APRIL 1991.

I DON'T KNOW what it's like to just feel nothing. It's not like I have deep emotions or anything, I think we all know that by now. Like even when I feel nothing, I feel it completely. So much that it drowns me. That nothing is never ending. It's been never ending since I was a kid — seven or eight maybe. When I finally pieced together my childhood. I finally accepted that I would get beat just because I could get beat. I just finally accepted how my life would be.

I was born on April 22nd of 1991. In a small hospital in Queens. My mother pushed me out like it was the easiest thing in the world — according to her, which I call bullshit on. Isabella Ryder — a rotting corpse stuck inside a jaw dropping woman's body. Looks that were passed onto me, ones that could kill. Those looks gave her a wild streak, made her prone to spontaneous adventures. She could get anything she wanted and that gave her an unholy power. Those adventures often involved men who caused her a quick moment of pleasure before going back to screaming matches... and not the good kind.

She had a couple names in mind at this time, my Aunt had told me. My Mom's perfectly made sister, Annie, who she wanted nothing to do with. Annie was everything my mother was not, she had a good head on her shoulders. One that had naturally long curly hair, something my mother trashed for my whole life (and probably before). But when I remet Annie years ago, the vile things I was told about her seemed to be far from the truth, I learned a few things about my childhood. From the few times she was allowed to be around infant me. For example, my name.

Pansie was going to be my name. It was the name one of my Mom's lovers called her just a few months before I was born. She was so struck over him that she was going to name her baby after him. I think that sums up my Mom pretty well, well — just wait until you hear this. So you wanna know what she named me instead? It was four in the morning, the woman hadn't taken her antipsychotic meds, and I was sat in-front of her. Apparently I was mini her, which made her cry from sadness. So she decided to name me Isabella Ryder. Just after the psychotic piece of shit herself.

From the first day of my life, it was a fucked up one. My father stuck around not too long after my birth and to be honest, I'm not sure if he was there long enough in the first place to even be my father. But that's another fucked up story for another time.

I was brought back to a home in Flushing, a small house just a couple miles away from Rockaway Beach. The house was purchased by a nurse who had been in the delivery room the morning I was born and my mother someone managed to bag him. His name was Ted, and they wed (no rhyme intended) within two months.

There's not much I remember about that time. But I do remember being three or four and waking up in our small house, eager to play and run around. Only to be left alone while they had sex on the couch. His dirty scrubs were always on the floor and had a weird smell. I do remember commenting on that when I was four years old and getting knocked out. I woke up hours later with a severe bruise on my cheek and a pain in my jaw. I was in my little bed of blankets they made me in the coat closet. He had knocked his fist into my face until I passed out and I'm pretty fucking sure used that time without me as an excuse to have sex with my mother again.

That Christmas I wished for a new Daddy. That was the only present I wanted. And I fucking got it. Despite being Ted's house, my Mom kicked him out when I was five. I don't really remember the reason but I do remember her hair being dyed red during that time. There was a cigarette balanced between her lips as she slammed the door shut. She had told me we would have so much more fun without him. It was just the two of us now.

When I was six, I smoked my first cigarette. Ma was single for about a year with random guys coming and going in her bedroom. The bills were piling up and she took up a job at a market down the street. She was a mother for that year. She brushed my hair, fed me, and walked me to school. It wasn't like she punched me or hurt me like Ted did. Except for one time when she put her cigarette out on me after I broke the television remote. But, right after my sixth birthday she started hanging around some band from Brooklyn. They were gonna be big — they told her. So there was weed, amps, and five long haired guys that convinced her to let them live in our house. Needy was one of them, a huge muscular balding guy who was their bassist I think. I remember liking him because of his weird looking mustache. He would give me cigarettes and let me stay up past midnight.

Mom was dating one of them. Then cheated on the one she was dating with another one. So they were all out of the house within two months of being there. Without their extra jobs, we were starting to grow poor as fuck. Not that we had money to start with but now we were at chance of losing our shithole of a house. So we sold all our stuff and moved into a tiny apartment above a deli. A place where someone who used to work at the market with Mom was staying with her family. They were so generous to us. Even though they had no reason to be.

I liked it though. Meena, was the woman's name. She had five kids, all which loved to play. One of them taught me how to draw and another taught me how to play kickball. All six of us played all day while our parents found work and my mother whored around Queens. I think we were there for a month, maybe more, before we headed upstate. We hitchhiked the whole way there and a stranger dropped us off at what seemed to be a castle to six year old me. In a way it kind of was. It was magical.

The door opened and I saw my Aunt Annie and her new husband, Garrett. It was his house — he was a guy from money who also held a heavy heart in his hands. He was the first person in my life who seemed to be actually kind of normal. Although my Mom was pissed about it, we stayed with them for almost a year. Garrett and Annie were the best thing that ever happened to me. I owe everything to them.

The summer before I started first grade, we moved back home to Flushing. Mom had saved up enough upstate and Garrett had also lended her quite a bit. Which I'm pretty sure she dropped on weed and this fancy new record player. Which is something that I had never seen before or even heard of. It was "Best of My Love" by The Emotions that I heard one evening after I came home from school. She was singing along while she applied her makeup to go out for that evening. I was in awe of the music erupting from the machine in our living room. I had never seen something so magical. Or something that seemed magical at that time.

She was still bringing random men back home on a daily basis. Telling me she had a new "Daddy" for me only to leave him days later. I recognized this pattern easily for being so little. I knew to never get used to anyone because there'd be another one by the time I got back from school the next day. School wasn't any better either. I didn't have the most expensive things at the time — which is probably why I'm so sure on having the nicest things now. I didn't really have any friends either, since I was missing the year prior from school. I was the late bloomer freak new kid with old fucking shoes.

Two of the girls from my class who took a similar route with me from school would follow me everyday home. They would shout things at me until I arrived home. Calling me poor and unloved, then continue to make fun of me for my lack of friends. I got tired of their bullshit one day and vowed to beat their fucking ass the next day. In which I did. And boy, did they regret it.

I was hostile and pissed off at my life by the time I was ten years old. I was stealing CDs from the music store down the road, despite not even having a player. I was shoving gum balls in the popcorn at the theater in hopes that someone would choke on it. I was so fucking upset with my life that I was doing anything to get attention from anyone and anything. Something I've brought with me into adulthood. I'll do anything to make people take a second look or bat an eye. I love attention, but I don't really value it anymore as much as it's an addiction.

My Ma was getting tired of my bullshit. I had stolen a CD player at this point and I was obviously caught in the act. One day I just snapped. She tried to tell me that I was a selfish jerk and she was an innocent mother who was a bystander in my screwed up life. I screamed in her face, calling her a whore who couldn't keep a guy if her life depended on it. I had remembered hearing Needy call her a whore years ago. Which made her go batshit crazy. So I got the same reaction, a fist in the face. And a new home.

Aunt Annie and Garrett couldn't even calm me down. Anytime they tried to tell me how it would go, I would have a freak out. I would trash my room there and scream at them like I owned the place. They had enrolled me in a private school at that point, one that had uniforms and all that shit. I'll never forget sitting behind the bleachers with two other girls, one of them had stolen cigarettes from her Dad. Right after I told them I knew how to smoke and I had done it before. We were eleven, we thought we were so cool. Blowing smoke in eachother's faces and coughing with laughter until we couldn't breathe. We smoked everyday for probably two weeks behind the bleachers. Until one day the principal just walked right up to us.

Two week suspension. A bit of an overreaction if you ask me but you know, it was 2002. I was a fucking hellion at this point. I spent the first week of my suspension running around the town trying to find someone who would sell me cigarettes. I now needed them to process, to think, to breathe. I ended up stealing some from a homeless guy on the street. Like I said, hellion. The next day, Garrett found the pack hidden under my pillow. He promised not to tell my Aunt as long as he could show me something. I obliged and he brought me to his car. This sounds like it's going to end badly, right? Well, for once, it didn't. We went for a drive around the town, he took me to a record shop since he knew I had a thing for music. He actually taught me band names that were on the CDs I had taken. He bought me three posters that day and let me decorate the bedroom there.

It was the drive back that a melody that would now save my soul began playing in the car. "Looks that Kill" by Mötley Crüe began echoing throughout the car and it was like I had lost my fucking mind. I immediately had Garrett turn up the volume and I just shut my eyes and let the music take over. I found it then, I just fucking found it. It was as simple as that. My awakening to rock'n'roll was standing beside me and tripped me to fucking death. I was now in its chokehold. I was its bitch.

I was back in Flushing the next year, a whole new me got off the bus from upstate. I could see my mother's jaw drop when she saw the black hair dye had stained my hair, black eye makeup smeared on my lids, a bag full of CDs, records, tapes, and posters. I was determined to become a rockstar at this point — whether it meant life or death.

The first time I truly felt something besides that feeling of nothing was when I was in the car with Garrett with the rock station on high. I had joined a high — I was on top of the fucking world. I was cocky as fuck for a twelve year old and was sure I was going to be the next Patti Smith even though I lacked any musical talent or practice. That was the first task.

I had converted the other bedroom into my own while my Mom was at work one day. My legs could no longer fit in that closet as I had grown to a 5'7 kid, still nowhere near done growing. So when she came back home from her job at the bodega down the street, she entered the spare bedroom to see walls lined of rockstars who either died or weren't far from it. And me sprawled out with a "Shout At The Devil" tattoo that I had given to myself.

It was safe to say she was unhappy. Her and the guy of the time... who's name I no longer remember, kicked me to the curb with a scream and a kick. So I literally sat on the curb. I remember being way too proud of myself for my little stunt. I thought I was so fucking cool for pulling something so ridiculous. My body was stretched out, resting on my elbows in the grass. It was becoming dark and I was having to decide how to sneak back in before it got too dark.

There was footsteps coming from behind me. Ones that I assumed were my mother's so I prepared for the worst. But when I turned my head, I was met with the face of a boy. He had a baby face, reminded me of a literal kid. He was very obviously older though. He had a lot of piercings and that really fucking gross side hair all the guys tried to pull of in the 2000s. He was wearing skinny jeans and it was the first time I ever saw a guy doing so. "Wassup," He said to me which is something I've never let that sick fuck live down.

He sat beside me with a cigarette held between his lips. He handed it to me and I inhaled like my life depended on it. It was safe to say he was impressed, a twelve year old girl was taking it better than him. We talked for a little bit, he asked why he never saw me around. He had just moved from Brooklyn a year ago while I had embarked on my journey upstate. We smoked, we talked. He had drum sticks in his pockets which immediately caught my attention. When I asked him about it he told me "I rock" and I asked him to prove it. So he took me to his garage where I coincidentally slept that night, and showed me his drum set. Something he got for his birthday the year before.

He was right, he rocked. He was also the guy who was practically my other half for the rest of my life. He was Leon. He was smart, he was young, and he said "wassup." But he also introduced me to his friend Alex who had learned a few chords on the guitar. Who's best friend just happened to play bass in the another band. One that was way fucking better than us. But he left them for us anyways. And what a good proposition that was.

And no, that kid wasn't Atlas.

THE AUTHORS NOTE!
i wrote this chapter LAST SUMMER!!!! this chapter (i hope) shines light on daphne ryder and who she is. her past doesn't define her but it's a big part of who she is and who's she's become.

if you have any questions about daphne or her childhood i'm very open to answering <3

i also made an edit (with really shitty coloring) for this chapter a few weeks ago but the coloring was so fucking bad i haven't posted it anywhere. 😭

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO!