Lost in the Darkness

 

(a post from four years ago)

 

            Robin Williams died on August 11, 2014 from suicide. It’s hard to believe that it’s been that long.

 

Williams was dealing with Lewy body dementia that progresses quickly and is marked by depression, anxiety, paranoia, and hallucinations. His death brought light to a difficult subject, and the discussions I heard afterward spoke of the mental illness aspect of suicide. Recent studies have taken the blame off those who kill themselves, and removed the guilt from family and friends who felt there was something more they could have done to save them.

 

            Because he was famous, I hope that Williams’ willingness to talk about his psychological struggles, his use of drugs and alcohol to combat them, and how hard he fought, will encourage others to talk about their demons rather than try to go it alone. Estelle Getty, actor, and Casey Kasem, radio host, also suffered with this type of dementia.

 

            The phrase we often hear is “he committed suicide.” This has the tone of saying “he committed murder.” That he took a life. I prefer what one of my friends said—“lost to suicide.” This speaks of dealing with something like cancer, and needing the help of others. The stigma of mental illness, the shame, is that we won’t talk about it. Too often we blame.

 

            Much is lost with suicide and dementia. Williams was lost in the swirling of thoughts and images he couldn’t control. His family lost him to death, and has felt lost without him in their lives. Those of us who knew him only through his movies and on TV, feel lost without his humor and wry insights into humanity’s odd and sometimes destructive behaviors. When our own pain became too crusty with doubts, too heavy with the expectations of others, we looked to him for guidance, and he helped us step back, laugh, and find a better way to deal with our problem.

 

            Comedians work by themselves, often late at night, and explore the cracks in society where its grand promises seldom match reality. To create something new, they have to reach into the darkness and bring back a candle of light. Sometimes they look in for too long or find nothing there. Maybe on that fateful night, while staring over the dark ocean in front of him, and unable to see the lights of love behind him, unable to calm the voices in his head, caused by his deteriorating brain, Williams simply thought, “enough is enough,” and the emptiness slipped him away on its tide.

 

            Like many others, I admired the improv zaniness of Williams, his childlike delight in exploring the world, his challenge to us to take care of each other, and his ability to cut through the smokescreens and illusions that politicians use to hide the entire truth about what’s going on. 

 

            One of the characters Williams played that I value the most is Sean Maguire, the psychology professor and therapist in Good Will Hunting. In the movie he speaks of missing his wife who died of cancer two years before. His character says that he would not trade any of the days he had with her, not even the days he sat with her as she lay dying, holding her hand. He understands. No matter how wrenching it is, or what it costs us, we do not want to let go of those we love, because being without them is worse.

 

*

 

            It doesn’t matter whether someone’s cause of despair is psychological, physical, spiritual, or social and extinguishes the hope of life ever getting better. What’s important is that people listen when you say you are troubled. We may not find a long-term solution, but we can help you get through today. Do not condemn. Listen.

 

            May all who live on the edge treat themselves with kindness today.