What Would Kurt Say About Dealing With Depression and Finding Will to Live?

This is the question I couldn't answer for myself, and that's the hardest truth. Depression isn't something you overcome like a boss fight in a video game. It's a constant negotiation with your own mind, and some days you lose.

What I know is that depression lies to you. It tells you that you're a burden, that nothing matters, that you're fundamentally broken. And the lies feel so true because they're coming from inside your own head. That's the trap. You can't escape yourself.

Music kept me alive for a long time. Creating something, channeling all that pain into something tangible—that gave me a reason to wake up. It wasn't a cure, but it was a lifeline. Find your lifeline, whatever that is. For some people it's writing, art, helping others, nature, a relationship. Something that says 'Your existence has value beyond your suffering.'

But here's what I wish someone had told me: you don't have to suffer to create. You don't have to be broken. The narrative that artists need pain to make good work is a lie that keeps people trapped. Yes, I channeled my depression into music, but the depression itself wasn't necessary. I would have made better music if I'd been healthier. I would have lived longer.

If you're struggling, talk to someone. Not a famous musician, not a friend who's also depressed—someone trained to help. Get therapy. Take medication if you need it. Remove the shame from taking care of your mind. I didn't do those things enough, and I paid the price.

The will to live isn't something you find once and keep forever. Some days you have to choose it minute by minute. And that's okay. You don't need some grand reason. Staying alive for your kid, for a friend, for a song you haven't written yet—that's enough.

I failed at this, and I regret that failure more than any creative choice I ever made. But my failure doesn't have to be yours.