a spark of madness.

Yesterday evening, I heard the news that Robin Williams had passed away.

He was truly a brilliant actor, in comedies and dramas alike—and the stage and screen will certainly miss him. He was gifted in a way that few actors are…it was like breathing to him. His art came from his soul, and everyone could see that, I think.

I grew up with Robin Williams. I think of movies like Mrs. Doubtfire, and Patch Adams, and of course Hook, with fondness. I am even more fond of his voice work—no one could’ve done Genie better (which I think we discovered when they tried someone else in Return of Jafar….WORST IDEA EVER), and Batty from Ferngully is one of the most enjoyable characters I have ever seen in a movie. He was just. So. Stupid. Talented.

I have never been so rocked by the death of a celebrity.

And honestly, it doesn’t have as much to do with the genius that the world lost, as much as it does the reasons that we lost him.

Depression is real. I think that a lot of people forget that. Depression is real, and it is a nightmare for those who experience it. It is not something that you can just “fix,” no matter how many different medications you try, or how many therapists you see. I have battled it for the greater part of my life, and even though I’m in a good spot at the moment—depression is still there.

I don’t know what Robin went through in his own mind, but here’s a look into mine, dealing with depression.

No one loves me.

No one ever will love me.

If someone ever does decide to love me, I won’t be worthy of it.

I am so alone.

No one understands, and no one wants to understand.

I add absolutely nothing of value to anyone’s life.

If I was gone, no one would really care.

Maybe they’d be sad for a little while…but they’d move on. And be better off without me.

No one wants to hear about my problems. I’ll just put a smile on.

If I get vulnerable, people will be annoyed.

My friends probably would rather hang out with someone else.

I am a disappointment to everyone.

God’s love doesn’t apply to me. I’m too unlovable.

If I ran my car into that guardrail, I wonder what would happen...

If I “accidentally” fall on this knife, how much of a mess will I make?

If I hold my breath for a long enough amount of time, will I die?

I’m too tired to exist.

I’d rather sleep and experience dream-world, than face the reality of being awake.

Does anybody actually like me, or care?

I wonder if people who commit suicide actually do go to Hell.

I’m not important enough for God to use me.

I’m not important enough to God for my dreams to be fulfilled.

I’m hurting…but I can’t tell anyone, because they’ll ask me why.

I don’t know why.

Let me be completely clear—I am no longer suicidal. Many of the thoughts I just typed out are thoughts I haven’t had for years. And, even when I experienced suicidal thoughts back in the day, I never acted on them. As I said before, I’m in a pretty good spot right now.

But what’s strange about being in a good spot, and knowing that I have depression, is that I’m constantly wondering how much longer I have until my next break. Until the next time I find myself lying in bed, not wanting to speak to anyone, yet wanting to speak with everyone…feeling trapped in a nightmare of my own making, with no conceivable way out.

When I sing, I feel free from all of it. All there is, is my voice, and my God, and the universe…there is solace in music as there is solace in nothing else.

When I act, when I make people laugh, or I make people cry, I suddenly feel like everything raging inside of me is brought under control. Again, I am free. I can be whatever or whomever I want—because I have a choice in the emotions I portray. Standing on a stage, I can affect people. I can bring them joy. I can bring them pain. I can bring them hope. I am a part of something. I am important.

Robin Williams was a performer, too. I don’t know if he felt the same things that I feel about performing, but I like to think that he did. I think of him as a sort of kindred soul, because, though I have never battled with addiction as he did, I do know what it’s like to suffer from something that you can’t control, and use art as an outlet.

I am wrecked by his death, but I am also strengthened by it. I don’t want to lose my own battle. Depression will always be there, sleeping in the corner of my mind. It will wake, and torment me, and then fall asleep again. And I won’t lose to it. I can’t be defeated by it. No matter the lies that manifest in my mind.

There are millions of people fighting the same thing. You probably have them in your life. Be there for them. Talk to them when they might not want to talk. Love them, when they feel like they can’t be loved.

Don’t pass them off to medications that do more damage than good, at times. Meds can only give people so much. Be a friend. Let them know their worth. Don’t be afraid to say “I love you,” or “I need you.” It might be the difference between life and death.

I’m sure Robin Williams had people who told him they loved him…people who hugged him, and kissed him, and laughed with him. And it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, it won’t be enough.

But you can try, okay? We can all try.

“No matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”

John Keating (Robin Williams) – Dead Poets Society