I’ve been watching the Kurt Cobain documentary that HBO put on. It’s quite a haunting story. I feel badly for Kurt because of the apparent pain he was in, both physically and mentally. He felt like no one wanted him from an early age. His friends introduced him to drugs. He ended up in a relationship with a woman that he had many issues with, but ended up having a child with. He tried committing suicide, but failed. His next attempt would be successful.
I don’t know why I keep thinking about the show. I’m not into drugs. I’m not into alcohol. I’m not really into his style of music. And I didn’t really know much about the guy until I overheard some people talking about the documentary at work.
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time in my life thinking about suicide, wishing for death, no matter how it comes, as long as it only affects me. One of the reasons why I don’t drink is because I had always wanted to get drunk and hope I’d have the courage to go through with it. One of the reasons I try not to count calories is because I had always thought about killing myself by starving myself. I want to feel pain, I deserve to feel pain. Why? Don’t ask me such a stupid question… I don’t know the answer anyway.
In a way I’m jealous of him. He was able to do something I have longed for most of my life to do – to work up the courage to go through with it. And the ability to correctly kill himself. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I tried to kill myself and wasn’t successful. What would people think of me? How would I face everyone? I’d be a failure. A failure for trying and not succeeding. A failure for the inability to be happy correctly.