Of Garbage and Me

Why am I compelled to write a post on Garbage? Well, for starters I had nearly forgotten about it – a band that was almost
the fulcrum of my existence whilst I waded slushy, dark waters of teenage angst trying to put a brave face to my mostly confused, somewhat lost, borderline depressed, forever emotionally overwrought self.

Most times, quicksilver emo personalities such as mine find therapeutic releases in (over)thinking obsessively, drinks, drugs, arts and music. After experimenting with the others, only to find them fucking my mind up even more, I stuck to arts and music. A lot of music. Music saved me even while inflicting at times wounds so deep, I was forced to take deep breaths and calm the self.

Enter Garbage:  

I think I’m Paranoid she sang and she had me. That Shirley Manson.

Here was a girl, talking to me about my thoughts, only she said they were her’s as well. I’m Only Happy When It Rains, I’m Only Happy When It’s Complicated her voice drawled as if sticking a finger to the world, daring it to lecture. Now, if I were to have shared these very thoughts with my BFF, I would have got that “see how great things are around you and what a privileged place you are in” spiel, all of which I knew. My BFF did not understand that part of me so we became friends; Shirley and I.

It also helped that Shirley’s persona exemplified the person I was – raw, angry, not very girly, experimental and ready to bust balls at the drop of a hat. With Madonnas, Whitneys, Mariahs glamming around, there weren’t many like her. I would go as far as to say there were none.

I bought and heard every album of this band religiously. For acceptance, inspiration and the music. Especially the music. Dark, rich, solitary, meaningful, with an ability to cut into my soul’s sanctorum.

Replete with talented members including the legendary Butch Vig, Garbage disbanded  just around the time I didn’t need it as much. So I like to think of it as being heaven-sent : especially made for me.

Garbage sang for me, to me. It did not make me  feel sad(der), just understood. It told me The Trick Is To Keep Breathing…And it was.

Signed, QueerStupid Girl


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