We Need to Talk About Robin

On the off chance that you've been living under a rock, I hate to be the one to tell you that Robin Williams has passed away. 

Robin in the beautiful afterlife in What Dreams May Come.

I know, I know. It’s hard to believe, but Mr. Williams – or Genie, as he will forever be known in my perpetual-90s-child mind – has left a plump old Englishwoman-shaped hole in the lives of comedy and film lovers everywhere when he died Monday. The public outpouring of support for his family and friends has been inspiring, but that’s not what I want to talk about. 

I want to discuss the politicization which will inevitably take place surrounding his death – a phenomenon which good ol’ Rob himself discussed during press for his film World’s Greatest Dad - and the ignorant but mostly misguided comments I’ve been seeing on Facebook and Twitter regarding his suicide. 

For the most part, people are being respectful of this talented and diverse performer. However, to put a new spin on the old adage “Boys will be boys”, it seems that “Ignorant jerks will be ignorant jerks and continue to spout misinformed rubbish even though they have little understanding of mental health issues or empathy for people suffering from Depression”.

DANGER: Intense discussion of mental health ahead.

Phew, that was a mouthful. Unfortunately it is nothing compared to the earful (eyeful?) of ridiculous comments I’ve seen about suicide being “selfish” and “cowardly”, and that Robin should have set “a better example” for other people struggling with “personal demons”. Apparently “if only he knew how much people loved him” this “senseless” thing never would have happened.

But as Slate writer Molly Pohlig points out, “I bet Robin Williams knew he was loved. Unfortunately, love doesn’t cure mental illness.” I completely agree with Molly that anyone who thinks this was an issue of failing to count your blessings and look on the bright side of life needs a serious awakening. 

Dean Burnett tackled this discussion point admirably when he pointed out that: “Dismissing the concerns of a genuine depression sufferer on the grounds that you’ve been miserable and got over it is like dismissing the issues faced by someone who’s had to have their arm amputated because you once had a paper cut and it didn’t bother you.”  

Or in Williams' case, don't compare yourself to a burn victim just because you survived lighting your prosthetic breasts on fire. (From Mrs. Doubtfire.)

Depression is not simply something that goes away when you ask yourself “Am I happy?” and then “do something positive about it”, as one Twitter user suggested. Depression is a filthy, sneaking rat that hides beneath the floorboards when the sun is out but squeaks and taunts you all night until you question your sanity and lose touch with the reality of existence. Visitors can assure you there are no vermin in the house, but Depression is a persistent rodent that refuses to vacate its nest.

For someone suffering from Depression (notice my use of a capital D to refer to the mental health issue versus lower case depression which many people use interchangeably to refer to gloomy-sky/sad feelings), reassurance doesn’t go far when you’ve lost hope, control, and the will to continue existing when things have just become Way. Too. Fucking. Hard. 

As Russell Brand pointed out: “Robin Williams could have tapped anyone in the western world on the shoulder and told them he felt down and they would have told him not to worry, that he was great, that they loved him. He must have known that. He must have known his wife and kids loved him, that his mates all thought he was great, that millions of strangers the world over held him in their hearts, a hilarious stranger that we could rely on to anarchically interrupt, the all-encompassing sadness of the world.” Knowing you are loved and valued, however, cannot overcome the illogical nature of Depression (British comedian Stephen Fry knows this all too well), and too many people misunderstand the illness as being something that can be overcome with willpower and a little good cheer.

(From Patch Adams.)

For those of you who have been following this blog for some time, you’ll know that I lost one of my closest friends to suicide in February. When she passed away, I had countless discussions with mutual friends, family, and in my own head about why she chose to end her life, whether there was anything I could have done to help her, and if she knew how much we loved her. A common reaction was “How could she have thought that was the right decision?” and “What was she thinking?” Though the language processing area of my brain was overwhelmed by other thoughts at the time, I now think I have the answer.

She wasn’t thinking in the rational way that people who are not under emotional duress think. There was no pre-meditation that such a final act was selfish or selfless, that she was causing a lifetime of pain or sparing people the agony of her tortured presence. 

There was only that one second when the desire to go on dissipated and things seemed clear: all that had to be done to end the exhaustion of fighting for fleeting moments of peace and happiness – that torture of attempting to go on living after every ounce of your strength has been spent – was to stop living. 

As the voice of the genie, Robin describes Depression (from Aladdin).

Anyone who has dealt with Depression understands this vividly, yet it can be so damn difficult to explain to people who are horrified by the very mention of mental illness or – quick, toss some salt over your shoulder – suicide. It’s a horrifying thought until your life begins to slowly crumble at your feet. But, that’s Depression for you. 

It’s true that death and loss change everything. They alter your day-to-day life, force you to evaluate your relationships, and complicate circumstances beyond belief. But dealing with death by suicide changes you entirely. 

It won’t be easy for Robin Williams’ family, friends, coworkers, and many admirers to move on now that the doors to previously unexplored mental channels have been thrust open. But maybe the passing of such a well-loved figure will be the impetus we need to start talking about mental health in a productive way rather than continuing to fear what some of us do not understand. 

 

CURRENTLY READING: Anything Boys Can Do by Angie Abdou.