I’m just gonna kind of halfway hide this, because it’s probably going to end up longer than it needs to be. I just wanted to say a few things.
And yes, it’s very Andy related.
A lot of people believe in psychic energy, links, what have you. Others believe in premonitions. I suppose it’s all the same when you stop to think about it. I’m not sure I believe in any of those things, but they’re all rather convincing from time to time. However, I do not believe in coincidence. If something happens enough, there has to be something there. Am I wrong for believing that?
Let me start by saying that a year ago, I hated Black Veil Brides with everything in me. Everything I was made of was simply repulsed by the idea of the band, the music, the look, the lyrics. Everything.
A year ago, I also started having strange dreams. I haven’t remembered a dream of mine since I was maybe ten years old. And when I would dream, it would include swimming in a swamp full of alligators Banjo-Kazooie style and investigating deaths at schools filled with nothing but animals. Sadly, that’s not the case for these dreams. It seems the only dreams I can recall when I wake up in my old age are those with Andy Biersack in them. I don’t know how they happen. I don’t know why. Usually, he and his band and his music are the last things on my mind.
I don’t remember the first dream, because I chalked that one up as me being paranoid. The next few, I can recall bits and pieces of, such as being saved from a murderer or the edge of a building (Hey, everyone has their dark days). I really started to notice the strange connection when BVB was in some other country which name escapes me right now. In my dream, I was at my first BVB show. I was with one of my best friends who is a die-hard Andy fan in every way you can imagine. She went to the front of the stage, and I was standing by the door, completely disinterested in the whole ordeal. There was this girl standing next to me and she started freaking out, jumping up and down, and screaming that Andy was there. And he was. Right behind her. And she was still jumping up and down and yelling about her idol. He clearly wasn’t amused and politely asked if she would move so he could reach the stage. He did this a few more times before he finally pushed her out of his way. My knee-jerk reaction was to run to my friend and tell her how much of a dick he was, and for some reason, that pleased me.
The next morning, a video had been released on Youtube, showing Andy’s plight against a crowd full of fans like the girl standing next to me. It depicted them ripping at his hair, clothing, necklaces, anything they could get their hands on. The man took one wild swing and feed himself. The comments weren’t kind. They called him an asshole, said he was a dick for hitting someone. And he actually apologized for it. Andy, the man who was being choked out by an insane mob, apologized for defending himself.
The next dream I can recall was on Halloween night. I was getting ready to kill myself in the most dramatic way possible - the noose, of course! I was pulled down by who else but Andy himself? He put a finger to his lips and told me to stay quiet. That everything would be alright. This in itself was disturbing to me. The scenery change afterward wasn’t much better. I was on the back of a motorcycle. I had no idea who the man driving it was, but I remember being pulled off of it. I remember Andy once again saving me. I remember being in tears for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint in the middle of the night. And I remember waking up the next morning to the news that Mitch Lucker had died.
There were a few more after this, but none that I can remember all of. I remember talking to Andy over the phone. I remember him telling me secret upon secret, but I wasn’t to tell anyone. I remember them in my sleep, but for the life of me, in my waking hours, I can’t recall a thing.
That brings us to last night.
I was in one of the places where Legion of the Black was shot. I don’t remember my own high school, but I couldn’t forget these places if I tried. I was marching with the Legion, and some asshole grabbed me out of nowhere and took me to a rehab. I wasn’t happy, mainly because the food there sucked. But, guess who I met while I was there. DING DING DING. Andy. He was in an oversized hockey jersey for some odd reason, and he was telling everyone he was getting better. He was getting out soon. I remember the words “You lucky bastard” coming out of my mouth, and I hugged him. I just stood there and hugged him for five dream minutes. It was odd, but I’m glad I finally have a dream I remember.
I woke up, and after trying to rid myself of a completely stopped up nose and a headache from hell, I told my friend. You know, the one who was at the dream show with me. She told me about Andy’s sickness, because I don’t keep tabs on anything. I just get to know it by association. She also told me that she “heard” (read) somewhere that Andy was getting better. I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to hug him right about now.
Instead, I will say this:
I’m proud of him for being able to stand up on that stage while he was sick, whether he took off a few dates or not, that is impressive. That doesn’t make him an asshole. It doesn’t make him inconsiderate. He’s done his best to make the “army” happy. He doesn’t need the disappointment speech. He’s a grown man with the nerve to say he doesn’t owe any single one of you a damn thing, and he’s still willing to give his all. Let him breathe for once.