Unless you have been living in a cupboard, you will know that Robin Williams died today.
I cannot really say it better than this beautiful post written by Tania Kindersley at Backwards in High Heels.
You should read it.
All my life I have struggled with depression. I have known what it is to be sad when there is nothing to be sad about, weary when I shouldn’t be tired, and perplexed by the miseries that I alone can put myself through, which nobody else who has not suffered like this can adequately understand. I have known what it is to be lonely in a room full of people, to feel amazement when people profess to love me when I could and can not love myself. I have known what it is to feel utterly despairing that things will ever be alright again. I have known what it is to watch other people brim over with happiness, while I have been tearing myself to pieces with inner grief at something I cannot really name.
At times like this it is dark. It is cold. It is lonely and it is unbelievably exhausting.
I cannot remember a day when I have not wrestled with the demons of my depression to a greater or lesser extent. Not a single day of my life where I have sailed through it not fearing, not dreading, not doubting, not pushing away the darkness, even if only for a brief moment.
Sometimes you wonder where you will find the strength to get up in the morning. Sometimes you wonder if you will get through this moment, and this moment, and this moment, and all the moments that purl before you, because life can be such a very heavy burden to shoulder sometimes.
I always have found a way.
I am sorry that you didn’t.
Robin Williams, you were part of some of my joy of childhood, and some of the delight of my growing up, and some of the sadness and beauty of my middle years. You have made me laugh. You have made me cry. You have made me feel a little bit more alive, a little bit more human, a little bit more humane.
I hope you’ve managed to put down your burden now, Robin.