No. 136 - The Used’s “All That I’ve Got” changed my life
In revisiting a middle school playlist, Daysi Sanchez found self-compassion
This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring weekly essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created (and illustrated) by Grace Lilly.
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• 4 min read •
Content warning - this post briefly mentions self-harm
I was 12 years old when I first heard this song on TV. The music video was the last one to play on a music video show I watched at the time (the channel was some offshoot of Fuse that DirecTV offered back then, and for the life of me I can’t find evidence of its existence). I remember the fascination I felt when watching. The fantastical elements and 2D animation caught my eye, as well as ratty-looking Bert McCracken singing in fancy costume with the rest of the band. Later, I went on YouTube to listen to more of The Used’s In Love and Death album and proceeded to spend the rest of the night downloading their entire discography on LimeWire.
“All That I’ve Got” hit a nerve for me. I felt very isolated at the time, but I couldn’t find the words for it until I heard Bert yelling “I’m far from lonely and it’s all that I’ve got” during the chorus. It was true then, and is frankly still true now. I had some confidence that my family would be there for me no matter what, yet I was aware that they were all that I had at the time, and I felt guilty for wanting more.
I didn’t have friends in school, and the one girl who did hang out with me eventually made it clear she was barely tolerating me. I was abandoned midyear for a group of louder, funnier girls, and my new routine was to head straight home after school and into the bathroom. I had a pair of nail scissors that I’d press onto some hidden part of my skin until it left a mark, but didn’t draw any blood. I didn’t have the stomach for that, and although I felt like a jackass for not even fully committing to self-harm, I feared my parents’ discovery too much to go any further. In due time I met my best friend, and despite the jubilance of finally having someone I could actually talk to, I never brought up my scissors to her.
Fast forward to the beginning of 2020. By the time the first Covid-19 wave hit, I found myself feeling isolated again. I had broken up with my partner of less than a year, convinced I was stupid for thinking there was even a chance that someone so beautiful could actually fully desire me. But I managed to coast through this isolation period via Zoom calls with my college friends — until one late night in October when I returned to my middle school playlists and relistened to “All That I’ve Got.”
By the time the chorus repeated for a second time, I was bawling my eyes out. I experienced a full-on breakdown. My entire life’s insecurity and hurt was being sung and shouted at me in those four minutes, and I felt so stripped and raw by the end that I didn’t even have the energy to hate myself for feeling that way.
For years I believed that every small mistake and social faux pas I made warranted cruelty to my being. I thought I shouldn’t have anything to complain about because I had it all: loving friends and family, a roof over my head, food in my stomach. Yet something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t until that moment, crying at my desk in front of my laptop, that I understood that punishing myself would never help me heal. I realized that my pain deserves to be acknowledged; that I am allowed to fully grieve things like the death of a friend, and all the times I’ve been physically and emotionally violated. And my grief can be unabashedly sad and angry.
When I looked out my window and saw the sunrise, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I’d have a moment like this. But it was the first time a moment like this forced me to begin accepting my suffering. I still have a lot of work ahead of me; I have to continually remember to allow myself to hope for better and accept the care my loved ones offer. I have to believe that the people I love do love me back.
It took me over a year to finally start seeing a therapist. It took even longer to reach out to old friends and muster the courage to tell the love of my life just how much I missed and needed them, how scared I was to let them know that back in 2020. I’ve had a variety of highs and lows since then. However, I know now that I’m not alone in this hodgepodge of feelings, and I never was.
There’s more to life than uncertainty about the future and the weight of old hurts.
No matter how unlikely it’ll seem sometimes, I’ll be more than “just fine.” ◆
About Daysi
Daysi Sanchez is a graduate student, a manager at a corporate cafeteria, and a writer. You can expect her to be doing the following outside of work: haunting Troutman Street, petting her dog Johnny, or writing in her journal while hunched over in a shrimp-like manner.
Instagram @si.como.la.flor
⭐ Recommended by
Sal Kimura (No. 072)
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Categories
Friendship • Family • Coming of Age • Romance • Grief • Spirituality & Religion • Personal Development
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