I grew up on the Jackson 5. Michael was the first and probably only, singer that I wanted to be like. I bought his outlandish clothes, posters, stickers and anything else that even vaguely referred to him. Did I mention that I also collected his cassettes, records, cds and dvd? Heck, I love the guy!
Even during his darkest times and his eccentricities, I still respected and loved MJ. In my eyes, he was always this playful, funny little kid who wanted to stay that way and enjoy the many things only kids can enjoy. In a way, I related.
When Michael Jackson died, a little piece of me died that day. I chose to omit and not process the circumstances surrounding his demise. It didn’t really matter that he had paid the ultimate price in his attempt to make the whole world happy even while sacrificing his own unhappiness. No one but MJ is responsible for creating the man and the myth. No one but him should be blamed for his premature death. He was already down the road to self-destruction where no doctor and no medication could have saved him from. End the circus. Llet him rest in the peace that eluded him in life.
Just my take.