|Oh, yes. "Irony." Mofo.|
So of course he killed himself on or about April 5, 1994.
|Here's his dead fucking arm.|
So when I heard that Cobain had taken the coward's way out, I was fucking angry. Really, rich, handsome, talented, culturally relevant Kurt Cobain? You couldn't think of any way to cope with your notoriety except shooting yourself in the face?
Well, fuck you.
In the early 1990s, I was about your age, struggling financially, floundering professionally, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.
It never once occurred to me to kill myself.
Or if it did, I shrugged it off, because what kind of asshole commits suicide rather than just figuring out what the hell to do?
And this is not in any way an indictment of people who struggle with depression, mental illness, etc.
But FUCK, how does a millionaire celebrity rock star not find a way to seek treatment for his depression?
Here's to those of us who are still here. Not because our lives are easy, but because they're hard, and we've found a way to take on the challenge. Even when it's difficult. Even when it hurts. Even if we're not millionaires and/or geniuses.
Happy birthday, Kurt Donald Cobain.