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<\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span>The Spark.<\/p><\/div>\n
The reality has set in. Even if we\u2019ve not fully recovered from the shock of Robin William\u2019s suicide, we\u2019ve accepted it. And in its immediate wake, there is much talk of depression (though I believe bipolar disorder<\/a> would be more accurate, in his case), and the need for the depressed to \u201creach out\u201d and \u201cget help.\u201d What exactly that means, I\u2019ll address later.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve not been diagnosed with depression, or bipolar disorder for that matter. And I don\u2019t believe I suffer from either in that way you hear of people being crippled mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, for months or years on end.\u00a0What I suffer from is extreme sensitivity. Not in a thin-skinned way; far from it. More like a heightened sense of empathy and compassion. I\u2019ve understood loss since I was very young, before I even knew what true loss was. The songs on the radio that had to do with loss — with pining for something you could not or could no longer have \u2013 I got<\/i> those songs, connected with those artists.\u00a0Songs like \u201cPuff The Magic Dragon,\u201d<\/a> (hold the snarky \u201cDude, it\u2019s about weed\u201d comments \u2013 this song is ONLY about\u00a0Puff being abandoned as far as I\u2019m concerned, do not speak<\/b> to me of alternative interpretations); and \u201cLayla\u201d<\/a>,\u00a0which frankly doesn\u2019t even need lyrics — the guitar-driven, impassioned plea of the first half, and the piano-lead, liberated surrender of the second half, make you feel Clapton\u2019s pain even more than you hear it in the lyrics, if that\u2019s possible. And we know from the man himself that Clapton suffered the addiction<\/a> that often accompanies depression and bipolar disorder.<\/p>\n Everyone assumes Robin William\u2019s suicide was driven by depression (combined with a history of addiction, the two often come as a package deal; see Eric Clapton, above). And according to all accounts, he was guaranteed, certified, diagnosed depressed.<\/p>\n I suspect it\u2019s a wee more complicated that that. I suspect what makes great artists great is\u00a0not their depression, blues, sorrow, melancholia, sadness,\u00a0or woe; but rather, their extreme sensitivity \u2013 which I can relate to. Compassion and empathy cranked up to 11. But when joy and sadness go up to 11, that\u2019s getting into bipolar disorder<\/a> territory. Contrast the euphoria felt when someone tells you they\u2019ve truly been touched by your play, song, book (or tens of thousands have\u00a0applauded your performance),\u00a0 to the devastation of\u00a0knowing (rightly or wrongly) that you\u2019ll never be able to achieve that again, a fear many performers who\u2019ve known tremendous success face regularly. Robin Williams’\u00a0latest TV show, “The Crazy Ones,”<\/a> was recently cancelled. Just sayin’.<\/p>\n Few famously sadder figures than Miss Judy Garland.<\/p><\/div>\n It\u2019s that sensitivity that makes them great artists. Their emotions are never far from the surface, always accessible. Great for an artist at work, but difficult and painful on a daily basis, when\u00a0navigating day-to-day life. There are pills that kill the pain\u2026 and kill the spark. Not an option when your work is better, is in greater demand, because of the spark. Williams himself spoke of the spark. He knew all too well the importance of the spark.<\/p>\n It was especially heart and gut wrenching to watch this video<\/a>\u00a0(of Yazidis in Iraq being rescued from ISIS) juxtaposed with the breaking coverage of William’s suicide (which is when CNN aired it). These people have lost it all — homes, loved ones, identities, country, belongings; everything they’ve ever worked for — yet they desperately want nothing but to live. Then there’s Robin Williams, who truly had it all — admiration from his peers, awards for his achievements, money, the privilege of working with amazing people in a career where he’s touched so many lives, family — yet he desperately wanted nothing but to die. Or at the very least, to stop hurting. Most people can\u2019t imagine that kind of hurt, from one so blessed; or so it appeared.<\/p>\n But that\u2019s just it: I know that when I feel myself slipping into darkness, seeing images of people like these Yazidis — fighting desperately\u00a0for life, despite so much loss and suffering — actually makes me feel worse about myself; how pathetic am I that I can’t appreciate all the good things I have and have had (which doesn’t even come near\u00a0the career success or fortune that Williams enjoyed)?<\/p>\n Watching Picard touching others brings joy beyond words.<\/p><\/div>\n Sometimes it’s just having that one little reason that you must stay here, that one little thing to get you through the moment. Like taking care of my rescue pup Picard, so I can continue to share him with the folks at the hospice center he lights up during our weekly Animal Assisted Therapy visit, and the children who read to him through\u00a0the SPCA Puppy Dog Tales<\/a> program. Eventually you come around, and realize the storm is subsiding, the pain is passing. Sadly, Robin wasn’t able to find that one little reason, that one little thing in that crucial, fateful moment. I’ll never know, I wasn’t there. But that’s what I imagine might have happened.<\/p>\n I wasn\u2019t a fan of William\u2019s standup routine, or when he was a guest on a talk show. Sure, he was a genius. No one even came close to his brilliance at improv. But it gave me a headache, like the one and only time I ever took speed my freshman year at college, studying for finals. More like a steady, fast headthump than a headache.<\/p>\n But<\/i>, those parts Williams played so convincingly in “Dead Poet’s Society” and “Good Will Hunting”<\/a> — I loved him in those roles.\u00a0 The protector; a calm, stable figure that gives reassurance and hope, who makes us smile a little when we need it most \u2013 it\u2019s as if he played those parts so well because that’s what he himself needed most in his life, for those people to exist. We all need for those people to exist. Whenever I need one, I know where I can forever find one. O captain, my captain.<\/p>\n As promised, back to \u201creaching out\u201d and \u201cgetting help\u201d:<\/p>\n My friend Rick went to a funeral on the day Robin Williams committed suicide, the funeral of a\u00a0 friend of his who had also committed suicide. Rick learned, too late, that his friend suffered from depression. Initially Rick was sad and felt guilty, that he\u00a0didn\u2019t know about his friend\u2019s condition. Then he was angry, that his friend didn\u2019t reach out.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you think you could have saved him?\u201d<\/p>\n We\u2019ll never know.<\/p>\n My friend Matt posted this on Facebook, later that same week:<\/p>\n Lately I’ve had a powerful sense of impending doom.<\/i> I’m gonna have some coffee now<\/i><\/p>\n And I though that was cool of him, to \u201creach out, \u201d in his own way. But then one of his friends commented this:<\/p>\n Hugs. Try to spend some time in the sun today.<\/i><\/p>\n Hugs. Time in the sun.<\/p>\n If someone gave me that advice when I\u2019m down, I would know they meant well, and for that reason alone my only\u00a0response would be, \u201cThank you.\u201d But in terms of effectiveness, they might as well tell me to dance with fucking unicorns on fucking rainbows. Because anyone who knows me knows I\u2019m not a unicorns and rainbows kinda gal.<\/p>\n But that\u2019s just me.<\/p>\n How one finds their way to effectively<\/i> (very important qualifier there) reach out and get help is as personal as our fingerprints. Knowing yourself and what works for you \u2013 and, most importantly, sharing that information with others \u2013 is key. Because what works for some might have the completely opposite effect on others. Hugs. Try to spend some time in the sun today.<\/i> Fuck you.<\/p>\n Here’s what I suggest:<\/p>\n Find what works for you, something you KNOW makes you smile a little. A panda video<\/a>. A goat video<\/a>. Your favorite Robin William\u2019s movie. Maybe a unicorn dancing on a rainbow video. Be specific. Then, tell all your friends. I mean, really put it out there. Especially tell your friends who make you smile a little just by being themselves. I’m not suggesting this as a cure. Rather… just something to get you through that really, really dark moment. You know the one.<\/p>\n As for me: If I ever reach out, please do NOT wish me social media hugs, or tell me to spend some time in the sun today. Here’s why: Because seeing shiny happy people get off just by being in the sun makes me feel completely impotent that I can’t get it up and be grateful for the blessing of that miracle that is the sunny day. Which makes me feel shittier. Maybe you agree. Maybe getting some sun works for you, and that’s great. But for me, just hearing those words, in that state, makes me cringe.<\/p>\n Instead, quote me some Blazing Saddles<\/a> or early SNL sketches<\/a>, or really bad ’70’s song lyrics<\/a>. That usually helps a little.<\/p>\n A final word on Robin Williams.<\/p>\n By all accounts, he was that rare celebrity who, when people encountered him, went out of his way to make sure they were okay, easing their pain or fear<\/a>, or just making sure they had a reason to smile that day. Because he understood, perhaps too well, pain and fear \u2013 and the importance of having a reason to smile.<\/p>\n May you be smiling now, Mr. Williams. And thank you for the smiles, so many smiles, that you gave.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span>No other mental disorder is romanticized like depression is. The blues, sorrow, melancholia, sadness, woe. Picture the tortured artist, alone but for their pain and suffering often\u00a0serving\u00a0as muse. Honestly, if Van Gogh were happy, he\u2019d be making love in fields of sunflowers, not painting them in the saturated sunlight of his imagination. Ian Curtis<\/a> would have been partying at clubs, not holed up alone in his room writing the songs that would make others dance to them. And, perhaps, Robin Williams would still be here.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span>
\n<\/i>Frankly, a lot of the recent news hasn’t helped.<\/i>
\n<\/i>A friend & teacher lies in a coma.\u00a0<\/i>
\n<\/i>Dad’s 88 and forgetting more & more, eating less & less.<\/i>
\n<\/i>And all those famous folks who meant quite a bit to me dying pulls at my reserves too.<\/i><\/i><\/p>\n