You are not alone
I am here with you
Though you’re far away
I am here to stay
You are not alone
I am here with you
Though we’re far apart
You’re always in my heart”
— Michael Jackson
from the song “You Are Not Alone”
There can be no doubt whatsoever that Michael Jackson was accidentally executed by his doctor. Jackson gave the orders, paid for the opportunity and died peacefully in his so-called sleep. This just happened on Conrad Murray’s watch. Bad luck for him. He was just one of a long list of doctors willing to follow Michael Jackson’s orders. If you are rich enough, you can get someone to do anything, even kill you. If you are lonely enough, you can kill yourself without anyone intervening. If you don’t value your own life, then you risk it.
He risked his life for 30 nights in a row before the 31st night finally destroyed him. He couldn’t sleep, so he paid his doctor to anesthetize him night after night, for weeks at a time. I suppose for the doctor that must have become a boring routine. Even the $150,000-per-month salary could not buy the doc’s undivided attention. After all, Michael Jackson had no one in his life to watch over the doctor and make sure he was doing what he was supposed to do.
Everyone needs a medical advocate who loves them, even when they are in the hospital with dozens of personnel around. It seems Michael Jackson’s bedroom was a makeshift hospital with no night nurse, no wife, no mother and no best friend to stand guard. Towards the end of Michael Jackson’s life, all of his intimate “friends” were on the payroll. He did not have a beloved of his own. Real intimacy can only exist between equals. No one was Michael Jackson’s equal.
It’s awful not to be able to sleep. It’s frightening to have other people invest in your performance when you secretly know that you are incapable of sleeping and without sleep you will not be able to function. Sixty-million dollars had already been invested in the “This Is It” concert tour when Michael Jackson “slept” his final sleep. Tens of thousands of fans had purchased tickets. Hundreds of people were employed to make the tour happen. It all depended on his ability to close his eyes and escape into renewing real sleep for a few hours.
Last night, just before I went to sleep, I was imagining what I would have said to Michael Jackson if I were his mother, his best friend or his wife. I would have knelt before him, taken each of his hands in mine, looked into his eyes and said, “You have to cancel all 50 performances. You will die if you go on that tour and abuse yourself night after night to get some rest. You need to become a patient at the best sleep disorder clinic in the world. You are more than your dancing, your music, your philanthropy, your celebrity and fame. You matter to me just because you exist. You don’t have to be the greatest entertainer in the world to be worthy of self-love and my love. All of that has not helped you to value your own life, so let me help you. I love you. I refuse to stand by and watch you kill yourself. Tomorrow I will be with you when you cancel the tour. I will be ‘your person’. You are not alone.”
Michael Jackson didn’t have anyone in his life who was his special person. He died emaciated, lonely and suffering from mental illness. He could sing. He could dance. He could write music that the whole world will listen to for many decades to come. But with it all, he was not able to find the real, personal and essential love necessary for survival. The next time your special person tells you to get some exercise, or asks how many pills did you take?, or says put on your coat, it’s cold outside, or it’s late, go to bed, or you don’t need to eat that fatty food or any of the dozens of annoying and ordinary comments that transpire between intimates, be grateful. Not everyone has someone. If you do not have someone, you must be that person for yourself. Michael did not love and value his own life apart from his fame and talent. Ultimately, that was the cause of his death.
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