NoLongerInTheCloset88
Proud Member
- Joined
- Nov 28, 2022
- Messages
- 1
- Points
- 1
Hello everyone!
This is my first time posting here but I have been a long time MJJ fan since I was a kid. I apologize that this is going to be long, but I would like to think it's worth it.
I feel like this might be a good opportunity to explain how Michael saved my life as a child and I really wish I had had the opportunity to tell him. I had always dreamed of being one of his fans fainting at his concerts, of being able to tell him my story and share what an impact his life had on mine. I fantasized about what it would feel like to be so absolutely understood by someone else.
You see, I grew up in a cult. Without getting too into the religious side of things, my extremely devout parents decided the best course of action for me as a small child was to keep me from going to public school. Instead, they would homeschool me. What ended up happening wasn't that my mother spent her time teaching me while my father worked to provide. In fact, I was expected to sit in my dimly lit room, all by myself, and find the gumption to teach myself everything I needed to know to get me to high school. I was undiagnosed neurodivergent (autistic, bipolar, CPTSD, anxiety) and I was expected to hide away in my room all day and in the depths of quiet, read from large religious textbooks. My mother was too distracted taking care of other things and my father was too busy working two jobs just to keep the family afloat amidst the struggles of a tight income.
I was incredibly behind in school. When my mother did sit down to teach me things it wasn't the things I needed to be focusing on and I have had to spend countless hours deep diving into important topics just so I can be knowledgeable about all that's going on in the world today. I was constantly criticized for my struggle to teach myself in isolation in my cold, deathly quiet, dark bedroom. It was a nightmare. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what was going on at home (which was raging abuse in every fashion). I had no friends, at least not anyone real. I was acquaintances with the next door neighbors but I still couldn't tell them anything. I was desperate for connection, for love, for anyone to care about what I was going through--locked in my house and more specifically my bedroom without much respite.
Around this time Michael was becoming really popular in the media. He had just come out with his Invincible album and the 30th Anniversary Special was airing on CBS. I heard about his story of abuse and his awful childhood and it broke my heart. It made me feel like I wasn't alone. That someone could possibly relate to what I was going through and that maybe I could be love despite all of the same.
I hadn't even heard his music and I was sold. I had read somewhere how much he cared about his fans and it gave me hope. My poor, extremely traumatized brain had decided that Michael Jackson and I were best friends. I would spend hours in my bedroom imagining that he was proud of me--finally an adult who cared enough to notice. I would talk to him about the things I was going through and would know that he might understand. I would imagine him being tender with me--holding my hand, brushing my cheek, giving me hugs. I imagined how it would feel to finally see him in concert, get to listen to his music, be one of the fainting people at his shows. I imagined that we were best friends and allowing myself to maladaptive daydream that we were besties really helped me get through some of the worst times of my life.
My family hated my obsession, my own cruel mother telling me that my fantasies were evil, once again allowing her religion to destroy me and one of the only outlets I had that kept me safe. Once, they found out that I had added myself to a forum for people who were his mega fans and that I had begun emailing another teen in England and she lost her crap. Everything I knew about him growing up I snuck behind their backs because MJJ was the only thing keeping me going when I was so broken I didn't know how I was going to survive.
The day I found he died I was on vacation with my family in Florida and I was a wreck but I couldn't show it. My opportunity to ever see him in person and tell him all the amazing things he did for me just for being himself, shattered. I was devastated. It felt like my first ever best friend had died and I couldn't tell anyone about it. I had to grieve in silence.
I am now a parent to a six year old kid who I have now been able to introduce to MJJ and the love for him and his music and performances. Her favorite song is "They don't really care about us" and when I told her I had a concert DVD of his from Budapest she asked to watch it with me and was definitely fascinated. I am so proud to be able to share my love of MJ to the next generation and one day when she gets older I get to tell her that he was my first best friend.
I miss you Michael. So much. I'm so sorry we never got a chance to meet. You really did save my life.
This is my first time posting here but I have been a long time MJJ fan since I was a kid. I apologize that this is going to be long, but I would like to think it's worth it.
I feel like this might be a good opportunity to explain how Michael saved my life as a child and I really wish I had had the opportunity to tell him. I had always dreamed of being one of his fans fainting at his concerts, of being able to tell him my story and share what an impact his life had on mine. I fantasized about what it would feel like to be so absolutely understood by someone else.
You see, I grew up in a cult. Without getting too into the religious side of things, my extremely devout parents decided the best course of action for me as a small child was to keep me from going to public school. Instead, they would homeschool me. What ended up happening wasn't that my mother spent her time teaching me while my father worked to provide. In fact, I was expected to sit in my dimly lit room, all by myself, and find the gumption to teach myself everything I needed to know to get me to high school. I was undiagnosed neurodivergent (autistic, bipolar, CPTSD, anxiety) and I was expected to hide away in my room all day and in the depths of quiet, read from large religious textbooks. My mother was too distracted taking care of other things and my father was too busy working two jobs just to keep the family afloat amidst the struggles of a tight income.
I was incredibly behind in school. When my mother did sit down to teach me things it wasn't the things I needed to be focusing on and I have had to spend countless hours deep diving into important topics just so I can be knowledgeable about all that's going on in the world today. I was constantly criticized for my struggle to teach myself in isolation in my cold, deathly quiet, dark bedroom. It was a nightmare. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what was going on at home (which was raging abuse in every fashion). I had no friends, at least not anyone real. I was acquaintances with the next door neighbors but I still couldn't tell them anything. I was desperate for connection, for love, for anyone to care about what I was going through--locked in my house and more specifically my bedroom without much respite.
Around this time Michael was becoming really popular in the media. He had just come out with his Invincible album and the 30th Anniversary Special was airing on CBS. I heard about his story of abuse and his awful childhood and it broke my heart. It made me feel like I wasn't alone. That someone could possibly relate to what I was going through and that maybe I could be love despite all of the same.
I hadn't even heard his music and I was sold. I had read somewhere how much he cared about his fans and it gave me hope. My poor, extremely traumatized brain had decided that Michael Jackson and I were best friends. I would spend hours in my bedroom imagining that he was proud of me--finally an adult who cared enough to notice. I would talk to him about the things I was going through and would know that he might understand. I would imagine him being tender with me--holding my hand, brushing my cheek, giving me hugs. I imagined how it would feel to finally see him in concert, get to listen to his music, be one of the fainting people at his shows. I imagined that we were best friends and allowing myself to maladaptive daydream that we were besties really helped me get through some of the worst times of my life.
My family hated my obsession, my own cruel mother telling me that my fantasies were evil, once again allowing her religion to destroy me and one of the only outlets I had that kept me safe. Once, they found out that I had added myself to a forum for people who were his mega fans and that I had begun emailing another teen in England and she lost her crap. Everything I knew about him growing up I snuck behind their backs because MJJ was the only thing keeping me going when I was so broken I didn't know how I was going to survive.
The day I found he died I was on vacation with my family in Florida and I was a wreck but I couldn't show it. My opportunity to ever see him in person and tell him all the amazing things he did for me just for being himself, shattered. I was devastated. It felt like my first ever best friend had died and I couldn't tell anyone about it. I had to grieve in silence.
I am now a parent to a six year old kid who I have now been able to introduce to MJJ and the love for him and his music and performances. Her favorite song is "They don't really care about us" and when I told her I had a concert DVD of his from Budapest she asked to watch it with me and was definitely fascinated. I am so proud to be able to share my love of MJ to the next generation and one day when she gets older I get to tell her that he was my first best friend.
I miss you Michael. So much. I'm so sorry we never got a chance to meet. You really did save my life.
