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A Letter for Carrie Fisher

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Dear Carrie,

I very nearly didn’t write this. After all, aren’t open letters a pointless, self-indulgent staple of tragedy hipsters? Then again, who am I to judge? There’s an incessant stream of self-consciousness between my ears. (That pun was for you).

We never knew each other, Carrie. We didn’t even come close. You were a Hollywood star long before I was a lecherous smooch. I would never claim we had some special unspoken connection nor that we were kindred spirits – I have none of your comedic Midas touch and you have none of my… Look, I’m just going to put [insert talent here], self-esteem isn’t a strength of mine.

Getting back to the point: you were an inspiration to anyone who experienced mental health issues, addiction, sexism, or, well, life.

You weren’t the greatest actress in the world, Carrie. But you didn’t need to be. That wasn’t what made you special. You were so endearing because you shone a witty, vulnerable and earnest light on your not-so-private struggles. You did …