My social media feeds (Facebook and Twitter) and pretty much the news in general, have been awash the past couple of days with the sad news that Robin Williams, the talented and hilarious comedian and actor, took his own life on Monday at the age of 63.
I consider myself lucky to have never had any friends or family members who have killed themselves. The only suicide I've ever been affected by was that of retired football player Junior Seau, my favorite player from the San Diego Chargers. But Seau's death, although suicide, had a specific and tangible cause: he suffered from traumatic brain injury after years of heavy hitting in the sport. Such brain injuries cause physical pain and also mental imbalance, emotional outbursts, confusion, memory loss, and depression. At age 43, Seau shot himself in the chest. I was devastated that Seau took his own life, but he did it with two intentions, the first to stop his own pain, and the second to allow doctors the study of his brain to see if they could find a solution to the problem in order to help so many other people who suffer from the same injuries. Terrible and heartbreaking, but weirdly noble in the same sense. He at least allowed for a small silver lining to form around the very dark cloud in which he lived his last few years.
Initially, when news of Robin Williams' death hit the airwaves, people thought it was a hoax, as are many of those Internet death reports. Why people think it's funny to claim someone is dead when he actually isn't, I will never know. As people struggled to believe or not believe, they were reminded by the news that Williams' had just had heart surgery a couple of years ago; perhaps it was heart related. But then came the claims of suicide, death by asphyxiation, hanging. And then it was verified by the sheriff's office.
The doubt turned to shock, and the questions turned to "How could he do something like that?" and "Why?" How could someone so talented, so funny, so gifted with the ability to make the world laugh, take his own life? How could someone with a family, with a new wife, feel that life isn't worth living? How could someone with money, fame, an Academy Award, not recognize the blessings he had been given?
The questions continued when it was revealed that Williams had been suffering from depression. It seemed to boggle people's minds that someone who made so many people laugh and who made people so happy could possibly be suffering from depression.
But that's the thing about depression: it's not like a neon sign that everyone can read. People assume that those who are depressed wear a lot of black, never leave the house, stay in bed a lot, and generally waste away. While that is true of some people, most people who suffer from depression get up every day, put on a "public" face to go along with the clothes, go out and live their daily lives. They work, talk to people, even smile, but they don't let people know that they suffer from depression. Depression is something people don't talk about. Depressed people are often ashamed of being depressed. Society has long viewed depression, as well as other mental illnesses, as a form of weakness. Just cheer up. Buck up, little camper. Shake it off. Get over it. You've got a great life, so why be depressed about it?
But you can't just STOP being depressed. That's the whole problem. No matter how many blessings you have, how many great things you have in your life, you can't just stop being depressed. Depression IS. Simple as that. You can take medication, which will help alleviate the pain and the out-of-control emotions of depression. You can talk to a therapist, which will help you cope with that pain and those emotions. But you will never really stop being depressed. It's similar to people with addictions. You are either an addict, or a recovering addict. You are never actually cured of your addiction. It will always be there, and there will always be that possibility that it will creep back. Look at another recent death, the talented Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Another guy who seemingly had everything. But he also had an addiction to drugs, and although he hadn't "slipped" in a really long time, something triggered a relapse, and he died of a drug overdose.
Looking back at Williams' life and career, he does seem to have exhibited signs of a classic "manic depressive". His stand-up comedy was wild, frantic, nearly out-of-control. It was like being inside the mind of a madman. So why are so many people surprised that there was a painful depressive side to go with that mania?
As many people have written in the past couple of days, it's heartbreaking that someone who brought such joy and happiness to so many people couldn't find joy and happiness for himself. Yes, he had everything, and I think he knew it and knew how happy he made people, but that's what makes depression such a bitch: knowing all that doesn't help. It doesn't alleviate the pain, it doesn't make the emotions go away, and it can actually make you feel worse--if you have everything, shouldn't you feel better about it? What the hell is wrong with you?
Sadly, there is nothing now that can be done for Robin Williams, other than to pray for his soul and for his family, that they may be comforted and find peace. But if a good side to this tragedy needs to be found, it can be found in this: now the dialogue on Facebook and other social media, as well as the news, is about depression, how people can cope with it, and how they can help each other. If other people suffering from depression can be saved because of this public focus on depression, then at least we have a silver lining around this dark cloud.
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