I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
I’m not okay.
It’s the weekend after Easter, and predictably, I’m sick. Again. This is the third holiday in three years I've ended up bedridden after a family function.
(Seriously, future self: skip the family gatherings. Just skip them.)
Lying here, mainlining fluids and generally feeling trash, the title of that My Chemical Romance song loops in my head. I’m Not Okay (I Promise).
It feels… fitting.
The only saving grace? My boyfriend. He’s turned into the sweetest at-home nurse, fetching meds and navigating the grocery store with a generous list of my supplies. Bless him.
But even his kindness can’t stop the wave of nostalgia washing over me at this moment. Because this feeling – this particular blend of physically unwell and emotionally over it – feels deeply familiar.
It takes me back. Back to when “I’m Not Okay” wasn’t just a song, but a lifestyle.
Enter the “Elder Emo”
(A brilliant term coined by Helena Poison on Canada's Drag Race, by the way.)
It’s that weird space where you’re a functional adult paying bills and maybe even enjoying green vegetables, but your internal soundtrack is still fueled by the same angst-ridden anthems that got you through your teens.
And your coping mechanisms? Sometimes they still look suspiciously like retreating into music that understands. With lyrics that scream out your truest feelings.
Back then, My Chemical Romance ruled the roost in my (wired, of course) earphones. Music was just… the easiest way. The only way I could manage life at that time.
How else could you articulate the chaos of being a hormonal, questioning teenager with:
Braces? Check.
Bad vision? Check.
Crippling overachievement? Check.
Acne that defied all reason? Double check.
Music said what I couldn’t & still does.
The Catholic School Boy Becomes a Public School Rocker!
My transition from a restrictive Catholic school uniform to the glorious freedom of public school was… an awakening.
I went from blasting The Killer’s “Mr. Brightside” with my childhood bestie, Sam and thinking we were so edgy looking up absurd and inappropriate content on FunnyJunk.com on her home computer…to…moving to a faraway city of Corona….and..
Suddenly, it was all about the hair. Long, swooshy, maybe slightly asymmetrical bangs that hid at least one eye. Think less Bieber, more Pete Wentz, maybe?
My uniform became:
Band tees (acquired religiously from Hot Topic, causing my mother to have a near heart attack when she clocked the price tags on this overpriced BS).
Skinny jeans (the tighter, the better).
Those chunky, colorful Jac Vanek bracelets with slogans like FEARLESS or maybe just PARTY SLEEP REPEAT. (Definitely wasn't a passive "MySpace emo" – this felt more active, more me.) Statement piece for sure.
It was an identity built from music and questionable fashion choices.
And it felt real.
I remember thinking my cousin, who was in a high school screamo band, was the epitome of cool. So angsty! Making those wild pig squeal sounds into the microphone. (No actual animals were harmed, he assured me.)
It was a whole world. Warped Tour was our summer pilgrimage. Chain Reaction was our local church (and maybe the scene of some minor drama involving Debby Ryan back in the day, but that's a story for another time).
Bands like The Maine and The Summer Set weren't just music; they were the soundtrack to specific crushes, heartbreaks, and friendships forged in sweaty concert venues where my mom would have to come and scoop us up in her minivan after.
The End.
So lying here sick in 2025, feeling decidedly not okay, echoes those teenage years more than I’d sometimes like to admit.
Maybe the angst is less world-ending now. Maybe it’s tempered by adult responsibilities and the comfort of a partner who brings you soup. Or maybe it’s the meds.
But the core feeling? That vulnerability? That sense of just needing to retreat until the world feels manageable again?
It’s still there.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe being an “Elder Emo” just means you have a better-curated playlist for the tough days. You understand that sometimes, things aren't fine. You’re not okay.
And you can promise yourself… you’ll carry on.
(But seriously, no more family holidays for a while.)
Send thoughts and prayers that this cold turns room temp. ;)
🙏🏼 relatable!!
we are twin souls!! the third pic is at chain, isn’t it?