What ever happened to Limp Bizkit? I asked myself this question while sitting on the toilet last week. When I was in jr. high, I was fanatic about Fred Durst, lead singer of Limp Bizkit. I knew all the words to his entire first album, I had four or five Limp Bizkit t-shirts, about a hundred stickers, and even a patch for my backpack. I was a true fan.

Looking back on those oh-so-awkward years, I realize that I didn’t even like them that much. I was more into being a Limp Bizkit fan because that’s where I found my acceptance from others. Middle school was an all out war-zone; every clique resented the others for a myriad of stupid reasons. After all, growing up in an upper middle class suburban environment gave us all so much to be angry about.

If you wanted to survive, you had to choose a crowd and do whatever it took to gain their acceptance. My group of friends were the metal heads. During lunch we would congregate on the grass at the front of the school and blast our music while we mooned cars that drove by. This was my day job as a 13 year-old.

When I got home things were different. I would remove my spike bracelets and ripped jeans, slip out of my mangled Chuck Taylors and pop in my favourite CD, the soundtrack from Rent. That’s right, I LOVE musical theatre. I always have, and I always will. But as a youngster I couldn’t admit my passion for the theatre because I was sure I would be treated like a leper by all my super-cool friends.

So everyday I would spike my hair that was too long, put on my metal t-shirts that were too big, check Rodgers & Hammerstein at the door and step out to face a world that had no idea who I really was.

At the time I didn’t feel the toll of living this double life; after all, I had a group of friends that would do anything for me - as long as I dressed the way they did, listened to the music they did, showed my butt to cars like they did (I actually didn’t mind that part), and went along with the consensus, no matter what the cost.

It wasn’t until high school that I realized just how ridiculous all this was. A few “friends” of mine were planning on breaking into a house and asked me to go with them as a lookout. Who had I become? Pretending to like a certain style of music to gain acceptance is one thing, but being a lookout in a 15-year-old’s crime ring was something I knew I couldn’t do. So I told them I wouldn’t do it, they called me some less than pleasant names and left me standing alone.

The next day I found out they had all been caught and arrested. I took that as a sign from God (who I didn’t even think existed at that time), and vowed to always be myself, whether that meant being a social outcast or the most loved guy since David Cassidy (ask your parents).

Don’t get me wrong, this article is not my attempt to give you some hackneyed “be yourself” advice like some after school special. I can barely handle my own life, let alone guide anyone else’s. My only hope is that we can find a way to accept who we really are and live a joy-filled life. We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not, and the more joy and love that fills our lives, the better the adventure will be.