An Unspoken Torment of the Mind, Part One

Song of the Day: Bridges by Broods

By now, the entire internet has exploded with the news of Robin Williams' passing. There have been enough eulogies and posts about the kind of man he was that I don't feel the need to pile on my own thoughts; at least not too much, because I never knew Williams personally, and I definitely did not know enough about him to attempt eulogizing him. Yet here I go, giving my own feeble attempt at a eulogy:

Robin Williams as Peter Pan in Hook. My sisters and I still love, and watch, this film.

I will say this much: Robin Williams was one of the people who I admired most in this world. When I knew he was in a movie I was going to see, I was immediately that much more excited to see the movie. It didn't matter to me how well (or poorly) received the film was by critics: when Williams showed up on the screen the movie became my favorite. In Jumanji, when he popped out of that board game, I remember actually thinking: It'll all be okay now. Robin Williams is here.

I adored him in his interviews and in his stand up. Mork and Mindy has been a favorite of mine for some years. Don't get me going on Good Will Hunting and Dead Poets Society, the latter of which is one of the many reasons I'm a writer, and why I fight for the arts. At some point I realized the things he said about poetry encompassed the arts in general, including prose, painting, sculpting and music.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?" - Robin Williams as John Keating.

But then there were the less long-winded inspirational things that Robin Williams said, such as: "You're only given one little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."

As more time since his death passes, more people mention exactly how wonderful of a man he was. They talk about how giving, and loving, and funny, and genuinely kind of a person he was. Giving, and giving, but never taking care of his own needs. Always willing to help people with their sadness, but struggling to cope with his own. As I hear more, it saddens me to know how bright of a light has left this world.

It was my dream to one day meet him, to get to know him. In my fantasies of one day being one of those famous authors who you see on TV, interviewing with Letterman or other Late Show hosts (we can debate the realisticness of that on another, less sad day), I thought that maybe he would be one of my readers, and that one day I could encounter this giant of a man in person.

But here's where I'm headed with this: I remember when I saw Flubber. I remember there being moments in that movie where I would watch him and I would think: Wow. He is actually a very sad man, isn't he? I can even remember and pinpoint the scenes where I thought that. I didn't think that about his character's situation - I thought that about him, specifically. Even at his most manic, something deeply sad and lonely seemed to lurk behind his eyes.



Robin Williams in Flubber

Robin Williams was suffering an unspoken torment of the mind; one that he could not overcome, and one that ultimately took his life. It was a torment that, even as an eight-year-old, I could see. It was a torment that, although I could not understand it at the time, made my heart ache for him. And I think that's the thing with depression and anxiety: I believe people can't understand what it's like to have a disorder like that unless they actually suffer it themselves. It doesn't mean that those who don't suffer it can't help those who do. But when you've walked a mile in that person's shoes, you get a sense of the kind of pain that it is.

I don't think we'll ever fully understand his seemingly sudden suicide. I think suicide is, inherently, a very difficult concept for those who don't consider it to understand. That said, from what I've read and from what people have said, Mr. Williams spent the vast majority of his time on this Earth working for others. He fought to bring happiness and brightness to the lives of all, and especially those who were suffering. Perhaps he did so because he himself was suffering, and he wanted only to help people rise above the suffering that he spent his life going through. Maybe he did that because he saw the selfishness of people, and of the world, and he wanted to counter it with as much selfless giving as he could. And perhaps all that giving, without any thought for himself, burned him out.

All I know is that the world seems a bit colder now. A bit harsher. I can only hope that people can learn from the example he set, and learn a bit of generosity. I can only hope that those who are suffering can find it in themselves to seek the help they need, either professional or in the arms of friends, and know that they don't have to suffer in silence.

It's what I had to do.