I don’t know what it is… but working in the creative arts often comes at a price. Whether it’s deep-seeded insomnia from an over-working mind, panic attacks stemming from insecurities, or months spent paralysed fearing failure or God knows what. Actors have it, writers have it, musicians suffer from it. Even comedians fail at “laughing off” such demons.
I once met a guy who was great at making everyone around him smile. He wasn’t a close friend of mine, but I know he was a devoted husband and a loving father. What made him take his life no one will ever know, but what is certain is that it was no easy choice, or a quick way out. It was something that came from desperation.
A few years back I remember admiring Alexander McQueen’s work, thinking of him as a national treasure, someone that added to Britain’s creative greatness. He too, took his own life. I remember telling my boss at the time about the sad news, to which she replied “What a selfish thing to do. I have no respect for anyone that commits suicide”. Back then, I lacked the words and courage to jeopardise my job and tell her how shallow and mistaken her words were.
Two weeks ago, I opened my eyes to a very cold bedroom. Instead of braving it and jumping out of bed, I stayed under the duvet for a short while. While I don’t like to check any social media or emails first thing in the morning, I chose to look at my Instagram, and the third picture I saw was one of Robin Williams, a fan lamenting his death. I felt a sudden pain in my chest, and got out of bed.
I never met Robin Williams, but his work, especially his stand-up comedy routines, hold a very special place in my heart. They remind me of a beautiful time of my life when I fell in love with a man and everything that was connected to him. Some of Williams’ films take me back to my childhood, afternoons at the cinema, with sugary gum sweets that stuck to my fingers.
As I said, I never made his acquaintance, but that morning, after hearing the news of his passing I found it hard to stop crying. I still well up when I see any of the beautiful tributes that have popped up over the last days.
We will never really know all of the reasons, everything that troubled him, the facts that had him turn to suicide. He was incredibly talented and it is no secret that a lot of his comedy was propelled as some sort of automatic response to cover his own demons.
I never knew him, but I know he was a wonderful man, just like many more that we lose to suicide, that fall victims of depression. Emotional issues don’t come from a lack of intelligence, like I was once told. I’ve heard “get over it” way too many times. While it can be difficult to find the “right” things to say, there are also many wrong things to say. No one seeks to suffer this much, it’s not a conscious, or selfish choice.
Sometimes it’s not the circumstances you live, or things you can change. Sometimes it’s rooted deep within. Sometimes it comes with being so connected to your emotions, that you can be a comedian, or write, draw, perform, create things with such intensity, they touch strangers, hundreds of thousands of miles away.
I really don’t know what it is…
What I do know is that after his death, Robin Williams continues to live. His contribution to this world is too great, too beautiful and too powerful to simply disappear.
fashionlimbo 