This is it.

Yesterday I was watching a story about the last moments of the life of Michael Jackson, a documentary of so many who have appeared. Not for knowing left me indifferent. He came back to disconcert me, to worry me. Michael Jackson was a drug addict. In his later years he was hooked on I do not know how many drugs stimulated him to provide that energy on stage, to relieve pain, to keep him "electric." But this force made him unable to sleep, so he also took painkillers to sleep. A drug that is injected to anesthetize in hospitals, the "propofol." I was put to anesthetize me when they did an endoscopy, it is fulminating, you fall asleep instantly, and you wake up without a headache, without any sequelae or effect. His private doctor gave him "propofol" 60 nights in a row, causing the lungs to suffer in such a way that they could not supply oxygen to the brain or the heart, his lungs "fell asleep", and with them, the whole body. The last night was of madness, every hour a calming agent was given, and as he could not sleep, more and more doses, more intoxication, the "This is it" tour was at stake, since He had 400 million dollars, and economically he needed to do it. Your doctor would also charge, so you skipped all protocols and codes of ethics. Even at the doctor's trial, Michael Jackson's autopsy revealed that, in addition to the doctor's supplies, Michael himself had self-medicated with more doses. It's amazing that I could hold so much. It is striking that a person with such talent for music could have been surrounded by people who did not help him too much, leading him to his tragic end. On June 25, 2009 he died, three weeks before the start of his tour.