Scott Weiland is Dead and No One is Glorifying Him

scott-weiland-and-mary-forsberg

Less than a week after Scott Weiland’s death, his second wife penned an open letter to him on behalf of his still young children. The piece was quickly labeled “poignant” and “powerful” with Mary Forsberg Weiland described as “brave,” so many people heartbroken for her.

While I have sadness and empathy in my heart for Scott Weiland’s children, dealing with his death at the tender ages of 15 and 13 must be especially difficult, I have little sympathy for Mary Forsberg, and I’m here to tell you why.

I’m the unfortunate child of an addict. A life I was born into which I didn’t choose. When I read the Rolling Stone article, I was almost angry by Forsberg’s callousness and lack of accountability. Who decided to marry and bring two children into the world with a publicly-known and destructive addict? Who is now assuming the role of martyr?

I also want to know who exactly is glorifying Scott’s death? If anything, most of us have pity for him. I do. I’ve grown up with his music—a wonderful artist that fucked up and was fucked up.

I pity his wonderful talent gone to waste. I pity his substance abuse. I pity his lack of fatherhood. I pity his destructive relationships in both platonic and romantic situations.

Rumors are flying about both sides of the story: Mary onced used heavy drugs like heroin and cocaine, Scott paid $60,000 per month in child support, Mary refused to let Scott see his kids, Scott committed spousal abuse on Mary.

And still, in all of this, it’s the children that suffer the most.

To Scott and Mary’s kids:

It will be okay, but you have to make it okay. Your parents short-comings don’t define you. You’ll experience the pain from it for the rest of your life, but it will be okay. Try to treasure the good memories you had, if any. Don’t let hate fill your heart.

To Scott:

I’m sorry you had this disease. I’m sorry you couldn’t be the father you needed to be. I’m just sorry. And I won’t glorify your rockstar life. I promise.

Advertisements