twenty one
I sat in my bus bunk half an hour after midnight. Everything was calm. I could hear cars and trucks passing our tour bus as we cruised down the dark interstate.
I was on one of my chains of no sleep. I knew this would pass in a few days, but for now, it sucked. I couldn't go to sleep, I couldn't go for a walk, I couldn't do anything. I hated this.
My phone was lighting up the small, enclosed space around me. I turned to my side, getting closer to my charger plugged in only inches away. The sheets around me was cozy as I buried myself deeper into my blanket-burrito.
A few Instagram notifications were on the top of my screen, reminding me of another way to waste my chronic secondary insomnia away.
My eyes blinked a few times as the page began to load.
I didn't really feel awake, but I didn't feel asleep either. I wasn't 100 percent sure what state of mind I was truly in. Everything felt like air, really, nothing more than just air. I couldn't feel my brain or my eyes or anything.
I couldn't feel anything, but not in a depression type of way.
This is what I find fascinating about mental illnesses. Somehow, they all loop together. Our brain does so many amazing things, I am truly shocked by its capability every single minute or every single day.
A photo Ashton took of Matt from The 1975 popped up on my feed first. I gave him a like and a quick comment of a few heart-eyed-emojis before clicking up on his profile, ready to stalk through his feed.
I'm pretty good at internet stalking. All my years of internet stalking Harry Styles has led me to become the professional I am today.
Larry Stylinson for life.
Ashton has always been a really happy guy. His Instagram showed that off really well. The photos were either amazing photos straight from his Canon 80D, or snaps of him and whomever he was working for. He was always smiling.
Ash's smile could truly light up the entire world, it was just that bright.
I scrolled down further, further. Seeing a few photos of him and I. There were some awful take backs from middle school of him and I that made me want to block, delete, and report him every day until his account got taken down.
They were just that bad.
I got down to a photo of Luke that Ashton took three years ago. It was one of the first big shows that Ashton photographed, I remembered it well.
Ash was still mainly working for the magazine since he was barely seventeen years of age. No band is too friendly on hiring a minor.
Ashton was (to say the least) thrilled when he was assigned to the show. It was a big stadium, a big superstar, everything was perfect for Ashton.
Ash never met Luke, but it still felt weird looking at the photo now. So many things have changed. In my life, in Ashton's life, probably in Luke's life too.
I clicked on the photo, Luke's username popping up.
Stalking Luke was less fun. He posted a photo thirty minutes ago of grand staff sheet music thrown over his computer, lyrics written on the electronic screen. He was trying to tease his fan base and judging from the [over] one million comments, I figured he teased them pretty well.
I began to scroll through Luke's page, a lot different than Ashton's. Luke's feed was filled with more fake-art-hoe type photos. Luke trying to be artsy.
There weren't a lot of his face, not a lot with friends, not a lot of anything. Was he insecure? Or did he not want to post that stuff?
Everyone has the freedom to post anything they'd like, I guess.
I scrolled through his feed, watching crowds of 25,000 go to 15,000 then 5,000 then down to 150.
I was four years in, over 200 weeks in. He career grew fast, maybe that's why he hasn't been able to look back on it and reflect over the life he's made for himself.
I've worked for musicians that have bled for their career, working years and years to mold the type of person they want to become. Part of me doesn't believe that Luke deserves all of this. I don't think he's really worked hard at all, I think he just got pretty lucky.
Luke is good at what he does, but he's nothing more than that. He's put on this pedestal and that angers me. He doesn't want this, why does he have this?
I think he was happier to crowds of 50 than he'll ever be to a crowd of 50,000.
