I know that place

Occasionally at work I'm pulled in to run the show when others are busy. Today I was told the act I was working with was originally very famous, having at one point sold out Wembley Arena and toured the world before having a mental breakdown and retreating into obscurity. I was told he doesn't like to remember,  which is absolute fair, there are a solid two years of my life I'd gladly ignore. But how does a person go from selling out a 12,000 capacity arena to playing to 40 people in a glorified cellar? This is actually something I've seen quite often, fame is such that what goes up eventually comes down, or just blips out of existence, and you don't notice because that's the nature if fame.

So I met this man, and I was struck by his kindness. The kind that comes from suffering. The sort of fragility that comes from hitting the bottom and finding a new normal where you're creaking and shattered but just so so glad it's leaving you, whatever it is. Because almost always it's a case of it leaving you, because you leaving it suggests an element of control.

He was absolutely fragile. Like a child. And utterly self-conscious to the point of bombarding me with a constant stream of questions about myself, which (forgive me, famous people) is completely out of the ordinary. But I understood what he was trying to do. To keep the conversation from yourself you ask all the questions. You tease out and linger on the details of anything else. And it pulls you away.

So I just keep telling him about the time I fell offstage and think I know this. I see this. I know that hell.

I'm writing this out now because it hurts that I saw it so close I guess.

And perhaps because I kind of feel like a broken person too.