I did not know the man. I never even glimpsed him while on a movie set before. I was only, like many, a fan of his work. He inspired me as a child in Mrs. Doubtfire, annoyed me in Mork and Mindy, memorized me in What Dreams May Come. Even now as I write this, I am conflicted. Am I riding the Robin Williams trend? Shouldn't I be working on writing something else? This, however, is where my heart is at the moment. Perhaps here I can find some healing.
The conflict running through me is not around the shock of his suicide, but rather, on the suicide itself. It brings back the memory of a friend who killed himself when just starting adult life. It brings back my brother's best friend who killed himself in his twenties. It brings me back to the funeral service I sat through with my teenage daughter trying to bring her peace even when her peer killed herself. It brings back my brother's attempts at ending his life, and my mother saying endlessly she didn't want to live anymore. It brings me back to conversations with an overdosed family member who said she didn't want to live anymore, and with another who already had rope in the woods waiting for the perfect day. All of those suicides, attempts, plans, heart aching moments, came flooding back.
The trends online are not only spiking about Robin Williams death, but about his "battle with depression." Battle. It's an interesting word. Wikipedia defines battle as "Generally, a battle is a conceptual component in the hierarchy of combat in warfare between two or more armed forces, or combatants. A war sometimes consists of many battles. Battles generally are well defined in duration, area, and force commitment.[1]" If the depressed are one side, who is the other?
A battle with depression would signify that the depressed is fighting the faceless state of depression. However, according to Wikipedia, it can be "two or more." So, I say, there is a third. The family, friends and loved ones who are present during the fight. We show empathy, concern, anger, frustration, and retreat into our own mini bouts of depression as we deal with the battle, too. However, it is a battle we are not in the middle of. We are like the weapons provider trying to sneak in ammunition in the middle of the night, figuring out peace deals and trade embargoes. We are not on the streets fighting. We cannot see the bombs launched, the triggers pulled. We only see the aftermath of each warring moment.
My husband, until recently, was on an antidepressants since he was a teenager. My mother was diagnosed with manic-depression when I was a teenager. My brother also inherited the trait. I saw my mother on Prozac not leveling out, but rather like a roller coaster from one emotion to the next. Do you know what happens to those who are on the outside? We are left behind.
While the battle ensues, we, the peacekeepers, the arms dealers, are left outside of the wall, not knowing what the end of the current slaughter will look like. We are isolated. We cannot move ahead with our lives because we are so caught up in helping. We feel guilty for leaving the room, for going to work, for laughing. My mother used to tell me as a child, Don't laugh because you will cry. And walking on those pins and needles is just like what my mother said.
And it is in this point in the story
where the depressed, losing their own internal battle with
self-love, seeing the ones around them also melting away, that they
feel it would be better not to be around. Life is too hard. My
loved ones are suffering. It would be better if I wasn't here. That's
when I get angry. War isn't about two sides fighting. It
is also about the survivors. Whether the opposing offenses survive or
perish, we are the ones left behind. We have to pick up the
pieces. It's when I want to shout You are selfish! But
I don't. I understand their pain. We can all relate to intense,
merciless heartache.
A wise young woman told me recently that it's tough climbing out of depression. It is like a good friend. It takes work to try something different, but it is easier to stay in the comfort of sadness. I think we can all relate to staying in an unhealthy relationship or pattern because we understand it. We know what happens next. But I cannot help but think about the turmoil I watched as a child of an abusive home. My mother told me after she left, she should have left sooner.
I am not a sufferer of depression. Occasionally, I'll have bouts. They may last minutes, hours, days, even weeks, but then it's over. I remember the sun is still shining. I count my blessings. And then, I'm back to bouncing around like me like nothing ever happened. Those I love who live with this debilitating issue cannot readily do that. In my nature of wanting to save others, I want to butt in and say have you tried meditation, Holy Basil, yoga, running, painting, anything? When I was in my twenties, I thought I could easily fix the world by tying people up in a chair and talking reason to them until they understood. I was never given the chance, and with age realize that it wouldn't work. My will is not the will of others.
We are all born into this life alone. We die alone. We, however, are never on this journey alone. Not even one of us. We cannot go anywhere in this world where we are isolated from each other, a tree, a bird or other animal.
Standing helplessly by those who suffer, what can I do? It seems that all I can say is this: You are loved. You are safe. You are held deeply in the arms of those who love you, even when you don't realize it. And when, and if, you are ready, I am here to help you fly once again.
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| Courtesy of http://lakeandhomes.com/ |
