Everybody hurts

“9 strangers met.
On the net.
They killed themselves.
Boy, that was sad.”

I am not about to talk about suicide. The hows, the whats or the whys. I feel utterly disqualified, having no authentic experience, having no longing for eternal separation.

Killing yourself requires a measure of courage, of which I have none.

The bravest thing I’ve done was to threaten to run away from home, but not before I asked my fuming mother for a tumbler of water. At the age of seven, I have already mastered the basic tenet of extreme survival and realized the overwhelming superiority of water over food.

I think it must be this fluid request that got the winds of diplomacy blowing.

Basically, it saved my ass.

Boy, how the tables have turned.

My mother is a guest in my home.

Ok, let’s talk about REM’s Everybody Hurts.

When I first heard it, I thought it was an angry song for moaners and losers.

And I was Loser Numero Uno.

Now that I am no longer on Top of the Dorks, this song still has a special place in my heart. Let’s face it.

Everybody hurts.

Michael Stipe once commented the song no longer belonged to REM but to the world at large.

I wonder if the song turned out to be a total dud, would he have said the same? Would he have so openly shared his trash, his junk, his shit and dedicate these to the world?

I think about the 9 young people who killed themselves. Maybe they found the world a little impatient with their weakness, a little intolerant of their imperfection. Maybe they were willing to share their trash, their junk, their shit but the world wasn’t ready for them.

I think about the moments before they actually logged off from life, whether they had moments of hesitation. I think about the last thing they see in their mind before they end it. An object? An incident? A person? Would I have died for an object? Would I have died over an incident?

I wonder if I would have shown them a smile, a gesture, an act of kindness, whether it would make a difference.

Maybe I was a little impatient with their weakness, a little intolerant of their imperfection. Maybe I wasn’t ready for their trash, their junk and their shit.

Forgive me.

I will do better.

Just hold on.