In the aftermath, vox populi on the Internet kept stressing over and over: "Why didn't he reach out?" "You've got to reach out!"
I'm no rich, semi-famous 90s has-been, but I can say from experience: Nobody loves you when you're down and out. When I've been at my lowest, I've communicated exactly how bad I was feeling, how I needed emotional help, how even little things (like a ride home from the grocery store back when I didn't have a car, or a weekend away from my mother when I was forced to live with her) would be much appreciated.
And people were revolted by it.
People are afraid "it" might be contagious. They want nothing to do with "it." My depression was annoying to them. I was negative and unhappy. No fun to be around. A real downer. I gave off a "bad vibe."
I'm a Nothing who survived the lack of attention in later years by hearkening back to my childhood, when I got no emotional attention at home, but got kudos for being smart in school. Reading made me feel better. Listening to music made me feel better. Watching movies, too. Yet I was always indoctrinated that I must have a human support network. (I would LIKE to have one, as I was told was beneficial, and that I feel might be beneficial, but since I don't? And when I've reached out and was ignored/rejected over and over again? Once you've hit a certain age, it's silly to keep on trying, to keep on going to a dry well, trying to get blood from a stone...however you want to put it.)
I'll be fine at a low level with my books/music/movies/Internet. But then I never had a "great love" or great fame or a great outlet for my creativity, as Cornell and Bennington had. Never having gotten what I wanted is, I suppose, a bit better than getting exactly what you wanted and then discovering that there's nothing there.
|If you're a male rock star trying to be trendy to the point of looking like an ageing anorexic San Francisco lesbian, then... perhaps best to kill yourself. (In short: Be true to yourself. Don't be a fucking clone.)|