You are not as alone as you feel. You are not stuck. You are amazing.
Trigger warning: Discussion of suicide and self-harm.
From D.W.: This coming Tuesday is the 12th anniversary of the tragically untimely death of Robin Williams. Maybe a strange topic for this site? Not really, no. His death had an outsized effect on Rachel. More than nearly any celebrity death I can recall, with the possible exception of Levon Helm. (But, honestly, she may have been hiding some of the grief from Levon’s death since we had only met a week prior.) Much of what affected her was because of nostalgia, of course. There aren’t a lot of late Gen-X-ers that didn’t grow up with a reverence for Robin Williams.
But more than that was her profound empathy for the suffering he was experiencing that led him to take his life. We know now that he had Lewy body dementia which likely contributed to his depression. But we also know that his struggles with mental health began decades before.
Rachel was always an advocate for pro-active mental health and fought to destigmatize the struggles and the pathways that people use to treat them while being open about her own struggles. I know that, at least in one case, her openness has inspired others. I’ve been seeing a grief counselor regularly since she died. It’s helped me quite a bit, and I’m not certain I would have pursued it if I hadn’t known her.
I suppose that means that, even after death, she still does good things in my life. Thanks, babydoll.
Here are some of her thoughts on the matter, including a short piece about the man himself.
Facebook. February 15th. 2022
In case anyone else needs to hear this (I have already said this to myself a couple of times today): it is perfectly ok to go see the doc and ask them to up your meds. February is a notoriously hard month for folks who have wonkiness with their brain health.
I had a great appointment with my doc. In line at the pharmacy now for some better living through chemistry.
It’s ok to need help. It’s ok to ask for it. And it’s ok to use it. Drink some water. Eat a thing. Take your meds. We can do this. It’s gonna be ok.
Daily Cake. August 12th. 2014
O Captain! My Captain!
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up–for you the flag is flung–for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths–for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning…
–Walt Whitman
My heart is heavy today, as are many of yours, at least on this side of the world. A great light has gone out. A voice has been stilled. Though we know that the moments we have with the people who elevate their art to a professional level–making so many of us laugh, or think, or escape our mundane little lives for an hour and a half while they give us a good show–it’s still a shock when they are gone.
Robin Williams made so many people laugh. My best friend Ryan put it best, “It makes me so sad that he died from being so sad.” It’s hard to fathom the depth of that sadness, for most of us. Part of experiencing human life is feeling the emotion of depression. For most of us, that’s how we experience it–an emotion. But for some of our brothers and sisters in this life, depression is a disease.
Depression is as serious as cancer, or heart disease, or a variety of metabolic dysfunctions. And just like all those other illnesses, depression can be terminal, even with a great treatment plan, even with lots of support, even when things seem to be going in the right direction. Just like massive heart attacks after years of clean eating and good exercise, or a relapse after extensive remission, or a devastating little infection that won’t clear up with any medicine known to exist. And that sucks. It’s brutal and scary and hard. But it’s true. And unless and until we stop pretending that depression is something someone can help having, something someone has control over, we will continue to have people we love, famous and ordinary and next door, die from it.
We have to stop talking about how people who die from depression are selfish. You’d never say that about someone who died from a brain tumor. We have to stop shaming people for taking appropriate pharmaceutical steps to treat depression, and from seeking professional counseling. You would never say that about someone who needed to take insulin, or a blood thinner to stay alive. We have to make mental healthcare check-ups as important as our yearly physicals–and they should be affordable for everyone, including and especially children. Most importantly, we have to be willing to talk to the people in our lives we are concerned about–we must not wait until they start acting out. Don’t put the burden on someone who’s hurting to come and talk to you. Think of it like being aware at the airport–if you see something, say something. And for the love of little green apples, be kind and loving.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please know that you are not as alone as you feel. You are not stuck. You are amazing. You are beloved. Your place in the world–who you are and how you are–is holy, and important. You give joy in ways you cannot imagine. People are praying for you, right now. People are loving you, right down to your toes, right now. Good things are coming. Hold on. You can do it, and all the people who love you want to help, in good and kind ways.
Robin Williams…you were a piece of my happy early childhood, with your lovable alien Mork, clips of stand up I was probably too young to really appreciate, star in some of my most favorite movies, and the best James Lipton interview I’ve ever seen…may you rest in peace and rise in glory.
love,
rachie
Forward Day by Day. July 7th. 2015
'...why do you look for the living among the dead?'
I picked up a bad habit for about ten years, after my dad died. I would play a game in which I would imagine how my life would have been different if he hadn't died. Predictably, this was never an activity that brought me any real joy or helped me grieve in a healthy way.
Looking for life in a place of dead things is not a great plan. But like Mary and her companions, I simply couldn't see a life outside the walls of my own loss. It sometimes takes an angel or a really smart therapist to remind us that death never wins, and that our greatest hope and brightest lights are shining bright, waiting for us remember Jesus' words, and share the joy of Easter.
