Depression is a mean, lowdown, mealy-mouthed motherfucker in ill-fitting burlap hotpants, and now it’s taken MORK.
Who isn’t sad and pissed about Robin Williams? Anyone? It really does seem like a light has gone out in the universe – as trite and cliché as that may sound.
Depression doesn’t give a single shit about who you are or what you have accomplished. It turns the space between you and the rest of the human race into an ugly, flaming, terrifying, un-crossable freeway of self-constructed negative bullshit. It’s irrational. Depression takes you on a guided tour of your own hideous underbelly and whispers in your ear that this is the real you. That nobody really cares. That this is what is real. And it really does feel that way when you’re in its grips – like any happy moment you may have experienced in the past was a brief mirage.
Fuck you, depression. Give the funny guy back. We’re NOT fooling around.
I won’t claim to know the difference between those of us who crawl out of the bad times and survive and those who do not make it out. And I have never been very close to the brink – never thought seriously about taking a permanent “leave of absence.” I gather that most (and Mr. Williams was proof of this) fight the battle successfully for many years – before they fall.
Reality is what he couldn’t see: He was beloved by people who knew him personally and those of us who were merely enraptured by his unique, hilarious presence onscreen. We could have screamed that in unison through a thousand bullhorns to no avail. The depression was louder.
I’ll say it again: depression is a sorry, mean motherfucker. It snatches the best of us away forever. And I’m really pissed about Robin Williams.