Hybrid Theory
It is easier perhaps to write about something you don’t quite fully understand than it is to write about that what you do know. Is it? I can’t say I’m sure. All I know is that, at this point, I am sad that Chester Bennington is dead. A member of one of my favourite bands, ever; a musician that inspired me to belt out meaningful, painful lyrics on days that appeared so very dark, and that had me continuing to fall in love with, as the years went on and I grew older. They have been on my playlist ever since I first discovered them. I didn’t know them when they first came out on to the scene, and I don’t recall exactly how I stumbled upon their music (must have happened around my induction into the world of alternative rock; Foo Fighters, Hoobastank, Incubus, Red Hot Chili Peppers etc.). I was seventeen years old, hated where I was inside my head and well, Linkin Park knew what I was going through (fear is how I fall, confusing what is real). They felt what I was feeling; their lyrics, the sounds they combined them with. It meant ‘everything’ to me. (I don’t know what’s worth fighting for or why I have to scream, I don’t know why I instigate or say what I don’t mean.)
Their music continues to have a powerful effect on me; there’s a sense of realisation/resonance, much like a release into the universe. After listening to them, I would think, ‘I have to move on.’ Go on, get on with whatever was troubling me at the time. I would be fine. And for the most part, I would be. Except not always, not often. Certainly not enough. Our demons continue to plague us; I’ve never thought about jumping off the deep end, and crashing into the unknown. I might get up on to the edge (because I am more curious than broken), hover there for a bit. Because it would be too scary to jump. (A plunge into a body of water might be better, healing — in a sense.) Hurtling oneself against the rocks down below; not easy to do, or think about. (And I still don’t understand how you can stop yourself in the moment, it’s like a magnet drawing you in closer and closer.)
Chester, I am sorry that it’s today, and that before this — I have not vocally expressed how much you gave to me because it wasn’t just you. The very essence that is Linkin Park gave me, an introvert (it is important you know this) so fucking much. And still does. I thought if there were one musical band I’d pay to see live in concert, it’d have to be yours. I have loved you guys from the moment I knew of your existence. Your music. It was all yours, Linkin Park. Your music is you. Without Chester, I don’t know what to say. I’d use the heartbreak emoji here if I could. There aren’t words profound enough. Except the lyrics. All of them. They are the only words I can sing back to you, now. (When this began, I had nothing to say, and I get lost in the nothingness inside of me, I was confused and I let it all out to find that I’m not the only person with these things in mind.)
Love to you, Mike, and the other band-mates (forgive me, I don’t know all your names — Joe and Phoenix, maybe?); to your families and friends.
I think it’s easy for us to forget that all of us/each of us — we aren’t separated by much. (The fear of reaching out trumps the fear of saying something real is what I constantly struggle with.)
Erase all the pain till it’s gone.
(I wanna heal, I wanna feel — like I’m close to something real. I want to find something I’ve wanted all along, somewhere I belong.)
Lift me up, let me go.
Lift me up, let me go.
Rest in peace, Chester.
