It's such a tragic tale, though, I found it quite unsettling. (I can always utterly relate to people who are into bigtime self-loathing.) It's strange that these people (except me, of course...) are often so very gifted and/or attractive.
I once knew this highly talented orchestral player/teacher of very refined aesthetic sensibilities, and I was shocked when I first visited her flat, which was much like the representation of Kenneth Williams' place...extremely drab colours, a few uncomfortable sticks of dreary furniture, no 'character' whatsoever. She was the same about clothes, just the cheapest shit she could find to cover her shame; no interest at all in what it looked/felt like. She used to have cold baths, too, to save money, although, my my standards, she was wealthy... Why am I thinking of this gal? We lost touch years ago.
Anyway, I'm glad I'm not that extreme, but in some ways, I'm very like these people, I guess that's why I felt like crying over the sorrows of wretched Ken. Anything involving Joe Orton is always upsetting, too, so very young, gifted, hott and dead. Why oh why? etc. Fap...