I feel like I've been gutted, learning about Philip Seymour Hoffman's death a couple hours ago, and all this time I was wondering. Why? Why am I feeling this way? Why do I want to cry, why do my arms and legs feel numb, I didn't even know him personally, I've seen only a few films he was in, I'm not a hardcore fan, then why? And I think I know the answer. He was unhappy. That's what hit me, this realization that he simply wasn't happy. He took drugs. Why do we take drugs? To dull the pain, to escape. Some people get drunk, some do drugs, some decide to really make it quits and commit suicide, drugs is just an easier path to it, riddled with cosmic images of some super-neon galaxy that's fantastic and beautiful and whatever, of maybe riddled with fantastic monsters, I don't know. Either way, it dulls the pain. I never took drugs, never became an alcoholic, don't know how I avoided it, because I wanted to take my life, wanted to do it so bad that I walked around with 100 very strong sleeping pills and a couple times snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and contemplated to cut my pain out, like, literally, I wanted to get rid of it by cutting myself open. It was in one of those delirious states that I thought of my kids and that made me stop, wake up, decide to live. Of course, who am I to contemplate how happy Phil Hoffman was, who am I to know, but I can't help it but to feel. Why else would you get drugged up to your eyeballs? Why would you overdose? Because you want more, more and more, because you can't stop, because the pain is just too great and conventional methods are not working anymore.