Warning: this entry is a little more introspective than "I need a Louis Vuitton purse." (But I do.)
For years, Sean and I have heard that Breaking Bad is, like, the best show to happen to TV since the Brady sisters got married. I looked at the premise and said, "Soooo, it's just Weeds, but with meth? Hmmm. Sounds like a hoot. No, thanks. I already have a drug show." But I love dark (Six Feet Under is one of my all-time favorite shows and American Beauty is brilliance in film embodied.). And people continue to rave. So yesterday, one of Sean's co-workers very kindly brought him season 1 on blu-ray and insisted he give it a go.
Last night, he gingerly approached me with, "I know you've been kind of reluctant, but would you want to check it out?" To say I was hesitant is pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. See, I didn't want to watch it for reasons much more deeply rooted than I think I'm a TV critic. I lost a friend in a very convoluted series of circumstances, one of which was meth. And even though it was 7+ years ago, last night made it abundantly clear that I've never really dealt with it. In fact, I'd definitely say I'm still in the grieving stage and I'm pretty convinced I'll never get out of it. Even just typing this, I picture her and what a kindred spirit she really was. So it feels pretty fucked up when you're barely out of college and you lose someone who could finish your thoughts and make you laugh until you're very nearly in need of a pair of Depends. And you know what? It still feels pretty fucked up. Maybe it's because I moved away (four times) and I wasn't there to know what truly happened. I don't think I'll ever really know. And I choose to remember her as the person she actually was, not the person Cosmopolitan magazine portrayed in their feature a few years ago.
All of that withstanding, just one episode of that show last night brought it all back to the damned surface and, man, I cried within about 5 minutes of the first frame. I can't help but watch it and think, "This isn't entertaining. These are peoples' lives." And I'm willing to bet that someone dies from this shit every single day. Most of them aren't bad people, either. They're people who've been preyed upon by uneducated pricks who cook up a bunch of chemicals so they don't have to actually work for their money. It makes me so angry that these people think they have the right to behave this way that I felt consumed with overwhelming sadness just by watching a 45-minute show. It's like I want to shake people and remind them that this ruins peoples' lives and it's not funny. It's not good.
Yes, I did say I watch Weeds, but smoking too much pot never killed anyone as far as I know. (But don't get me wrong--that's not my scene, either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I get all fired up if anyone tries to bring that shit into my house.)
The episode ended and Sean asked me what I thought. I had to pause because I just had tears streaming down my face. I was finally able to blurt out, "It just makes me sad...but you can watch another one if you want." I stood up and headed to the stairs, just shrugging when he asked me if I were okay.
I went to the bathroom, sat down on the bathmat and wept. And I knew that I finally have to deal with this shit because it's not going anywhere until I quit allowing it a space at the table in my life. But how do you ever let go of someone you loved so dearly and who died so suddenly? How do you explain to people who just don't get it that I can blame whomever I want; I can still be angry and sad and not want to talk about it; I can make her into a saint in my mind if that's how I need to deal with things? ...well, maybe I should start with just not watching a show that glorifies the devils she danced with in the end?
And if that isn't enough, I'll shop. Today, I went with both.
*In the interest of respecting not only her privacy, but also the privacy of her incredibly wonderful and strong family, I won't give any details about her other than that she was the bees' knees. She was "smart as a whip," as they say (and, in this case, "they" is probably your grandpa), and funny and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside--and not in that, "Oh, you should meet my friend. She has a really great personality," kind of way. In that, "Is she a model?" kind of way.
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