Today would have been Robin Williams’ 64th birthday. I share what I wrote when he died, to remind people that depression is not just “feeling down in the dumps.” It’s being below the dump.
This post might look like it has nothing to do with Judaism, but bear with me. It does.
Ever since I found out about Robin Williams’ death yesterday I’ve been sort of in a state of shock. The man who created Mork, Garp, Airman Cronauer, the Genie, John Keating, Armand Goldman, Peter Banning/Pan, and Vladimir Ivanoff dead? Impossible.
But even worse: his death was by suicide? Incredible. Unbelievable. This brilliant, vibrant, funny, successful man killed himself? How can that be?
And yet. And yet.
Finding out that he suffered from depression makes all of that completely believable – both his successes and his death.
You see, I have depression. I have always had it. I always will have it. It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t disappear. And I have heard that inner voice saying in a very calm, rational, completely believable way: “Nobody would miss you if you died. They’d…
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Wrestling With God 