I know many people are stunned by Robin Williams' death. His suicide.
I have no new words to add.
Only a deep feeling. Many deep feelings.
I know he talked about depression and his struggles. I didn't realize his struggles were - this. I didn't realize this was a possibility.
He had it made! Right? He was loved by many - not just the public, but family and friends. He had money. He had talent, oh so much talent. He could make us laugh. I know, sometimes made us laugh at times with pain behind the laughter. He was at the top of everything. It seemed.
I was wrong.
But isn't fame and money and adoration of fans and a following and so much talent enough to keep us safe?
No.
I want to write something profound but I have nothing profound to say. Stunned. Sad. Feeling that my anxiety episodes and complaints and periods of mild or situational depression are nothing. I know they're not, but this. Today. Losing Robin Williams to depression. I'm talking about the collective loss - I know his family's loss is even greater and. And. I have experienced two losses due to suicide - but neither of them were that close. It is always a loss.
But somehow I wouldn't think that we would lose Robin Williams this way.
I want to write a poem for him. But it didn't come, yet, so I'm writing this to add to the thoughts of others.
Here is one piece I've read which I really relate to and like. It's worth the click. Depression is a Duplicitous Asshole by Angela Giles Patel.
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