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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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xo

A steak knife to the heart.

People have started leaving candles, pictures, poems and flowers by that wall on Sunset, the one with the red and blue curved stripes that are behind Elliott Smith on the cover of ďFigure 8.Ē

I donít know why Iím so heartbroken about his death. Itís not like I knew him or was one of those rabid fans who collected his 7 inches. I just found his music achingly beautiful.

How could I not feel close to someone with a Ferdinand the Bull tattoo?

Though I can empathize with how tormented and unhappy he must have felt, suicide is something I cannot fundamentally understand. I donít think I can process it because I've never been to such dark and senseless levels of sadness, where self-mutilation seems like the only hope. I've been depressed before, certainly, but I've always gotten to a point where I get sick of my pathetic self. That must be my safety valve.

It also helps that I am not cursed with substance abuse. I was once almost enticed by the white powder, but as soon as my internal dialogue started touching on second jobs and Lenny-and-Squiggy-type get rich quick schemes to support a habit, I snapped out of it. Work more? Youíve got to be kidding me. Even as a nineteen year old, I knew that was a bad idea. It would totally fuck up my gpa!

I donít know if itís having grown up in California, or in San Francisco specifically, but I went through my drug phase during my teens. I did a lot of recreational drugs on the weekends, and sometimes at school, and sometimes! even during the week when my folks were driving me nuts. I can remember zooming along on shrooms, watching Hill Street Blues with my parents... risky, but worth it. By the time I was in my early twenties, I was bored by all of it, and just sipped cocktails.

I canít remember where I was going with this... my brain is so fried!

11:05 a.m. - 2003-10-24

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