Not to be forgotten but still unforgiven
Feeling through the fifth anniversary of Chester Bennington’s suicide
Chester Bennington’s voice was one of the most meaningful influences on my life. One Step Closer was the first song to ever truly reach me in a personal way—not something I got used to from hearing it on the radio over and over or something my parents listened to in the car—it reached me with an immediacy that had me looking for answers. What was that band? Can I buy their album? My mom bought me Hybrid Theory and I wore it out. Learning to sing along to both Mike Shinoda and Bennington’s parts consistently (something I couldn’t have understood as a kid was heavily punched-in) is how I developed the breath control to be a god-tier rapper.
As much as Hybrid Theory mattered to me at ten, Meteora meant just as much to me at fourteen—but that was the last time I was a diehard Linkin Park fan during Chester’s life. It took years for Minutes to Midnight to drop, and my musical development was headed in a different direction. I liked songs here and there, but in my adult life it had been the continual re-examination of how great those first two albums were and why they had so much impact on me which continued to influence me as a musician.
I didn’t internalize Chester’s suicide when it happened five years ago today. I didn’t immediately look into his past or the circumstances around his suicide—I instead emotionally distanced myself from the idea that Bennington was still of particular importance to me. It felt like losing a ‘childhood hero’ and not a contemporary human being with whom I had an emotional connection. After all, it’s not like I ever knew him personally…
Parasocial relationships have been a sticking point of my life and career. What I do as a media analyst is to try and interpret the intent of creators for the sake of audiences. My empathy and understanding for creators is the core of what I do. It isn’t like me to run away from trying to connect with someone, even if I haven’t met them; in this case it was more like shame in myself for having failed to realize the importance of this person to me before he was gone.
It took three years before I started to decompress my feelings—before a friend showed me One More Light finally and I couldn’t stop crying. There isn’t a harder song for me to listen to.
I think I understand myself more than Chester did himself. I have to believe that. His experience was vastly worse than mine. He lost his rock in Chris Cornell’s suicide, and I don’t know how far down the well of their pain goes. Black Hole Sun is one of the first songs I ever considered a favorite as a small child, and I still love it, even having never gotten deeper into Soundgarden. At this point, I’m afraid to—and that goes for later Linkin Park as well. These are the sounds of those who never found answers. I have to surpass my idols if I want to live.
It’s practically a joke for me just how statistically likely it is for me to kill myself. I’ve made attempts and had ideations in childhood and as a teen, I’m a trans woman, I do drugs, I’m a writer (and a gonzo writer at that), and a lot of the biggest influences I’ve had killed themselves before or after I became a fan. In light of all that I’ve made it my stated life goal to “live as long as possible,” just to spite all of that opposition. The secret is to live like you’ve already died a few times and have a few more lives in you to spare.
Today I was listening to the first two Linkin Park albums and started the dishes when Breaking the Habit came on, and I choked up on the second verse—my knees buckled, and I fell to the ground, clutching an open cabinet as I wept. That’s what keeps me alive.
There are a few celebrities that I hold close to my heart, and I'd like to think I appreciate them now, but I don't /miss/ them now. I don't expect them to create anything new because all that they've done so far is more than enough, I just want them to live happy lives.
My fav quote: "These are the sounds of those who never found answers."