Robin Williams

I don’t normally blog about big news stories.  In fact, I tend to avoid them.  This is partly because I usually don’t know what’s going on in the news, and partly because I wouldn’t dream of pontificating on about politics or religion or the justice system, because I don’t imagine anyone reads this kind of blog for that type of malarkey.

But feck it, some things are worth a mention.

I was sitting on my own in our living room the other night.  Even Oscar, who doesn’t usually go to bed unless someone actually carries him there, had abandoned me.
I was flicking through the television channels, when I caught a few minutes of Awakenings, with Robin Williams and Robert De Niro.  I love that film.

I also love Mrs. Doubtfire, even though I’m far too old for it, in that I was well past childhood when it was released.  I absolutely love the Fisher King, Good Morning Vietnam, and the Birdcage.  To be fair, I think Nathan Lane stole the show in that one.  But Robin Williams was, as always, believable, funny and excellent in it.  And the genie in Aladdin was surely one of his best characters?

 

 

Obviously I knew I was saddened by the death of Robin Williams, but even I, in my usual highly dramatic state, was surprised to find tears escaping as I watched him.

He was known as the funniest man in the world.  I don’t know about that, I know quite a few funny men myself, and the things His Nibs shouted at that cyclist who veered straight across in front of him today were pretty hysterical.

But Robin Williams was definitely exceptionally funny.

He gave a huge amount of time to the Christopher Reeve Foundation after his friend set it up to support paralysis patients.  And after Patch Adams became a huge success he visited children’s hospices as the character.
He was also a huge supporter of Parkinson’s Disease charities, apparently.

It think it’s safe to say that he did a lot of good work.

We all know that he had addiction problems.  I’m not saying the man was a saint.

But he seemed like the giddiest maddest man in the world.

And I can’t help thinking that if he can hold out that face to the world when he was living in such pain and torment every day, we’re all fecked.

How are we to know, then, if our dear friends, or our siblings or parents are in similar pain to Robin  Williams’?

Obviously it’s a tragedy when anyone takes their own life.  And the fact that this time it was an Oscar winner and entertainer doesn’t make it any sadder than if anyone one else had done it.

But this person was familiar to us all, and so rather than leave just the family and friends of the victim with questions, we’re all at last talking about depression and suicide, openly, for at least a little while.

Sometimes we all think dark thoughts, I suppose.  I know this makes me sound completely shallow and awful, but I often think how much better my life would be if I had more money, if I didn’t have to turn up at work so often, or if His Nibs would just do everything I tell him without delay or argument.

I’m not for a second comparing.  I’m not suggesting that my sitting in the spare room sulking about my overdraft or the coffee delay when we turn out not to have milk is a life changing or dramatic event.

But I have to say this.  I was shocked beyond words when I heard what happened to Robin Williams.  He doesn’t seem to have had money worries, his family deny all reports to the contrary, and he was allegedly worth $50 million. 

We have no reason to think he was not in a loving family, he was at an art exhibition with his wife just the day before he died.  And he clearly adored his children, and introduced them to the audience from an Awards stage on more than one occasion. 

He was successful beyond his dreams, surely, in his chosen career.

And yet this insidious gripping disease we call depression smothered him. 

I don’t know if we should call it depression anymore. 

After all, if we can get “depressed” about having no money, or putting on weight, or any of life's other little stresses,  surely to call the life threatening version of the disease by the same word only underestimates it.

It’s like using the same word for “freckle” and “metastastic melanoma”.

One is something you'll be aware of but get used to pretty quickly, the other is genuinely life threatening.

Somebody commits suicide in the United States every fourteen minutes.  I don’t know the statistics for Ireland. Something overtakes people who look like they are living and even enjoying their lives. And to the unfortunate souls who are watching these people suffering, there’s frighteningly little they can do to help.

But I think we should at least try to respect that the person is suffering from a serious disease.

Robin Williams, and everyone else who ends their life because of this awful disease, is a loss to us all.

And if I hear one more person ask “What had he got to be depressed about?” I swear to God I won’t be responsible for my actions.
There's no easy answer.  So please stop asking pointless questions.