When I was growing up, I knew this sick girl. Not sick in the physical sense, but in the mental sense. She got made fun of at school because she had some issues that nobody understood. She didn't even understand them herself, and nor did her doctors really, when she was diagnosed with Schizophrenia at the age of 13. It's something hereditary that you're born with that usually doesn't rear it's ugly head until your late teens/early 20's, but it can be brought on early by a traumatic event... like your parents going through a horrible divorce. She was one of the youngest diagnosed cases of Schizophrenia that any of the dozens of doctors she saw had ever seen or heard about. Imagine being twelve years old and opening your closet to find a dead woman with a knife sticking out of her stomach that starts talking to you. Or getting in the shower where the water quickly turns to blood, and bathing in it while you cry out of sheer terror. It might be a hallucination, but when it's happening to you, it couldn't be any more real. At that point, it's all you really know. That was her reality while the rest of us were shitting our pants to A Nightmare on Elm Street.
She liked to sing, and music was really the only thing that brought her any type of joy in her abysmal, depressing life that she never really got a chance to live. Her favorite artist was Whitney Houston. She had all the 12" singles, all the full length LP's, the cassettes, the posters, the t-shirts... you name it. Her struggling single mother bought it all for her no matter what because she knew it would help her if only for a little bit. When "I Will Always Love You" came out, it was right about the same time her father left her and never came back. That song had a different meaning for her than most of us, and she sang it at the top of her lungs, repeatedly, with tears running down her face. Sometimes she was just silent and sat there and cried. I'm not sure if it was out of pain or because of Whitney's beautiful voice, I just know those tears were shed by one of the most unjustly tortured people you will ever find. It's safe to say that in some of those incredibly dark moments, that Whitney Houston was her saving grace. Her idol. Her inspiration. Her distraction. Her hero when she didn't have anyone else besides her mother to turn to.
That girl is my sister.
We don't have much of a relationship any more for one reason or another, and we don't even speak to each other. But this past weekend, I felt pain like I hadn't in quite some time, and I'm not even a Whitney Houston fan. As much as we don't get along, I sat in my room and cried silently while thinking about how my sister must have been feeling at the exact same moment. And for the first time in ages, I decided I needed to reconcile with her. I haven't yet, but I will, soon.
In the last few days since Houston's tragic, untimely death, I've gotten several forwarded text messages making fun of her for various reasons, the main one is being dead, I guess? I was told a joke at work today that someone cleverly tied into Valentine's day, and I've seen a ton of tasteless shit on Facebook and the rest of the internet. Part of me has pity for these people because they clearly have no feelings. We live in a society that puts celebrity on a pedestal above and beyond anything else. We love to watch people rise to stardom and fame, but just as equally, we love to watch them fall, and apparently, die. It's fucking disgusting and one of the moments in my life where I truly doubt the goodness of humanity. It wasn't Bin Laden who just got taken out by Seal Team Six, it was a fucking ICON who died way before her time, regardless of the circumstances. We shouldn't be almost celebrating the death of someone who was able to touch so many, but apparently a lot of you think that's the appropriate action. Sending "funny" text messages and telling jokes is something to do in times of joy, NOT in times of pain. She may not have been a saint, but neither are you or I.
I'm not innocent of making tasteless jokes in similar situations, but you'll never catch me doing it again. No matter how much crack she smoked, how strange she acted in public, or how many fights she got in with Bobby Brown, Whitney Houston was a mother to someone, a daughter to someone, a friend to many people, and an extremely talented artist that the world was lucky to have. I can't imagine my childhood without her, as much as I never cared for her music. I just know now, in retrospect, that maybe without her there would have been more trips in the back of an ambulance while my mom was at work after my sister overdosed on prozac and anti-depressants when I was 11 and my sister was 13. Maybe a few more hospital visits to see my sister in the psych ward with people three to four times her age walking around drooling on themselves and mumbling unintelligibly.
So, for everyone out there having fun at the expense of a dead mother, daughter, wife, and hero to many, FUCK YOU. If I you're reading this, and you sent me that text, or posted a link to Facebook making fun of my sister's and many, many other people's life-long idol, a SUPER extra special FUCK YOU to you too. You are the scum of the fucking earth, and if I wasn't a better person, I would hold a grudge against you long enough to revel in your own personal misery when someone you love dies. I can imagine that you wouldn't take jokes about your dead mother lightly, would you? I bet you wouldn't want someone dancing on your grave, but if eastern philosophy has taught us anything, you have it coming, motherfucker.
Rest In Peace..