Robin Williams killed himself yesterday morning. I can't even *type* it without tearing up. Apparently he strangled/hung himself, whatever... it doesn't matter; he's gone.
Of course I was a big fan, everyone was a big fan. Of his comedy as well as his dramatic work. He was a gem, a true superstar, a genius and one of those guys you'd love to be friends with and invite to your parties. He was a gazillionaire with a wife who by all accounts loved him dearly and a successful career that spanned decades. He struggled and fought Depression, and Addiction, and fought them off successfully sometimes, and not so successfully others.
Depression won.
I feel like Depression always wins. And I feel helpless against its power. If someone who truly does have "everything going for them" can't fight off D, what chance do I have? Me, unemployed, unloved, uncharming, unbeautiful, underweight, impatient, needy, grumpy me... who doesn't make any significant contribution to the world in any way. In fact I'm a burden to my loved ones, and even the government. D's got a really secure foothold on me. What chance do I have?
I keep thinking of the phrase "tears of a clown" and what it means. It used to mean to me a vague reference to something that was so sad or beautiful that it could even move a clown to tears. Now I think of it in terms of identifying myself as a member of a raconteur breed of clown. As such, we don't cry; at least not where anyone can see us. Our tears are the jokes we tell. Our tears are the almost desperate attempts to solicit a laugh out of you. The quick comebacks, the funny one-liners, the sarcastic observations and the strange connections our brain makes that are unexpected and make you chuckle. Our tears are the cocktails we drink too many of so we can overcome the social anxiety we really feel and be considered a good time. Our tears are all of the attempts we make to make ourselves loved and valuable, and make our company coveted; to get ourselves invited to parties, and asked on dates, to make up for the intense and crippling feelings of inadequacy on the inside. And the more successful the clown, the larger the inadequacies loom, because you feel that everyone only loves the clown, the makeup, the mask, the costume and nobody, nobody in the world loves YOU.
Underlined in my life by the fact that everyone I've ever taken the mask of for has then abandoned me.
Its a long line of laughs that have been lost to D, or its offshoot, Addiction. I put them in the same category because the addiction (booze, pills, food, drugs, whatever) is a coping mechanism in a D victim. Its too prevalent to pretend they aren't the same thing. In addition to Robin Williams, we've got Freddie Prinze, Patrice O'Neil, John Candy (yes I know Candy died of a heart attack. I also want to remind you he was 43. Tell me Addiction didn't help him along.), Chris Farley, John Belushi, Mitch Hedberg, Greg Giraldo... okay I can't go on any further. Those are just the ones I can remember right now.
Depression always gets its guy. What chance do I have?
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