Others will, and have said things about Robin Williams passing (or, exit?
) and what kind of person he was. I don't want to just add to a pile, but I do feel that perhaps
I have a personal perspective worth sharing. I've deleted older journals where I talk about some of these things, so forgive any repetition.
For someone like me, Robin Williams was a
hero - or at the very least a major inspiration. It wasn't simply the jokes themselves, it was the way he looked at the world. He could be unashamedly crass in his humor, and it would put me in stitches, but also, through his acting, he would show people life throughout the spectrum of the human condition. I've read he was bipolar. That makes sense.
I grew up in home that was all I could ask for, but at the same time, something I wouldn't wish on anyone. It would have been one thing if my dad was just a straight up asshole. But he was bipolar. The same thing could send him into a rage one day, and the very next day trigger a paternal kind of light hearted laugh. It goes without saying that as a kid it was pretty traumatic and confusing. Eventually I grew old enough to figure out methods to deal with it. In some ways I thought it was an advantage - teachers couldn't chew me out and I was emotionally stable under stressful situations.
So I thought. Most of it turned out to be faulty maladjusted practices and thought patterns. I had tried my entire life not to be like my father, but really I'd just been blind to myself, and in the end I find that I've been exactly
like him. All the way down to his method of 'helping' - which always came from a good place, but tended erupt into an ultimately non-constructive rant.
Now I'm 30, and there isn't a moment in my life that hasn't been stained by my illness. Whatever you think of me, whatever idea you have of the kind of person I am, it's not the same as what I know. And that fucking sucks.
Mental illness is still very much a private shame. I can be put in a mindstate where I think things that I wouldn't want to tell anyone in the entire world. And it hurts; I torment myself. It breaks me down and makes me useless to world, or worse, anti-useful.
"But the people around you want to help! Tell us what's wrong!"
- some guy
It just doesn't work like that. Make me tell you what's wrong and it forces me to voice all my fears, delusions, and extrapolated future events. What I need is some calm and quiet within my own mind. And yes, alcohol helps. I don't have access to anything else at this time (I'm heading home for treatment early September, flight is booked.)
At 63, Robin Williams leaves behind quite a body of work. One can only hope to follow his example. But we don't know what his internal struggles were. You think Robin Williams, of all people
, lacked people that cared about him? His demons might have been to strong or too many. Only he knows. And even if we can say, oh, but he was depressed; he wouldn't have done it if he wasn't depressed. No fucking shit. But this wasn't a simple sadness.
I'd shake his hand for his contributions, give him a hug with love, and shed a tear as I wish him goodbye.
urgh. now watch me delete this tomorrow.