Literally. Robin Williams, you guys. Robin Williams committed suicide yesterday. Depression hits close to home for me in ways I will discuss shortly, but it seems as of late that it's been touching me more inappropriately than usual. Like, verging on Michael Jackson inappropriate, and it's not okay.
In the last year, the best friend of my boss's high school-aged son hanged himself in his room. As I understand it, there were zero warning signs. Then, a brilliant, beloved family member took his life via a cocktail of medications. There were myriad warning signs, but interventions, doctors, therapists, and drugs couldn't come up with the right combination to make him feel any better; in the end, I suspect he didn't WANT to feel any better. The fact that he had struggled for so long made it no less difficult for those of us he left behind. Within the last few weeks, a friend of my boyfriend's took his life, leaving behind a teenage daughter and a host of friends and family crying out in grief and disbelief.
Depression has always struck me as the red-headed stepchild of the medical profession. The thing is, there is no set list of symptoms, because those symptoms often contradict themselves from one person to the next. The social stigma surrounding depression, which, incredibly, affects an estimated 20 million people in the United States alone, often deters sufferers from reaching out for help.
I am one of the twenty million.
Thankfully, I'm also one of the one-third of that huge number who sought help, but only after a major breakdown, and hundreds of pills swallowed down with great gulps of water and hysterical tears, landed me in inpatient therapy (an experience for which I am thoroughly and wholly grateful). Ultimately, I never wanted to die. I made a phone call that I knew would guarantee me help. Help arrived in the form of an ambulance ride, stomach pump, and activated charcoal, followed by a weeklong stay in what I affectionately refer to as "The Bin." It was a terrifying experience for my family, and words can't express how much I regret choosing that particular method to cry out. Because that's what it was for me: I needed someone to finally acknowledge my pain, my struggle, my sadness.
For me, depression has been a constant battle with myself, coupled with symptoms I can't understand or assuage. Most folks think of depression as an overwhelming sadness, which it certainly can be, but sprinkled in there are often anger, anxiety, and irritability. And, I mean... I don't even like moving my Siamese cat off the couch when she's in a shitty mood, what with the claws and the hissing (she's such a bitch, you just have no idea). What are the chances most people want to deal with family or friends who are grumpy all the time?
I'm happy to report that I seem to have found a medication, support system, and activities that all help to alleviate my depression and anxiety (seriously, exercise is the shit for making anyone feel better about themselves, even if it's officially Struggle City to lace up those sneakers sometimes); with that said, I have days where I can't seem to stop crying and wallowing in the past, and on those days just getting out of bed can seem an insurmountable task. But often, taking that step and forcing myself to live amongst humanity and go about my everyday tasks can help. Some days it doesn't. Some days, I'm sad and I want to eat all the things; others, I'm sad and I don't have any appetite. You see what I mean? NO RHYME OR REASON. Stupid brain and chemical imbalances.
No matter what my mood, I thank God every. single. day. for what I've been given: a second chance at life. The most wonderful, supportive boyfriend and parents existing on the planet. My beautiful children. People who care, and people who worry. They save me every day, all over again. And my heart breaks for every person who's lost his or her battle, and who saw death as the singular solution. While we cannot choose not to be depressed, we can choose how we approach dealing with it.
Robin, the world celebrates your life as we mourn your death, and your pain. I pray that you are finally at peace, but you know... we could've put up with your brilliance and joy a little while longer.
