I feel compelled to write something about the recent tragedy in the death of Robin Williams.  Although the cause of death has not been determined, most accounts point to suicide.

My first reaction to the news was that of complete and utter sadness.  Obviously I’d never met the man, but I had always enjoyed his comedy as well as acting.  He’d always seemed on top of the world.  But then again looks are deceiving, aren’t they?

It’s hard to believe with all the money and possible opportunities for therapeutic intervention that somebody as well known as Robin could still fall prey to the evils of severe depression.  But yet we now know it’s sadly very believable.

Having gone through severe depression myself, I feel like I have a kind of compassion for his struggles, maybe more so than someone who has never experienced depression.  I’ve spoken with people who have had a loved one commit suicide and they were mad that the person who died didn’t think of anyone but themselves.  But what they don’t understand is that depression makes you go inside yourself.  It takes you to a place where you CAN’T think of anyone or anything else.  It’s not a choice.

IT’S NOT A CHOICE.

Who would choose to feel such sadness and pain that it becomes unbearable?  My guess would be very few.  Sometimes you get so deep inside yourself that you’ve reached the point of no return.  And nobody knows it but you.  You truly won’t know how deep someone has gone unless they ask for help.  Honestly, depression has no sympathy for the cause.  Depression will stop you from asking anyone for anything.  It sets up walls and those walls are made up of all the hurt and frustration and sadness that you’ve felt in your life.  They get thicker and thicker until they’re almost unbreakable.  Those of us who were able to find a way to  break down the barriers don’t consider ourselves out of the woods.  We realize that at any given time, if we feed into our depression, the walls will come back up even faster than before.  We are cognizant of the fact that it’s an everyday struggle, but we’ve seen the worst and we’ve seen it get better, and we strive for happiness, or our interpretation of what happiness can look like for us.

You never really know what goes on in somebody’s brain.  Their life appears to be perfect, or our interpretation of what perfect might look like.  Robin Williams appeared to have everything, but in the end he wasn’t able to find what he needed.

Something good always comes from something bad, and if his death brings more insight into severe depression, I’m guessing he would be pleased, if nothing else.

To Robin Williams, wherever you may be:

I live my life through music, and when my day is a royal mess, inevitably I hear a song that pertains to that mess.  Honestly, I think I’m living one incredibly long movie, and every now and then my personal music supervisor (God) throws in a nice little tune that seems to go along with my life.

Such was the case yesterday.  I have this ability to forgive and hope for the best.  Especially when it comes to my husband.  I think this is my first post about my husband, but he’s a big reason I am the way I am.  He knows just how to push my buttons, mostly the bad buttons.  He knows how to pull at my heart-strings and put me in my place.  He knows my strengths and weaknesses and uses that to his advantage on a daily basis.  A long time ago, I made the mistake of filling him in on my weaknesses.  I felt vulnerable and thought it would be a good thing if he really knew me, heart and soul.  Years later, I’m finding this to be a huge impropriety.  A mistake that I live with on a daily basis.  I don’t blame him, mostly because I try to see the good in almost everyone, including him.  For the most part that’s a good trait, but when it comes to my husband, it’s a death sentence.  I tend to over exaggerate a little, but yesterday it was a death sentence.

My son is away on vacation and that leaves myself and my significantly fucked up “other” alone together.  Being the forgiving person that I am, I decide we should spend the day with each other.  First mistake.  To start off, my husband isn’t a conversationalist.  He prefers quiet to any kind of conversation.  Ever.  Being a mostly talkative woman, that’s a problem for me.  I actually like to chat with people.  I think I have a lot to bring to the conversation, and it’s fun engaging with another person.  I don’t think I’m alone in that idea.

I rush to get ready because we’re going to a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball game.  I’m excited as usual as it’s always a fun time.  But not this time.  We have very little conversation in the car on the way to the game, which is about a 45 minute drive.  He doesn’t like to converse and drive.  We find a parking spot and off we go.  I’m still excited because I don’t ever start out with doom and gloom.  I should, but I don’t.  We eat at the famous Primantis and I want my husband to have a beer.  He opts for an I.C. Light and I reluctantly give in.  I want the good stuff, aka Stella Artois or something similar, so I stop and grab myself a Blue Moon for the walk to our seats.  Good seats come with a good price….$140.00  Primanti’s sandwich, fries and Light beer, $28.00.  Yee hawwww, this is gonna be fun.

Not.

After eating and missing the only 2 runs scored the entire game, we make our way to our seats.  Sitting in the middle of the row is rather annoying, but we survive.  The game is decent and I’m lucky enough not to be sitting next to anyone smelly.  There’s a cute little girl sitting on her daddy’s lap behind me asking all kinds of silly questions with her tiny, petite voice.  In front of me is a young couple, chatting and laughing together as if they really love each other’s company.

As I look around the section, I see people coming and going, laughing, taking and eating.  It’s a fun atmosphere.

And then there’s me and Dave.  Blah.

We don’t talk.  I think he might have said more to the man sitting next to him than to me the whole entire game.  And believe me, that wasn’t much either.

I ask him if he’d like to go on a “pee run” and grab another beer.  Being in the middle of the row poses a problem for Dave and he’d rather wait 2.5 more innings to get up.  What’s the significance of that number?  I don’t know.  We finally leave our seats and venture up to the concession area, relieve ourselves and Dave announces he’d like an ice cream. Really?  Not a beer?  Nope.  I’m welcome to get one, but he’s not drinking one.  I cave and get an ice cream, but I’m not happy.  I would really prefer a cold citrus-flavored Blue Moon, but who wants to drink alone?

This is the story of my life.  I give in and do whatever my husband would like.  I’ve done it for years and years.  I’m not happy and he gets whatever he wants.  When I comment to him that I’m not happy, he never has the same reply back.  Who would?  If you get everything you want, generally you’re a happy person with a happy life.  I’m guessing of course, I wouldn’t know.

And so on the way home from the game, once again quiet as all hell, I decide to channel surf for a good song.  Yes, I know what you’re gonna say….”why do you still listen to the radio”?  I just do, okay?  I find a song I can sing to, cause I have to constantly be singing and seeing as there’s no conversation to be had, I might as well fill up that empty space with song.  What’s the song?  Annie Lennox, Walking on Broken Glass.  There’s a couple of lines that resonate with me like nobody’s business:  “I’m living in an empty room, with all the windows smashed”.  Think of the depth of those couple of words, because it describes my life to a “T”.  I feel like my life is empty, but not just empty, I’ve got some smashed windows as well.  Picture me walking around an empty room barefoot, wind coming in through the jagged panes of glass while my feet are scarred from the broken glass.

I listen to this song about 5 times yesterday and decide that I need to write about it.  Write about my dilemma, my empty life and what it feels like to walk on broken glass.