I was a huge Nirvana fan from about the age of 14, and worshipped the ground Kurt walked on. I had numerous posters, all the albums, and even saw them live with the Breeders and the Melvins in Portland right after In Utero came out. I had a very large crush on him, and wished black death on Courtney Love from the very first moment they got together. In short, I was a teenybopper, and Kurt was my muse.
I will never, ever forget the day I went to a neighbour’s house to smoke a little hash, and when we came back and walked in the front door of my friend Nicole’s house, her mother said to me “You know that musician guy you like? Kurt something? He’s dead, he killed himself and they just found him.” I didn’t hear anything else for days. I remember one of my friends giving me a cigarette and looking up and somehow it had all burned and I was holding a long string of ash and had been for several minutes. I remember my friend Joe holding me and offering to get me drunk. After he had done so, I remember my friend Sarah, who was a cutter, cut her arm just for the hell of it and I freaked out on her, after which I sobbed for hours in front of a fireplace and tossed flower after flower from the bouquet on the coffee table into the flames to watch them burn. My friend Angel came and told me it hurt him to see me cry, but all I could do was sob. He took a Sharpie marker and helped me write Nirvana lyrics all over my entire body, culminating in a beautiful piece across my back:
“Hate your enemies
Save your friends
Find your place
Speak the truth.”
I didn’t bathe for several days, and the marker stayed and faded to a smeary brown. All my friends were worried about me, and even my friend Nora who was goth and who dispised Nirvana wept with me. I wrote poem after poem for Kurt, kept every magazine that dealt with his death (eventually I had like 50 magazines piled up on my headboard), and eventually, somehow, I woke up and rejoined the world.
But it still hurts, to this day. I don’t blame him, I don’t think he’s a coward. I have been in similar states of mind and I know how easy it would be to just cross that line from thinking about ending it all to actually doing it. He’d been in horrible pain his entire life from some sort of stomach issue, and then his heroin addiction just made everything worse. Being that fucked up, a lot of things seem like a good idea, or the only option, when they are not. And frankly, if I was married to that harpie, I’d kill myself too, but that’s probably a mean thing to say.
At any rate, whether he died by his own hand or was murdered or whatever the latest conspiracy theory is, it doesn’t matter: he’s dead. And the world is a little emptier without him and always will be. So tonight I will be having a drink for Kurt, and I will put on my old albums and probably cry a little, both for him and for the me that I was ten years ago, when this shattered my world apart. I don’t think, if it happened today, it would wreck me like it did then. But because it did, I always remember it with an extemely painful twinge.