I woke up for absolutely no reason at about 4am. As is usual in these circumstances I get up and go to the loo, stroke the cat (not a euphimism, actually stroke the cat) and check Facebook. Yes, I know. Usually there are a few updates from friends who are inexplicably still out on the piss at that hour (youngsters usually) and Americans getting up and posting their own strange timeline. But today it was the fact that Whitney Houston is dead.
She was 48 years old and it's obviously a drug related death, in one way or another. I'd hazard the guess that her crack addled heart gave up the ghost. It looks like she was still trying to pull her shit together and perhaps managing. Perhaps not. Perhaps this was always the way she was going to end her life.
As is more and more common people announce the death via social media along with comments about how shocked they are and lots and lots of uses of RIP. And then probably about an hour later out come the jokes. I've seen "Houston, we have a problem" approximately 90 million times already today. And I'm not judging. Exactly. I'm not. I was the first one to be completely unimpressed when Princess Di shuffled off this mortal coil. But, as I've said before, that was because I was immensely freaked out by the actions of a populace who were clearly crying and screaming for their own private griefs and sorrows and hanging it on the death of some remote figure as an outlet.
I've watched along with everyone else. I've watched the likes of Whitney go from seemingly wholesome and healthy to an absolute mess. It's hard not to curl your lip in disgust when someone has everything, all the money, fame, adoration, talent, beauty and then you see them toothless and pathetic, at the mercy of some substance or another. Doesn't really matter whether it's alcohol, crystal meth (yes, I'm looking at you Lohan), crack, heroin, whatever. It's an addiction to fill a void in their life. I think it's the weakness that people despise. And the feeling that they themselves could slip into that abyss.
People who preach so hard and so vehemently about drugs, drink, whatever. People who are so sure of themselves and their ability to keep control of their lives. People who profess they are glad when a drug addict dies. How far away would they be from a similar fate but for a downturn in their luck?
People who never ever ever see in the face of a homeless person or a drug addict, the person they could be but for a twist of fate are kidding themselves. No one knows what the future holds for anyone. Not ever.
I guess at least Whitney's been put out of her very obvious misery. And maybe she lived how she wanted to live. Maybe it was better in her eyes to be off her face for a shorter duration than live a long life full of boredom or depression or whatever it was she was running so far and fast from.