RIP Robin Williams

I’ve been on a few suicide watches over the years. It’s a heavy responsibility.

It was easier when I was younger — a child roughly the size of a soft toy doesn’t have to say much. Youth and the pull of future hope is a powerful motivator. When you’re older, you have to talk and reason and, occasionally, plead depending on who it is you’re trying to watch out for. There are people out there who don’t really want to check out, but they don’t feel they can function if someone isn’t devoting their full attention to them 24 hours a day. There are people who seriously consider it but manage to just skirt the edge of those thoughts and remain more or less functional. And there are those of us who sink really, really far before we swim back up. Not everyone makes it back.

No one chooses depression — it’s the wild, changeable animal genetics throws over the wall into our back garden and we can either deal with it or not. We can feed it the right stuff, domesticate it, keep it on a leash, teach it not trample the flowers or the smaller pets. Or we can try to ignore it until it sneaks up on us when we’re asleep and eats our face. And sometimes it doesn’t give us a choice either way. In the case of Robin Williams, the heartbreak comes out of how, as bad as things clearly got, he was able to make so many people happy and was able to improve the quality of so many lives through laughter, the mad perspective he brought to ordinary situations, and the solemnity he brought to equally mad situations.

I’m going to miss him so much. I’m tired of missing people.

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~ by blackmoodcraft on August 12, 2014.

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