Written By Jeff Beaulieu
To be honest, after posting the “To The Stars Through Trials” blog, I wasn’t expecting to release another personal letter on the “Basement News” anytime soon. It might sound very strange to new members of the YFE Family, but I never truly knew how to express my sentiments in the proper words, especially on the band’s blog “Basement News”. I mean; how can I write another “letter to the world” without using liturgics references knowing that the YFE blog section has always been some kind of a spiritual shelter or some kind of a sacred refuge for me and for so many other people when we were facing our times of deepest needs for compassion and mercy? I never realized how important those “letters” were for me until I needed to write down my own. I never believed in the power of words until they transformed me. But still, I’m hardly able to understand the empowering impact of letting myself tremble in front of a speechless screen; exposing my broken spirit and sharing my sorrows in a beautiful rhythm of common words still represent a fabulous mystery to me. I guess that’s why I’ve always admired Alex’s ability to believe in the authenticity of words, in the truth of a single word, in the beauty of his own ugliness. It takes courage to expose ones self to the eyes of others, to lie down at the feet of everybody else’s judgment. The band’s blog has always been that pure place to lay down at for me. There’s no doubt that some people who are referring to it with religious terms are reacting in a fire of pain when confronted to their own desperations or are remaining humbled and contemplative. It's quite strange that while reading the band’s blog, I've realized that explanations are useless when we are exploring the darkest places of our wounded souvenirs and the consuming flames of our heart condition. It’s not something you’ve learned from an intellectual deduction. Emotions linger in odd flashes of sepia when we’re slowly starting to understand the true nature of their strange and beautiful colors. All the while, the last couple of weeks have been filled with those colorful flashes; little blast of sparks lighting up my days in very strange ways. I’ve been thinking a lot recently. About the wicked nature of fame, the heart-corrupting walk to stardom; and the difficulties to keep my compassionate values straight while being in a world of illusions spoiling the soul of any person not ready to drink from the cup of compromises. I’ve been thinking a lot about my past. About the reasons I’ve never had dreams, never had any vision, never thought I had enough value to be truly happy and all the nights I spent totally intoxicated, hoping to find something or someone. In fact, everything hit me like a flashback blast when I’ve heard that YFE-TV was re-releasing the “Intimate Portrait” I did a little more than a year ago. Not because I was uncomfortable about that emotional video, regretting any pieces of what I shared, or because I felt exposed and vulnerable. I don’t know, seeing those images reminded me of so many souvenirs about living in a dysfunctional family lead by a miserable man and cautioned by a blinded woman. About the long gone past of the sorrowful life I used to live, back when I was younger. I don’t know why I reacted that way to the interview. Seeing those images reminded me about the price I had to pay to be free or the love I needed in order to be set free. About the investment I needed from others in order to stop believing the lies I’ve heard all my life about being a total disgrace or the mercy I experienced after every single one of my numerous falls. Also about the forgiveness I had to offer the people who choked my faith from breathing hopeful morning. Might sound like an excessive reaction, I don’t know. I felt like a dog going back to the place he’s been beaten all his life before being adopted by a loving family. He knows that it’s part of the past, but the souvenirs are hurting like it was yesterday. Wounds are as real as the scars are still painfully burning deep down inside. Yes, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, trying to find the answers to the numerous questions I used to keep hidden for so long now. How long? How long would we have to keep our mouth shut in front of all the tragedies in schools, all the suicides held in the darkest rooms, all the desperation covered with meds, all the hopeless eyes we’re crossing all day? How long would we have to listen to all those pseudo-experts blaming video games, music and violent movies for what they called “the youth sicknesses”? You know what? Fuck those experts. Fuck them all. Our “sicknesses” are the result of their obsession to look the other way. You might ask yourself: “what’s the connection between my past and my reaction towards the state of the youth”. Well, everything. Do you know how many Jeff’s are out there begging to be loved? Do you know how many Jeff’s are out there completely wasted on drugs, hoping to remain high long enough to forget what they’re truly going through? Do you know how many Jeff’s are out there praying for someone to truly care about them? I’ve seen my face’s reflections in too many eyes to do the math tonight. No, video games weren’t the reason. No, music wasn’t the motive. No, violent movies weren’t the explanation. I don’t need to be a scholar to understand what’s going on. When financial crisis are more important than youth’s desperation, it’s pretty eloquent to me. And I’m sick of it; sick of it all. Not only because I used to be treated like the sickest kid, but because I have the incredible privilege to chat everyday with those so-called “sickheads” and because I’ve truly learned to love every single one of them for who they are. Those “sickheads” are family to me. Therefore, watching the “Intimate Portrait” I did a year ago, I realized that I’d be one of those “sickheads” all my life. I’m still fighting everyday to keep my eyes opened to observe the magnificent colors of my rebirth, a life I used to bitterly paint by the numbers of my fears and insecurities. Being the victim of my own slaughtering denials, I’ve spent most of my life petting the lies of hopelessness humming on the lap of my grief. Probably the perfect image is from Alex’s lyrics, The Voice Inside: “Daylight’s fading, I’m far from home, craving for love, I’m dying for truth, the years I’ve roamed, wasted my youth, sometimes I wish, sometimes I crawl, sometimes I wish I can’t feel anything at all”. And I did waste my youth in enough drugs to feel none of the sorrows I had. I did crawl on enough dirty floors to believe I was nothing more than the piece of garbage my own parents told me I was. But after the ecstatic time I had with the fabulous people I’ve seen at the “YFE Family Meet and Greet Party” I’ve attended in London and Paris two weeks ago. I’ve never been so proud of being a “wasted kid”, knowing that the end of my story has yet to be decided and that I’ve got the certainty it has nothing to do with the sorrowful beginning of my existence. And we’re millions!!! - Jeff