I think you missed the entire point of what this work is about. The point is that exploitation of personal tragedies for art is a thing which is highly encouraged and promoted for artists, no matter how messed up it is. And it is messed up, and I am ashamed that this is where my thoughts go first. But this is the fault of the algorhitmic push towards anger and angst and it is the fault of the fallacy that negative emotions make for better art. The entire point of this work is that tearing yourself (and, perhaps, others) apart for the audience is encouraged, leading to unhealthy mindsets such as the one that led me to this point. I do feel ashamed and this is exactly why I wrote this entire thing. I know there are other people like me out there, people who feel the need to turn every piece of tragedy and trauma into art, and I know this is reaching them and making them think about the relationship they have with their own artistry. And you can't really move on and change without admitting what you did wrong. I'm known for writing rather heavy works, so if this is what I'm known for, then I think people need to know I consider this to be messed up in some way.
And with all the respect: I knew this person. You, most likely, didn't. They were an artist too and I know what they drew in their notebooks, what they wrote about, what they wanted to sing about, what their views on death were. I know what they considered to be acceptable limits in art. They wouldn't mind me writing about their death. I think they'd write about mine if they had a chance to do so, actually.