Death of a Salesman 1/5

     I've already finished reading Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, as its length was nothing to be impressed by. Bearing that in mind, I remember the first thing that I thought upon being introduced to the second most depressing and real character I've ever met inside of a play's script.
    Willy Loman managed to, in my first impressions of him, make me wish I was never born. He seems like he'd be a noble soul. He works his life away to provide for his family, that much you can clearly tell. And if you can't, obviously you've never lived with a parent like that. My own mother is much the same to this point in the play. Both real and imaginary parents would sell their very souls if it meant paying the bills on time. That kind of commitment and dedication really makes a person wish they weren't around to bump up the expenses. In fact, I'm sure that's exactly how Biff and Happy feel (though I'll cover that later).
      It's that same quality, that noblese oblige, that obligation he has to his family to provide for them, that drives him to work a job he hates for barely enough money. It's that very same quality that drives him insane. He can't handle the pressure of trying to provide for a family. He slaved his life away trying to make ends meet, and the pure weight of the responsibility put on his shoulders alone was enough to erode his sanity until there was nothing left of it.
      There's nothing I hate more in this life than having to watch someone you love struggle for you. The second to worst part, I think, is knowing there's nothing you can do about it. The absolute most abhorrent part of it is knowing that they believe, in their heart of hearts, that they are doing the right thing. Let me tell you, right now, I would rather live in a box than watch my mother's sanity slowly slip with each passing day. Willly Loman thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was being what a father ought to be. The problem with that is that sometimes what you ought to be, no matter how much you wish it could be otherwise, is simply not what you are or what you were ever intended to be. Father is not a word that will ever, in my book, describe Willy Loman. Not now or ever in the future despite any interpretation.
     He is a man (by man here I mean human in general). Men make mistakes. Men fail. Men gain. Men try. Willy did all of these, just as men do. Willy wasted away, just as men typically do. He can't handle the pressure of being the sole provider for others. Neither can mine.
      I think it's pretty safe to say that I despise this play. Though, if it hadn't been so creepily close to my own personal experiences, I don't think I would have understood the point of it at all. Long story short, I wish that Death of a Salesman wasn't as true as it is to today's world. I hope to God I'm not looking into my future.