Depression

Mr. Williams was a comedian, and an actor, a good one at that. What he did was make people “feel” for a living, not just laugh, not just cry, but feel a wide array of emotions.

Being a good actor isn’t just about knowing how to make an impression of a written character, it’s also knowing how the audience can be triggered to feel an emotion intended for the scene. Elements of surprise cause great devastation or explosive laughter, increasing tension causes a feeling of suspense and expectations inevitably leading to disappointment or immense satisfaction. 

Despite this, Mr. Williams suffered from depression, he was not excused. A condition most people did not understand, or misunderstood. You can have everything, but your self repeatedly invalidates them. Knowing how to make people feel does not grant you the power to overcome this condition, if you do feel the motivation to do so, one can only imagine the frustration of trying to fix oneself with the same knowledge, failing and then questioning oneself if they knew enough to fix themselves, to have done their life’s work, to be not depressed in the first place. You think nothing ever or has ever confirmed and validated everything you’ve done, accomplished, or failed. A vicious downward spiral. If you’ve realized something uplifting, it is always there to slap it off of your grip. You try to talk to people but it does not help, and sometimes frustrating (heard “just cheer up” a hundred times) but you can’t blame them for not understanding, because you don’t really have a handle on it anyway.

The condition is such an inward battle that it’s been something that has been hard to cure, some part of the afflicted needs to want to be cured, but how is that if even the act of getting out there and getting “cured” is a challenge.

I struggled, myself, in the past, damage has been done but I’m lucky to have passed that episode though I don’t really know how. I understand Mr. Williams, I understand the frustration, I can only imagine so much of his struggle, I understand the triggers, and the disappointments. His death is no one’s fault, and so are the thousands of other deaths resulting from this condition. They are not to blame. These are not selfish acts, these are desperate acts. It pains me to read people say otherwise before actually trying to understand the condition.

If you are suffering the same, please try this number, I know you’ve felt disappointed multiple times trying to talk to people, but this should be different, it’s worth a shot:

1-800-273-TALK

You can also chat with someone discreetly or anonymously here:

imalive.org

7 Cups of Tea.

Saoirse Ronan in The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

I must say I find that girl utterly delightful. Flat as a board, enormous birthmark in the shape of Mexico over half her face, sweating for hours on end in that sweltering kitchen while Mendl (genius though he is) looms over her like a hulking gorilla - yet without question, without fail, always, and invariably: she’s exceedingly lovely. Why? Because of her purity.