She was a remarkable talent that died at the age of 27 because her life got away from her. She succumbed to a disease and lost control of it. It is SAD. I'm not belittling the rest of the sad things that have happened lately, especially not Oslo. But this is sad.
Amy Winehouse's music became a big part of my life when my own father checked himself into rehab after years of severe drug abuse. He survived it. She didn't it.
It makes me sad because of the personal connections I have associated to her and her music.
And yes. I'm generalizing addicts because ADDICTION = DISEASE = ADDICTION. I don't care if it's the homeless man down the block who screams curses at children because he's too high to know the difference between good and bad or the mother who got addicted to painkillers after putting out her back while working a 9-5 at the grocery store every day.
Addiction is a horrible, terrible disease. It is something that not only eats away at your brain and body but at your soul. The majority of addicts know that what they are doing is wrong, unless they are too far gone to know the difference. But knowing that it's wrong and being able to stop are two very different beasts.
I have to bow out of these conversations because I'm getting emotional and heated. It's all too familiar a dialogue for me. One that I have consistently with my family who has cut my father out of their lives. My father, subsequently, sought out help and SUCCEEDED. But all they can see is the bad -- like you -- instead of the pain he was in and now his remarkable success from treatment.
It's a terrible affliction that I hope you never suffer or watch your loved ones suffer. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Off to listen to 'Back to Black' and read. Goodnight, all.
Rest in peace, sweet Amy. Sing for the angels, wherever they and you may be.
"I know now that theatre saved my life." - Susan Stroman