I'm still trying to wrap my mind around Chris Cornell's death. He was 52 when he decided to cash out, roughly 2 months younger than I am. Sometimes when I attempt to put myself in the mind of a person like Cornell right before he hung himself, or Kurt just before he pulled the trigger, or any one of the millions of anonymous people out there who chose to stop living rather than face that darkness any longer, I can, almost, understand what they were thinking in those last few minutes or seconds. Nearly everyone has a limit to what they can endure, a tipping point where the spirit says, "Fuck it. If this is how it is, if this is how it's going to be from now on, I'm taking my ball and going the fuck home." Every now and then I try to imagine what it must be like, how it must feel, to find yourself in a place so completely without hope and so completely by yourself, and though I don't want to die ever at all if I can help it, I think I can relate to that moment of grace when you just let go, when you detach enough that it doesn't hurt anymore.
RIP Chris Cornell.