Much like many people around the world, I was so saddened to hear that Whitney Houston died. When I first saw the newsfeed, I thought for sure that I read it wrong. I wasn't so much shocked as I was saddened. I instantly flashed back on that beautiful voice that accompanied that bright smile and those lovely eyes, that were for at least a large part of the African-American community back in the day, the girl next door.
Then came the lesbian rumors, soon after that, the stories that she had hooked up with Bobby Brown. Like for white America, it was Heather Locklear marrying Tommy Lee. It was nothing that we could've foreseen, and unbeknownst to us, more was to come. Whitney was reportedly smoking crack, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and doing crazy amounts of drugs- her voice, that beautiful angelic sigh that we'd come to know and love, was gone. Shredded. Used up. Then, in an effort to tell us that all the stories were false, she told us, her rich ass, that crack was for "poor people". And we let her go.
The jokes came. The reality show. The giving up on our darling girl, but the deeper hope that she would pull it together, sing another amazing song, and let us love her again. But that didn't happen.
And whose fault is that? No one wants to say it, let alone think it, but it's not Bobby Brown's fault. For all the people who want to hate him and blame him for her demise, it's not fair. Whitney Houston was a beautiful, yet troubled lady when she met him. Yes, he may have introduced her to a poison from which she wouldn't recover, but let's not get it twisted: She wasn't a little girl who had no idea of the dangers and ills of the scene. Her mother, her aunt, and her godmother were all a product of that world- she had heard the stories and seen the downfalls first hand. If it wasn't him, who is to say that she, amid her own demons that we will never fully understand, wouldn't have found another person to feed her beasts.
Instead of pointing collective fingers at the person who some say was the love of her life, lets look at another devil: The doctors who repeatedly, knowingly, gave her the drug-lifeline that she so craved. Why aren't we angered by the trips she reputedly made in the days before her death to replenish supplies that should've have run out? Why aren't we angered by the willingness of people who have made promises to do everything they can to aide and assist us in health and well-being, who aren't?
We have gotten, as a nation, so lax in coping with anything. We have decided, again as a nation, that we should never suffer any form of discomfort. You hurt? Take a pill. You're uncomfortable? Take a pill. Anything the ills you should be immediately fixable by popping a pill. I am convinced that doctors and researchers aren't even looking for cures anymore- why should they? Just medicate until you are numb, and the problem goes away, right? And, you aren't a "druggie" because you aren't taking "dirty" street drugs- these are prescribed by a doctor, so it's not the same thing, right? WRONG. It's bullshit.
Especially when you have someone who has money and/or notoriety. Who is gonna stop the gravy train? If you tell said person "no", he or she is just gonna fire you and find someone else who is willing to feed their habit. And no one can figure out why kids are being hooked on these same said pills? Gee. Mom was hurting but I see her get all deliciously loopy and feel good, why wouldn't I try it? I don't know how to stop the madness, America, but it needs to end.
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