Robin Williams: It has often struck me that the funniest people, the ones who are the sunniest on the outside and make us laugh the loudest are often the saddest souls on the inside. Charlie Chaplin's "Smile" pretty much says it all. He seemed to have it all, didn't he? Academy Awards, successful film and television career, one of the most revered comedians and actors of our time. And yet, it was not enough to overcome that dark shadowy beast of depression.
As I continue to wage my own personal war with that particular monster, the tone of the comments and media stories still strikes me. We are sad. we are reverent, we are careful not to say any words about the tragic death of this amazing man that might offend or cause hurt, but still we dance around the truth we do not want to admit: Depression is a terminal illness for which there is no cure. It can be medicated, it can be managed, but it will never go away. It always lurks, hiding in the dark shadows of your mind, waiting for that time when you are tired, stressed, weak, overworked, to strike again. Often, it hits when we least expect it, when things seem to be going well. When we would seem to have not much reason to be depressed at all, but after we have finally scaled that high mountain or overcome that insurmountable obstacle. That is when it is at its most deadly, when we we seem to finally have our happy ending.
I say again, Depression is a terminal illness. Left untreated, unmanaged, unmonitored, it will kill you quickly and often in a rather spectacular and shocking manner. I am sure there are many out there who will rush to disagree with me, pointing out the wonderful anti-depressants, the treatments, the benefits of diet, excercise, socialization, etc. etc. I am here to tell you I do all of those things, and yes, they do help, but they only manage, they do not cure. The ugly fact is, like alcoholism or addiction, there is no cure, and once the shadowy beast has taken a bite out of you, has smelled and tasted your blood, so to speak, its hunger will pursue you for the rest of your life. You may win many battles with Depression, but you will never win the war. In the end, the best that you can hope for is to die of something else before it finally does take you.
I am heartened at least, to see the careful compassion for Robin Williams and his family in the wake of his death. (I will not say untimely death, because frankly, the man was 63. He had a long and full life of love and success. He achieved things many of us will only dream of). We all saw the brilliant actor, the comedian, the entertainer, but how many ever saw the weary, grizzled, battle scarred warrior within? He finally came to the end of his strength. He has laid down his sword and his shield. His fight is over. And horrible as this may sound, perhaps we should also be glad for him. Because frankly, sad as it is for his loved ones, much as we will miss him, can we not find at least some small comfort in knowing that for him there are no more battles, no more pain, and now he can finally rest? But the fact, is, we don't want to be glad because it feels wrong. And in the "wrongness" of it, I still see the strong stigma attached to mental illness.
When my own father died after a two year long battle with cancer, frankly, I did not grieve. I felt relief. I was glad that his pain was over. I was glad that my pain of watching him die slowly by inches was over as well. I have found many others who openly admit to me that a loved one's passing to cancer or alzheimer's was more a relief than a sorrow. All the grieving had been done on the front end. Perhaps it is because the pain is physical, because the steady erosion of the body or the conscious mind is so painfully obvious that we see death for the welcome rest and blessing that it becomes. Depression and mental illness, however, are not so obvious. Emotional pain is just as unbearable as physical agony, but it is much more easy to mask, and for our own survival and functionality, we hide it easily behind facades of happiness, smiles and laughter. We hide it to protect ourselves from the stigma of being "weak" or "crazy," never realizing that half the people around us are just as weak and crazy as we are. Because no one else can see it, our inevitable collapse comes as a shock to them, and they cannot fathom what could possibly lead us to such an end. I mean, weren't we taking our pills? Weren't we getting help? Didn't we see how much we had to live for?
Yes, we were, we did. But few can see it from the other side. I've done all of that, I've lived my life, and yes, it was good, but it's not enough any more. The ugly truth is that the monster will always be bigger than we are. It does not need to rest. And no matter what we do, it will always be there, lurking in the shadows and patiently waiting.
Yes, we can manage depression. We can use all the tools of science and medicine to hold it at bay, and long periods may even go by where we forget that we even have it, but we will never defeat it entirely. It will come back, and often at the time we least expect it. And even with successful management of depression, it still eats away at your soul and self, bit by tiny bit. Because management of the disease requires strict and unfailing discipline. -Something that is difficult to maintain in bad times and even harder to maintain in good ones. You can manage it carefully, you function, you go to work, clean your house, mow your lawn, take care of those million little details of daily life just fine and on the surface everything looks great, but underneath the surface, you feel the constant grind of the gears of discipline, slowly wearing you down until you can't help but ask yourself, "What's the point?"
Even well managed and well medicated, Depression slowly and steadily robs you of your joy for life. Perhaps you can laugh again, yes. Perhaps there are a few things here and there you can still accomplish and look back upon and think, that was good, or that was fun, but day by day, those feelings become more and more muted, those times of enjoyment become fewer and farther between, and your passion for life, for living, slowly ebbs away with time. On the surface of things, to outsiders, it all still looks so good. You are sucessful, you are working, you have accomplished those great dreams you always wanted. But the monster hampers your ability to keep dreaming, and once you have finally accomplished all of your dreams and you cannot think of new ones to pursue, you find yourself standing there, looking around and thinking "Now what?"
Sadly, with your ability to dream newer, bigger dreams dialed way down, there does not seem to be much answer for that. It takes longer, and you have to work much harder to come up with new ones. And sometimes, we just don't have the strength to do that. The fact of the matter is that Depression will kill you. It will either do it quickly, possibly in spectacular fashion by your own hand, or it will do it slowly, eroding away your passions, desires, purpose and drive bit by bit over the years until you one day look up and realize that, great as everything seems to be going, you are still somehow much less than you were before. I am glad to see the understanding and compassion pouring out all over the internet for Robin Williams and his family. I also hope we will show just as much compassion for the neighbor across the street that we occasionally see but don't really know, that kid in our class, that customer in our store, or that complete and total stranger who unfortunately made the 5 o'clock news.
Depression is a terminal illness. The best that you can hope for is to survive it long enough to die of something else.
No comments:
Post a Comment