â got my yea/nay sign, was part of the show in a way that felt like participation rather than just attendance. When Mikey walked out he came up to the space in front of us and played his bass there.
It was the first show I saw with my husband and my sister together at the same time.
At the concert, my husband my sister and I
Iâm thirty now. Iâve seen them eight times, going on nine. Iâm a stay at home mom. My son sings MCR with me. My daughter is a Gerard (Aries) sun and Frank (Scorpio) moon. On nights I canât be at a show I watch the livestream full screen while my husband takes the kids without being asked, and I get to just be with my band for a little while.
My family call it the phase that never ended. Theyâre not wrong. I am really into a band.
The thing is, the music didnât ask me to choose. I didnât have to trade it in for a real life or leave it behind to prove Iâd grown up. It just came with me. Through everything â the hard years, the good ones, the years I donât like to talk about. It was always there when I needed it and it still ignites every cell in my body the same way it did when I was twelve years old in that crowd, reaching up, trying to touch something real.
Take away every lucky moment â Frankâs tweet, the barricades, meeting Mikey â and what remains is still just a girl who was so lost she didnât know how to keep going, who became a girl that stayed. Who held on because some nerds from New Jersey convinced her there was something worth holding on for. They told her it was okay to not be okay.
Not because one day everything would magically become okay forever. It doesn't work like that.
Life hurts. Then it gets better. Then it hurts again. Over and over, forever.
The venom never really stops coming.
But this band showed me how to hold onto the light, especially when the world seems the darkest.
You can find it in the people you love. The songs that find you at the right time. The art that helps you feel seen.
Inside the cover of their first album, in small print, reads âmerci pour le veninâ â thank you for the venom
And thank you, My Chemical Romance.
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