Everybody who knows me well enough knows Star Wars is a religion for me and has been since my childhood, so today's news, while largely expected, has saddened me considerably. Carrie Fisher, born of Hollywood royalty, was an indomitable spirit on- and off-screen. She wore those hairbuns and that gold slave bikini better than anybody else could have, and she made Leia a female who could more than hold her own against the boys in battle. But it hardly stopped there. Carrie fearlessly and with great humour and self-deprecation told the truth about her tumultuous personal life, including her long-term struggles with addiction and mental illness, and the weight of expectation fame and her lineage placed on her from birth, and she strove to do everything she could to erase the social stigmas of those afflictions. Having generalised anxiety disorder myself, I must also thank her personally for that. My heart goes out fully to her family and friends, particularly her mother, Debbie Reynolds, whose grief now is a kind I've seen in my own family, unfortunately. She was much more than her most famous role (even ever since 1980 with her hilarious turn as Jake Blues' scorned ex-girlfriend), but Leia never went down without a fight, and Carrie sure as hell didn't. Rest in peace, sweet Princess. May the Force be with you.
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