I try to be positive, and from 'Individual'... which was an

The words of Chuck Schuldiner—“I try to be positive, and from 'Individual'... which was an angry record. I got a lot of mail from people pouring out their feelings, saying that they could really relate to certain topics that I touched upon. When I read that, it lets know that there are people out there that are people out there who are going through the same things.”—are more than the reflections of a musician. They are a testimony to the power of art to connect human beings through shared struggle. Though his music may have carried the fire of anger, Schuldiner discovered that within this fire others found recognition, solace, and solidarity. What seems dark to some can, in truth, bring forth positivity, because it reveals to the listener: you are not alone.

The ancients understood this mystery well. The Hebrew psalmist sang laments filled with grief and sorrow, yet those very songs comforted generations, because they gave voice to pain that many could not name. In the Greek tragedies, the tales of Oedipus and Antigone, though steeped in despair, offered the people of Athens a mirror of their own anguish and catharsis. So it is with Schuldiner: his record “Individual”, though born of anger, became a vessel through which countless souls poured their own burdens, finding in his raw honesty a companion for their journey.

History gives us other examples of this paradox: the poetry of Wilfred Owen in the trenches of World War I. His words, filled with the terror and futility of war, were not cheerful or comforting in the usual sense. Yet for the soldiers who read them, and for those who mourned them, they were deeply positive in their power to express truth and to unite grieving hearts. So too with Schuldiner: the sincerity of his expression transformed his anger into a bridge between isolated individuals, teaching them that suffering shared is suffering lessened.

What emerges from his words is also a profound humility. Schuldiner does not boast of fame or influence; he marvels instead that his music, crafted from his own turmoil, reached into the lives of others. He acknowledges that art carries responsibilities beyond the artist, and that expression, when authentic, can become a thread binding together the broken. His joy comes not from the sound alone, but from the realization that his voice gave others the courage to acknowledge their own wounds.

This is why he insists on trying to remain positive. Positivity, for Schuldiner, is not naïve cheerfulness, but the ability to take anger, frustration, or despair and transmute them into something meaningful. The record may have been born of rage, but the aftermath was letters of gratitude, confessions of kindred spirits, and a deep reminder that honesty in expression can heal. His positivity is not denial of pain, but transformation of it.

The lesson for us is timeless: whatever your craft, your struggle, or your pain, do not fear to share it truthfully. In the act of expression—whether through song, word, or deed—you may unknowingly become a source of comfort for another soul walking through the same fire. Remember that even your darkest emotions can be shaped into light if they create connection, empathy, and courage in others. Anger and sorrow, when carried alone, can destroy; but when offered through art or honesty, they can heal.

So, dear listener, let Schuldiner’s wisdom guide you. Do not despise your pain, nor hide it, but strive to give it form, to turn it into something others may recognize and hold. In doing so, you will discover—as he did—that the world is full of those “going through the same things.” And in this recognition, both you and they will find strength, proof that even from the raw fire of anger, something enduringly positive can be born.