I loved Robin Williams. When I saw him in person, I laughed so much my mouth hurt from smiling. He's one of the many comedians who have helped me get through my bouts of depression. I remember being grateful for him whenever he was a guest on a late night talk show.
But the last time I saw him on TV, he didn't seem quite as funny. He was showing his serious side, like he often got to do in movies. Many people forget that he won an Oscar for his role as a psychologist in a drama, "Good Will Hunting." He probably drew from his own sessions on the other side of the couch.
Yet the world wanted him to be funny, and he complied. It is how most of the world will remember him long after the shock of his suicide dissipates. But because he had openly discussed some of his problems, I will remember him as a courageous person, one who lived his life to the fullest despite his struggles.
Those of us who live with the highs of mania and the horrible lows of depression that follow know too well how difficult it is to believe that "this too shall pass." I remember my last clinical depression - I told my family that I felt like a patient in an ICU with machines and tubes keeping me alive. I was barely hanging on and I wanted them to pull the plug. I wanted them to give me permission to go, to go off the meds, to stop trying so hard, to stop living - at least to stop living for them.
I wanted to live for myself. When I realized that, things began to change. I decided to do something different, which my doctor had recommended several times - outpatient training which helped me change my thinking. Also, since the counselors and doctor saw me five days a week rather than just once every three months, they were able to adjust my meds and help me adjust my moods.
It hasn't been easy. I've since gone through a couple of problems with my meds and tend towards anxiety rather than depression (which in my mind, is much worse). My brain is aging. Like Robin Williams, I am in my sixties and physical problems have kept me from exercising as much as I used to, from doing the things I enjoy on a regular basis.
At the same time, I have learned to "pick my battles," to not get entangled in things that will not serve me well. I have also learned to enjoy life on a different level. I'm a grandparent and, best of all, my children let me babysit their children - something they would not do had I not gotten help. I am blessed.
Robin Williams was also blessed. He loved his children. He loved his life, until his life became one of unbearable existence. Saturday night, I watched his first movie, "The World According to Garp." It is long, but worth it to get to the end where ... well, I won't give it away because I had forgotten the ending. Let me just say that his character is a serious one, which is interesting since back then we knew him as Mork in "Mork and Mindy."
Yes, we knew him as a very funny man, possibly the funniest man in the world. But he was a very serious man, too, and he showed that side many times. May he have found the balance he was looking for, the peace and contentment we all strive for, especially those of us who are bipolar. Thank you, Robin Williams.
But the last time I saw him on TV, he didn't seem quite as funny. He was showing his serious side, like he often got to do in movies. Many people forget that he won an Oscar for his role as a psychologist in a drama, "Good Will Hunting." He probably drew from his own sessions on the other side of the couch.
Yet the world wanted him to be funny, and he complied. It is how most of the world will remember him long after the shock of his suicide dissipates. But because he had openly discussed some of his problems, I will remember him as a courageous person, one who lived his life to the fullest despite his struggles.
Those of us who live with the highs of mania and the horrible lows of depression that follow know too well how difficult it is to believe that "this too shall pass." I remember my last clinical depression - I told my family that I felt like a patient in an ICU with machines and tubes keeping me alive. I was barely hanging on and I wanted them to pull the plug. I wanted them to give me permission to go, to go off the meds, to stop trying so hard, to stop living - at least to stop living for them.
I wanted to live for myself. When I realized that, things began to change. I decided to do something different, which my doctor had recommended several times - outpatient training which helped me change my thinking. Also, since the counselors and doctor saw me five days a week rather than just once every three months, they were able to adjust my meds and help me adjust my moods.
It hasn't been easy. I've since gone through a couple of problems with my meds and tend towards anxiety rather than depression (which in my mind, is much worse). My brain is aging. Like Robin Williams, I am in my sixties and physical problems have kept me from exercising as much as I used to, from doing the things I enjoy on a regular basis.
At the same time, I have learned to "pick my battles," to not get entangled in things that will not serve me well. I have also learned to enjoy life on a different level. I'm a grandparent and, best of all, my children let me babysit their children - something they would not do had I not gotten help. I am blessed.
Robin Williams was also blessed. He loved his children. He loved his life, until his life became one of unbearable existence. Saturday night, I watched his first movie, "The World According to Garp." It is long, but worth it to get to the end where ... well, I won't give it away because I had forgotten the ending. Let me just say that his character is a serious one, which is interesting since back then we knew him as Mork in "Mork and Mindy."
Yes, we knew him as a very funny man, possibly the funniest man in the world. But he was a very serious man, too, and he showed that side many times. May he have found the balance he was looking for, the peace and contentment we all strive for, especially those of us who are bipolar. Thank you, Robin Williams.
