[This is not an ordinary post for this blog, but this is not an ordinary day.]
Photo by Charles Haynes, FLICKR, Creative Commons
Robin Williams
July 21, 1951 – August 11, 2014
His death is a shock. The tributes from the many people who knew and/or loved him continue to spread across every form of media. People are sad. I am sad. Robin Williams’ death is sad. But it is the thoughts and images of his suffering, the unfathomable depth of pain, and the cruelty of depression, that leaves me heartbroken. Many people more qualified than I can and will speak to the disease that took his life. Many people will share of the importance of reaching out and finding help when depression hits and/or life becomes too much to bear. Asking for help is hard, though, and harder still when one is dealing with a disease that takes rational thought away.
Maybe one small thing that can ease that barrier is knowing someone who knows what you’re going through. If you sense that there’s at least one other soul who experiences what you experience, maybe that person is a lifeline to another day. Maybe. And maybe this is why I’ve noticed a number of people sharing their experiences over the past 24 hours. Rob Delaney, Kathleen Edwards, Harvey Fierstein… these are just a few celebrities that I follow who I’ve seen post thoughts; telling readers or fans, in a way, that they are not alone.
I’m not a celebrity by any stretch of my imagination, but there is something about Williams’ death and the public reaction that makes me want to share a story, too. My story. For me, clinical depression is a palpable black cloud that hovers over my shoulder. It is a dark basement. A place of unhealthy solitude; of isolation. It is both terrifying and seductive and that, for me, is the crux of the cruelty that this disease can be. Sometimes, it can be exhausting to ward it off. Scarier still, is how it first appeared (from Ordinary Year, Chapter 1):
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So in the summer of 2009, I was in a healthy, well-established, loving relationship. I lived in a nice apartment, had nice neighbors, a dog and a cat, and interests both in and outside of work. I’d been sober for years. I dabbled in writing. I learned to play the mandolin. I reconciled with my brother, a relationship that had been damaged for a decade. I finally got to know my nieces and nephew, and the chance to start being an aunt to them. They wanted both Lynn and me to be in their lives. Things with my dad were so-so. We didn’t see each other very often, but I don’t see any of my family very often. Still, we were all okay. Everything was okay.
But every day, from late May through September, I cried. At some point, every day, I found it impossible to stop the tears from falling. I’d turn to the wall in my cubicle to hide my face, grabbing tissues and hoping no one noticed. I’d be in my car, driving to or from work, and start sobbing. I started to wonder if I was going a bit mad.
I knew that I was lonely for some of my old friends and so I decided to make a trip to Louisville to reconnect with some of them. I ordered my plane tickets and started to think about sitting at a patio table outside of a coffee shop, talking for hours with one of my closest confidantes, Dina. I thought about catching up with my good friend Kevin. I thought of taking Dina’s kids trick or treating. I looked forward to some time on my own, some time for myself. It would be a good, well-needed and well-deserved long weekend.
A few weeks before my planned trip, I was walking from the parking lot to the library, to work, when the thought crossed my mind that it might not be a bad thing if the plane I took from Providence to Louisville crashed. I had no plans to make it crash and I didn’t exactly wish for it to crash, but the thought of it crashing gave me such a feeling of relief. It would finally be over.
It scared the hell out of me.
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Thanks to medication and a few years of therapy, I’ve learned how to live with the darkness. I’ve learned how to recognize it. I’ve learned how to ask for help before that voice gets silenced. It’s heartbreaking when that voice dies. And it’s heartbreaking, the lives it takes with it.
To echo the message of so many others in health care, if you feel you’re struggling with depression, seek medical care. If you’re experiencing thoughts of suicide, there are people who can help. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
A Librarian by Any Other Name 
Thanks for sharing, Sally. The more we share, the more we discuss, the better the chance that someone will reach out before succumbing to the darkness. “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls.”
Thank you, Sheila. That’s just how / what I felt, i.e. that in sharing, maybe we help someone. So very, very sad.
Sigh…..life is hard. Love you
Thanks for the post, Sally. The whole country is sad today, in a way I’ve never seen. Maybe this will bring the attention needed to people who can benefit from all the resources available.
Thanks for the post Sally I’ve had quite a ride with depression as well. Not as bad now as when I was younger…..I think that the depression I went through in my teens and 20’s 30′ and 40’s toughened me up. I’m still depressed but have learned to accept, It’s just not as bad anymore. So hang in there.
Very sad day with lots of talk about Robin. I never knew he suffered, I don’t keep up with “movie star news” so it was really a surprise for me. I have know lots of people that have suffered and wish there was something I could do to alleviate their pain. I can only be there. Sally, if you ever need anyone to be there, please let me know-mean it!
Hi Sally I’m Caroline and I live in Australia. I’ve grown to love your blog and I guess I feel like I know you a little. Depression is so hard I know. I wish I could help you more – but know that a long, long way away there are people who know you and who care about you.
Hi Sally-it’s your cousin Suzy. Read your blog a lot, but don’t comment often. Depression runs in the gene pool. Your relatives can definitely relate.
Thank you so much! So many do not understand this darkness, thinking that it is conquerable by a strong mind. I wish we had more resources and acceptance to help treat depression. Robin Williams gave so much joy to so many, he will be sorely missed.
Barbara Olendzki, RD MPH LDN Assistant Professor Nutrition Program Director UMass Medical School Worcester, MA 01655 ________________________________
Thank you, Barbara.
Sally, thank you for sharing your story. Depression is NOT a character flaw, it is an illness in need of treatment.
Thank you for sharing – you’ve touched SO MANY with this post, more than you can know…
The thing that I’ve been wondering about since Robin took his life (and even before) – I know (and know of) such a large number of people with this disease. So many more have come out of the woodwork in the last couple of weeks and shared their thoughts and experiences as you have. How is it possible that there is still so much misinformation, such a lack of understanding, such a mystery when depression is such a common disorder? There are a lot of answers I don’t have, but one that I think I do – we need to stop making an artificial distinction between physical health and mental health in how we fund them, and how we cover them with insurance. Brain diseases that have physical symptoms and brain diseases that have other than physical symptoms are still brain diseases. And there’s far more overlap in symptomology than is generally understood, too.
Amen!
Thanks for sharing.