It's Better to Burn Out than Fade Away-Kurt Cobain

Chapter 146

April 7, 1994

Dave walked inside of the bedroom with Krist right beside him. 

I could see them out of my peripheral.

I was laying on my side, staring at the wall.

I had been doing it all day.

"Ruby," Dave spoke. "We have to do something. We have to record something."

"We have to record a little statement for his memorial," Krist said. 

"We have his note he left behind."

I shot up. "He left a note?"

It felt weird to speak.

I hadn't spoken in days.

I didn't need to speak.

Dave handed it to me and I snatched it from his hand. 

Krist set something down. 

"I'm going to record you reading it," He let me know. "It's going to be like a little message for his fans."

I cleared my throat and read it out loud while crying softly. 

"'To Boddah Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about these things. The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God, believe me I do, but it's not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child. On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know! I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and three daughters who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person they meet because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of any of my girls becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become. I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess. Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away. Peace, love, empathy. Kurt Cobain. Lorelai, Melissa, Frances, and Ruby, I'll be at your alter. Please keep going Ruby, for our girls. For their lives, which will be so much happier without me. I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!'"

I had to pause for a second after reading that letter. He had really felt all of those things. 

I forgot that I was supposed to be leaving a message. 

"Kurt was a wonderful human being," I choked out, Dave rubbing my back while Krist held my hand. "But he always knew how to make the worst fucking decisions. I mean, come on. Leaving your family like that?! What a shitty way to go out. He's a fucking coward. God, I fucking hate-I love him. And you all love him too and he loves-loved that."

I put up my hand, signaling that I was done.

I had nothing more to say.

Krist started talking, saying a more meaningful and nice message. 

I couldn't stand to put on an act. 

Dave just looked at me and I looked back at him.

I had done enough talking.

Stay, I mouthed to Dave as Krist continued to talk.

He nodded his head. 

I didn't smile. 

I was almost 100 percent sure I was never going to smile ever again. 

Krist stopped talking and looked up at us. 

"I'm leaving now," He stood up. 

I gave him a sympathetic look.

I knew that he probably needed a hug, but I couldn't. 

I would never touch anyone ever again. 

Not as of right now. 

Dave gave him a hug, though.

Krist shut the door on his way out and Dave laid down by me, but not too close. 

"I don't understand why this is happening," I sobbed. "I mean, come on. I lost my other boyfriend, why did I have to lose my husband? OH GOD!"

I cried into my pillow, facing away from Dave.

"HE KNEW THAT ROBERT DID THAT!" I screamed. "HE KNEW WHAT ROBERT DID TO ME AND HE STILL DID IT ANYWAY! THAT FUCKER! THAT MOTHER FUCKER!"

Dave started to cry, too. 

He didn't cry softly. 

No, he cried hard.

He cried hard with me. 

We both cried as loud as we could. 

We sounded like we were dying. 

This was as close to death as it got. 

I was losing every part of me. 

I was never going to be able to be happy again. 

I was never going to be able to trust anyone ever again. 

I was never going to be able to just live a normal a life. 

I was never going to be able to not have grief or feel guilty. 

I was going to always feel guilty. 

I was always going to blame myself for his death. 

If only I didn't go to the grocery store. 

If only I forced him to go with me. 

If only I didn't force him to go to rehab. 

If only I would've listened to him and what he had to say. 

"Don't blame yourself," Dave sniffed. 

I didn't respond. 

It was too late.