August 12, 2014
3:35 p.m.

I'm not having a very good day.

Actually, it started yesterday, this not very good day phase. I woke up in a state of near-tears, for no apparent reason. It was one of those days where I felt compelled to call family members and make sure everyone is okay.

I was online, not really looking for anything in particular, when a breaking news announcement appeared at the top of my page. "Robin Williams Found Dead From Apparent Suicide," it said.

"No," I whispered. Whimpered, really.

I told my son, "Robin Williams is dead."

"It's a lie," he replied, obviously shaken. "It has to be. It's a different Robin Williams."

I hoped for a hoax. You know, like all the ongoing reports of Jackie Chan's death in accidents while filming his movies. They are all over the internet all the time.

That's what it will turn out to be, I thought--hoped--prayed--as I clicked on the link to see the story.

Well, clearly I was wrong. Robin Williams is gone.

I just can't believe it. I've spent half my life saying "Shazbat" and "Nano, nano." I've stood in front of the house in Boulder that is famously called "The Mork and Mindy House." I have been entertained by this man for all of my adult life. He made me laugh. He made me cry.

He's not supposed to be gone. Not yet. And certainly not like this.

Generally, when a celebrity I am a fan of passes away, I feel saddened, but go on with my day without too much fuss.

This one has hit me so hard! And I can't stop reading everything that shows up online about him. I feel so bad for his wife, and even worse for his children. I sit here now, typing away and blotting tears off my face with a tissue.

I guess the main thing bothering me is the fact that he was ill in a way that is so hard to define. All the Coroner can do is pronounce his death was the result of suicide, but it was really the result of an illness that so few recognize or acknowledge--especially those who suffer with it.

This is not the first time I've seen the aftermath of this illness. I have friends who have lost children to it. I fear sometimes that I could lose people close to me because of it. Or they could lose me.

It digs in, you see. It moves into you slowly and starts to eat away at every pleasure. There doesn't have to be any specifically defined reason for feeling "blue"; after awhile it just feels like that's the way it has always been and always will be.

Depression builds a home within you and announces, in no uncertain terms, that it has no intention of leaving.

I understand the driving force that took Robin Williams from us; I understand it well. That feeling of: "This is never going to get better!" and "I'm too tired to fight this anymore."

But--Oh, God!--I wish he'd kept fighting. We could have had another decade or three of his wit and wisdom and wild, zany antics. Better still, HE could have had those years.

What I said first certainly sounded selfish, but what can I say? I will miss him. I will miss all the things he could have done in the future. And I know damn well that his children would have given anything to have him decide he needed to stick around awhile longer.

Depression kills. It's a sad fact.

Please, please, if you are suffering with this, don't try to tough it out. There is nothing weak in admitting that you need some help. I'm speaking from experience, hard as that is for me to admit.

So talk to someone--your spouse, your children, your parents, your doctor--anyone. You are important to many different people, even when you don't believe that you are. Let them help you find the strength to stick around. They need you.

To Robin, wherever you are--I'm so sorry. You are well loved and will be missed by so many. Depression cannot reach you now, so fly, Peter Pan. Fly.