What happens when something meant to entertain becomes something more?
I saw Star Wars: The Last Jedi last night, which I’ve been avoiding for awhile now. Partially because I couldn’t bear to see Carrie Fisher in her last role, and partially because I was standing in line to see Rogue One when I heard of her death, and I’m a little superstitious (and not ready to lose Mark Hamill yet.)
I cried at the first scene.
Star Wars was a Special Interest that spanned my entire childhood, and I loved Princess Leia for being everything I had been told a princess wasn’t supposed to be.
As an adult, I still love Princess Leia, but I love Carrie Fisher even more. She dealt with a lot of shit in her life, and she wasn’t afraid to talk about any of it.
When I got my Bipolar diagnosis I wasn’t afraid, because if Carrie could live with it, so could I.
Her death hit me hard, and I don’t know how long it will be before I can read her name or see her face without tearing up.
She was so important to the mental health community, and to me.
May the Force be with her, always.
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