Rant book

Chester Bennington's suicide

Someone commits suicide because he is so blind that can't see all that he can offer. Because he is tired. Tired of going on and receiving the blows without any hope. Thinking there's no other way out.

Because of him, I wasn't feeling alone. Because of his lyrics and songs, I kept going. And he didn't meet me. And he didn't know about me. About all the drawings I've done thanks to him. About all the times I faced up life with his songs on my headphones. It's so sad to me thinking about never being able to hear any new song from him. Because he knew once what means to be the weird one. The abused one. And he took it and turned it into the most powerful music that my heart could ever imagine.

It's not just a serial loss of celebrity. People ask us why we are so sad. They will never understand what Chester Bennington meant to us. They will never understand that he was part of our childhood. They will never understand that he was our voice. His scream was ours. In moments when we wanted to shout aloud, he was screaming instead of us. When words weren't enough to express our feelings, his songs were there for us. We could only admire him and his talent. An inspiration. A hero. He gave hope for so many people, he saved us. But unfortunately he had lost his hope and needed a hero himself.

For people who don't understand why others mourn the death of artists, you need to understand that these people have been a shoulder to cry on. Our rock. They've been family, friends, teachers, leaders and role models. Many have taught as what we need to know and what to do when times get rough. They've helped us move on. They've pushed us out of bed. They've helped us live when nobody else had the time to. Artists have inspired us in endless ways and have been with us through stages in our lives. We've made memories with them. So when they die, a part of us dies.

I won't forget that smile, it was contagious like no other.

Hits me hard. Lots of tears. A big wound opened in my heart. He will never be back. But he will be forever in my heart and in every humans heart he had touched.

The blue and red flame tattooed hand that previously pulled so many, a tortured soul out of the abuse, had fallen victim to his own demons. The voice of a generation was gone.

I do. I do care if one more light goes out in a sky of a million stars. Because it was the only one giving me hope.

Rest in peace, Chester.

I miss you so much.