August 11th, 2014

Whale fluke

Another someone, not here. (Find peace, Robin.)

Robin Williams. Oh, no.

Of the so many people who have battled such severe depression, I thought -- at some level, I really thought -- that he'd be one of those to beat it. He's... he battled it before, was very open about his depression issues and his addiction issues, was trying -- trying -- to be better and to be happy.

And, it appears, it got him. His own mind, and the chemical f-ups inside of it that made him depressed, got him.

Think of how beloved he is. Think of the support system he had to have had. Think of how HE was a support system: when his friend Steven Spielberg was doing the emotionally draining job of directing Schindler's List, doing so literally outside the walls of the Auschwitz concentration camp, Williams would call him and tell jokes to get him laughing again. When Christopher Reeve, his friend from college, was so depressed following his paralyzing accident that he asked his wife Dana whether she would help him kill himself if he wanted her to...then, Williams did a routine in the hospital just for Christopher and Dana, a deeply profane bit about how he was going to take dumps and have sex after his accident, precisely calibrated so that it'd be the kind of profane that would make make Christopher Reeve howl. Which he did, laughing for the first time since his accident. Williams did that. Williams did that because he loved his friends and wanted to ease their pain.

And now he can no longer do that. And if I'm broken up and sad over this news, imagine how so many others, all those people who knew and loved him, have to be staggered.

I thought he would beat it. I hoped he would beat it.

I've known others who have -- so far -- beat it. I've known people who haven't. You know people who've battled it. Think about them. Hug who you can, because dammit, kindness is wrapped in a hug.
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