On Robin Williams, Depression, and Compassion
Like most of the country, I was surprised and shocked by the news of Robin Williams's passing. I've read, thought, and felt a lot since then. There's so much swirling around in my head right now, that I figure if I capture even a tiny fraction of it here, this post will be successful.
First, was the actual news. I could not believe it. Wasn't he young? People die young all the time, but he was the same age as my mother! Then came the news about the apparent cause. As that began to sink in, I started to realize the torture he must of been going through his entire life. It occurred to me that his utterly brilliant career was an attempt to fight off his inner demons.
Depression is a real thing. As someone said on the internet lately, it does not discriminate. I cannot even begin to comprehend the daily torture that Robin Williams went through, and countless millions of others go through daily. I have read descriptions of what chronic depression feels like, and it pains me to know that other human beings feel like that all the time. The strength that one must have to make it through life day after day after day--let's just say that part kind of blows me away.
It's not as if I don't have plenty to be depressed about. My daughter was diagnosed with cerebral palsy about a year and a half ago. The journey of raising a child with special needs is fraught with anxiety, worry, sadness, frustration, and doubt. You often don't know what the correct action is, because you are not on the well-trodden path of parenting normal kids. It breaks my heart when I see other kids her age (and younger) able to do so much more physically than she can. I have every reason to have depression.
And yet, I do not. I find joy wherever I can. My daughter and I share an interest in astronomy. We often have conversations about Saturn, and Jupiter, and stars, and black holes. She sings a lot. I mean a LOT. It sometimes feels like every other breath she takes is in song. I can't help but smile at that. I also find joy in things not related to raising my daughter, like practicing and performing piano, and computer programming.
So, now I'm supposed to say something like, "See, depressed people? All you're missing is some joy in your life. All you have to do is find the thing that gives you joy, and go do it. It's as easy as that!" But I'm not going to. Because having a daughter with cerebral palsy has done more than just give me anxiety, worry, sadness, frustration, and doubt. It has taught me compassion. If it were easy for people with chronic depression to just "snap out of it" by throwing in some joy (as if joy were some kind of pill you took with water), they would've done it a long time ago. Look at Robin Williams. Even after a successful career of making award-winning movies, performing side-splittingly funny stand-up routines, and bringing joy to millions, he still couldn't defeat his demons. One cannot "snap out of" depression any more than one can snap out of cerebral palsy.
I grieve for Robin Williams. I grieve for the Unitarian Universalist minister in Norfolk who took her life last week. I grieve for my cousin. I grieve for my high school band director's son. I grieve for that girl I knew in high school who played saxophone. And countless others whose inner demons overcame their inner strength. My heart goes out to everyone who hasn't yet given in. I hope you never do. I hope that you are able to find a way to chase your demons away, so that you don't have to be strong all the time. I hope that you are able to live your life the way it should be lived: without a constant struggle.
First, was the actual news. I could not believe it. Wasn't he young? People die young all the time, but he was the same age as my mother! Then came the news about the apparent cause. As that began to sink in, I started to realize the torture he must of been going through his entire life. It occurred to me that his utterly brilliant career was an attempt to fight off his inner demons.
Depression is a real thing. As someone said on the internet lately, it does not discriminate. I cannot even begin to comprehend the daily torture that Robin Williams went through, and countless millions of others go through daily. I have read descriptions of what chronic depression feels like, and it pains me to know that other human beings feel like that all the time. The strength that one must have to make it through life day after day after day--let's just say that part kind of blows me away.
It's not as if I don't have plenty to be depressed about. My daughter was diagnosed with cerebral palsy about a year and a half ago. The journey of raising a child with special needs is fraught with anxiety, worry, sadness, frustration, and doubt. You often don't know what the correct action is, because you are not on the well-trodden path of parenting normal kids. It breaks my heart when I see other kids her age (and younger) able to do so much more physically than she can. I have every reason to have depression.
And yet, I do not. I find joy wherever I can. My daughter and I share an interest in astronomy. We often have conversations about Saturn, and Jupiter, and stars, and black holes. She sings a lot. I mean a LOT. It sometimes feels like every other breath she takes is in song. I can't help but smile at that. I also find joy in things not related to raising my daughter, like practicing and performing piano, and computer programming.
So, now I'm supposed to say something like, "See, depressed people? All you're missing is some joy in your life. All you have to do is find the thing that gives you joy, and go do it. It's as easy as that!" But I'm not going to. Because having a daughter with cerebral palsy has done more than just give me anxiety, worry, sadness, frustration, and doubt. It has taught me compassion. If it were easy for people with chronic depression to just "snap out of it" by throwing in some joy (as if joy were some kind of pill you took with water), they would've done it a long time ago. Look at Robin Williams. Even after a successful career of making award-winning movies, performing side-splittingly funny stand-up routines, and bringing joy to millions, he still couldn't defeat his demons. One cannot "snap out of" depression any more than one can snap out of cerebral palsy.
I grieve for Robin Williams. I grieve for the Unitarian Universalist minister in Norfolk who took her life last week. I grieve for my cousin. I grieve for my high school band director's son. I grieve for that girl I knew in high school who played saxophone. And countless others whose inner demons overcame their inner strength. My heart goes out to everyone who hasn't yet given in. I hope you never do. I hope that you are able to find a way to chase your demons away, so that you don't have to be strong all the time. I hope that you are able to live your life the way it should be lived: without a constant struggle.