A death outside the family

Yesterday I learned of the deaths of two individuals, one of whom I knew personally. The other was Robin Williams. 

It's hard to explain why the death of a stranger hit me as hard as it did. I was not exactly a fan of Robin Williams although I did admire his work in several movies. As it so often happens with the deaths of notable people, I've spent more time thinking about him in the last 24 hours since learning of his death than in the past thirty years or so that I've been aware of his existence. Since yesterday I learned about his health issues including open heart surgery, profound depression, dependence on drugs and alcohol, and the steps he took over a long period of time to get better. I learned that his off screen persona wasn't all that different from what he presented to the public, and that beyond the wacky, hyper, over-the-top schtick for which he was famous, it seems that deep down he was a wonderful human being.

And like the whole world, I learned that he died by his own hand.

I used to think that suicide was the most selfish act imaginable. Now I'm not so sure. 

It so happened that within the span of a couple years, two people with whom I worked took their own lives. Both were women in their early twenties. Both had scores of friends and loving families, both were exceptionally intelligent, talented, and accomplished for their young ages.

Granted I didn't know either of these individuals very well, but on the surface these two women would have been the last people on earth I would have imagined to have suffered from clinical depression and would eventually kill themselves. The first was someone I never really cared for. I found her to be unpleasant, aloof, and self-assured to a fault. When I learned that she died I felt ambivalent - terribly guilty that I didn't like her in life, but also angry that she would cause so much pain to the family and friends who loved her. Foolishly I resolved in my head that my assumptions about the kind of people who would take their own lives were correct all along.

Although I hardly knew her any better, the second woman was the polar opposite of the first. Her spirit of warmth, kindness, and generosity was palpable. She was not the kind of person who would have intentionally slighted a perfect stranger, let alone the people who loved and cared for her.

As a society we are just now beginning to come to terms with the torments of clinical depresseion. The fact that we all get depressed at times over the anxieties of life makes those of us who don't suffer from this terribly debilitating and deadly disease feel that if only "those people" lightened up a little and looked on the bright side of life, they'd realize they had nothing to be depressed about in the first place. After all, what does someone with all the money, talent and success of someone like Robin Williams have to get depressed over?

While I'm no psychologist and in fact know very little about the subject, unlike the case of my two former colleagues, I can't say that the news of Robin Williams's death shocked me. I knew nothing about the private man until yesterday, but in retrospect I felt that his outrageous, rollicking comic free-spirit must have been tempered by another, much darker force. It's hardly a surprise that most comedians deep down are rather sad individuals. As a friend put it yesterday, their craft serves in part to make some sense out of a "really fucked up world."

You could say that Robin Williams's mental state, both the highs and the lows of it, (not to mention the copious amount of drugs and alcohol he admitted to consuming over the years), contributed significantly to his "genius." Like that sappy Elton John song about another Hollywood icon, that "candle in the wind" was bound to burn out much too soon. This is not to trivialize the tragedy of his death in the least; but the truth is, Robin Williams lived larger than most of us, as his fall was equal in proportion.

It's impossible to imagine what thoughts must have gone through his head in the last moments of his life. I can only guess that his pain must have been unbearable, so much so that it forced him to do the one act that is alien to the very thing all living organisms are programmed to do, survive.

I'm not sure why deep, psychological pain is such a hard concept for so many people to grasp, but it is. We have a friend whose daughter has for several years experienced chronic abdominal pain which has of late become excruciating. She has been hospitalized for weeks now and so far the doctors have been able to come up with absolutely no explanation for what has been causing the pain. They have been able to medicate it which brings only temporary relief for the symptoms, but are nowhere closer to finding the cause of her condition.

No one would have any problem understanding and sympathizing with this young woman's physical pain and the incredible frustration she and her family are experiencing in not finding its source, let alone a cure. As I see it, suffering through the depths of depression is much the same; the source of the pain is inexplicable, and the cure for its symptoms in the form of medication, is fleeting at best. The only difference is that other people simply can't understand.

I can only guess that what was on Robin Williams's mind at the end was not his loving family, his adoring fans, and all the good that he brought to the world. My guess is that the only thought on his mind was how to make the pain stop.

Those of us who do not suffer from clinical depression can learn a great deal from the struggle of Robin Williams. The one good thing that may come out of the tragedy of this beloved public figure and his family is a better public grasp of the disease that took his life. And hopefully those of us with loved ones who suffer from debilitating clinical depression will learn to better understand them, listen to them, and most of all love and care for them.

It may not make their pain go away, but it's sure better than the alternative.