A love letter inspired by the body of works as produced by the band Passion Pit

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This is a love letter that can be seen addressed to a variety of forms. It is directed to one person and a collection of ideas. This is to the inner strength have to I tell myself that I have and to the friend that lets me sleep on their couch. It’s to those who give me mix playlists. It’s to the music and to the thoughts it gives me.

One of my favorite bands is Passion Pit not because I listen to them all the time or because I think they’re the best, but because their stories of emotional struggle and resilience are universal. It’s a story many people can relate to in their own perseverance. Passion Pit’s music largely deals with love, growth, and the mental health issues that the frontman, Michael Angelakos faces. An overwhelming amount of the songs are sonically upbeat and happy-sounding. Isn’t that true though? You have this inner sadness but you seem so happy to others.

Passion Pit has many loyal fans, fans that have been there from the beginning with Chunk of Change and the clangy, raw, powerful cut of “Sleepyhead.” The EP was actually a Valentine’s Day present that Angelakos made for his girlfriend at the time. The whole EP was him, tracks and vocals, but once the music gained traction, the band fell into place around him for the debut LP. Producing art, whatever form, is the greatest sense of happiness an artist, and especially one that has blue-tinted glasses on, can have. If an artist gives you part of their happiness, that is love.

The band came into themselves with Manners, a body of work like a book, an ode to the sweetness of the beginnings of things. A growing up version of love. It was an album that carried me into the last leg of my high school days. There was something else, however, besides the EP’s caring sentiment. There were songs like “Moth’s Wings” and “Swimming in the Flood.” These songs were boomy, base-driven. They were about how thoughts, like blocks, build and build to amount to our personalities. There wasn’t something wholly happy about the album, although the songs were mainly upbeat, dance-inducing. A little tug of intrigue that I didn’t think much about until their next album, Gossamer.

Gossamer came during the beginning of my sophomore year in college. Freshman year is a challenging time for everyone, I think. I don’t think there’s anyone in college that can say: “I dealt with no issues during the first year that I entered a new level of young adulthood.” There is a level of uncertainty that buzzes in your brain that whole first year. No wonder so many people turn to the party scene. I did and I was part of the culture solidly that second year.

I would listen to this album during my workouts at the gym the morning after the booming late-night rendezvous. I never turned down an evening, I liked the release.

Gossamer was a similar tone. Tracks that had a fast heartbeat and bubbly falsettos. If you listened closely to the words, there was doubt and self-defeatism embedded in the songs.

At these parties I told my friends my problems, my worries, the deep sludge of my thoughts about my self-image. The world was blurry at this point. It was a subconscious tactic to get away with saying what I felt. “Oh I was drunk, I didn’t mean it,” was my nasty little trick I played on myself and my friends. I wasn’t realizing the gravity of what I was doing since in the daylight I was happy and laughing with those same friends. So I carried on, living a normal college existence.

But listening to Gossamer was when I questioned myself. Gossamer was an album about a pain that I understood and I wasn’t really sure why.

A lot happened between Gossamer and Kindred. The albums are a contrast of each other. Gossamer is in the midst of struggling with denial and darkness whereas Kindred is looking up to the sky and wanting to be good to those you love and telling them you’re trying, you’re trying so hard. You didn’t used to have to work this hard.

I first listened to Kindred this year at the coffee shop I lived near in Syracuse. There were three weeks left of school. At this point in my life, I am learning to let go of denial about myself. I need to change how I act. The self-pity routine hurts people who love me and I can’t have that happen anymore. Thinking patterns are my nemesis. So is general anxiousness about everything.

I listened to this album when I was feeling peaceful, a low-glowing lamp that shone on my homework and a coffee by my side. I remember reading an article that day about how Angelakos made this album for his wife. It was about how much he loves her and how hard he is working on his issues with depression for her. It was about how she has helped him through so much.

When you listen to the album, Kindred is a love letter, as Chunk of Change is, but it is so much different. Chunk of Change is youth and learning what it’s like to express your beauty for someone. Kindred is commitment. Kindred is apologizing for the pain of the past to move forward. Kindred is looking at someone and letting them know where you’re at and how you are working hard for them. How you want to be healthy for them.

Sometimes I think of myself in this electrified cage. It’s a nasty electrical charge if you get too close. If you know me from afar, you can’t even see it. I laugh and I joke and I ask about how your day is. People smile and walk by and I’m relieved they don’t really know me. If they do get close, then they see the prison I have created for myself, and it puts them off. They don’t want to get electrocuted, who does? Not everyone leaves, though, and we learn to be friends with what I have.

Then there are the people that have known me for my whole life and they don’t notice the cage. They aren’t phased by my texts asking whether or not an indent on my skull means I have a fracture or texts about how because I said a weird joke, that must mean I’m a bad person. They tell me to knock it off and I do, and for a time I forget about my cage. For a time I remember drawing chalk cartoons on the driveway and smiling.

But then there’s that person that comes and looks at me with longing and happiness and rushes to me, not missing a beat, knowing to be close to me. They grab at the bars of my cage and are scared, hurt. This is the person where their stomach sinks when I say “I’m the worst.” They are hurt by my pain and when I look at them and I feel a fear, a real fear, one that isn’t part of the irrational cloth of nervousness. This fear is that I am hurting people vividly, and that I am hurting someone I care about so much about with words about myself.

This is when I know I need to get out of the cage.

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A sense of holding your breath – “Broke” by Modest Mouse

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Every morning I wake up and I am terrified. I wake up and I am frightened and scared and worried. About everything.

Please, spare me the comments about self-pity. And spare me your pity.

I wake up afraid because I am so committed to what I do. To an extent, I want this. I care, people, is what I am saying.

I take this fear as a challenge, as an invigoration, as a way to remind myself that I am on a path that I am attempting to carve. We all take this challenge.

In the morning I wake up and I am alone but that does not make me cry. What makes me cry is when I stop being the individual that I am. You can be yourself with someone else just as easily when you’re not, I have come to find, so I am not as averse to the idea as I once used to be. It can be nice with someone that makes you smile. Quite nice.

The trick is when there are those that blot out your sensibility. Your presence.

So being alone in my bed, with the streaming light making the room musty with dust particles, my mind going in three thousand different directions and the silence of morning surrounding me, I am happy.

But yes, maybe I could do without the fear. Or some of it. I’m not sure.

There are so many people that tell me that I need to stop worrying. They try to do things for me to “calm my nerves,” like their actions are oh! Charity! Oh how generous of you for trying to change me!

I know that not everyone is trying to change me. Sometimes I use that excuse as a defense mechanism that I have built up over the years. I get annoyed, frustrated, irritated. You want me to find a diagnosis so I make your life easier? So you can follow a little booklet in your mind?

But there are those that understand, those that know where I am coming from. They know that yes, this is difficult on me. I’m part of the pressure. I sometimes play a tug o’ war with their offerings of insight. But those who do care have a way of exposing their genuine nature. I know when you mean it.

It’s just addictive to push yourself. I know I can do it. I just know.

But it’s when I look up into the sky to forget about the scuttling about on the ground when I realize that I’ve been holding my breath; I didn’t even know that I was doing it. And I just stop and I lazily let my eyes drop and my shoulders fall and I breathe in, breathe out. I look at the clouds and I feel so much bigger than the screened devices we put our souls into, our eyes glued to them.

Something I have to stop doing is to keep apologizing, apologizing, apologizing because that’s another excuse. Why am I saying sorry? Laziness? I know how I am, so when my hands feel like pins and needles and I waver on my emotional scale, I can immediately offer up my actions as a grievance. It puts the weight off, just for a little bit. But it’s not helping anything in the long run.

My favorite Modest Mouse songs are “3rd Planet” and “Broke.” I’ve been listening to “3rd Planet” since about junior year of high school. “Broke,” though, I found last semester and, man, not a better time. It’s so easy to think of yourself as broken, so in those moments in which I wanted a blanket of melancholia over me, “Broke” satisfied some weird anguish I have to find the most depressing songs, like, ever.

But it’s not helping anything to think of yourself as broken, even if you are, even if you’re not. Don’t ever let yourself think there is something fundamentally wrong with you. You’re supposed to be living as yourself for the rest of your life, right? So you’re just going to keep letting yourself think that you’re a force of distress, that you can’t quite do anything right? No wonder you don’t breathe often.

Let yourself be human because that’s what you are. You’re a person, and there’s a lot of different types of people out there.

Wake up and don’t be afraid. Wake up and be alert for the opportunities you have to change your life. Or, there is a simple grace in consistency and healthiness that cannot be overlooked. That alone might be the change enough that you need.

I wake up and I am afraid but I’m working on being less afraid and more just a force of energy. I want my compassion to not make me sick to my stomach from thinking about everything I could be doing wrong. I want my compassion to be my thruster, let me leap out of my bed and I jump to! Here’s the day, and here’s all I can do.

Here’s what I can give back.