Robin Williams

Robin Williams is dead, and apparent suicide.There's a huge hole tonight in the Universe and in many hearts where Robin Williams use to be, including mine. The world always feels very strange to me when someone I have had an emotional connection to dies. It feels hollow; the absence echoes in a low vibration that affects my equilibrium. Everything feels just a bit off and unreal, the way it feels when first awakening from a dream state. And always-always- the memories come. Not in a rush or flood, but more  the way rain fills cracks in a sidewalk.

When Dead Poet's Society was filmed in Middletown, DE, they used St. Andrew's School on Noxontown Lake as the location. Spent a lot of childhood summers there because my folks rented a cottage across the lake from the school; later I became a Bishop's Chaplain through the Episcopal Diocese which owned the school. A team from the diocese was sent to St. Andrew's as technical advisors, and I was among them. Later I was an extra in a crowd scene in front of the Everett Theater, too. We didn't work directly with Robin Williams, but after our scenes, he took the time to thank us...and the point is...he didn't have to do that. The good guys in the industry do things like that, they're aware of the details and are sensitive to others' contributions, no matter how small. He was a caring and dynamic person.

I often have a feeling before this type of thing occurs-when bad things happen. Not exactly in the traditional way we think of premonitions. I do not get up in the morning thinking, " Someone is going to die today." It's more in general terms, that things around me begin to feel heavier and quiver. It feels the way I imagine cats and dogs are said to sense an impending earthquake that they can do nothing about. I just dig in and wait for it to hit. Perhaps it's a signal from my own Darkness that things are about to be "shaken up". I do not like sudden change because like most people, I do not do well with it. It is one of the triggers of for my depression. It pulls me down into the vortex of emotional upheaval where I do not want to go. Sometimes I can catch myself and only get sucked in a little. Other times it's like I'm walking along and the earth opens up and swallows me. The way I survive is to accept my feelings and go with them, or if I can get a handle on it early, to detach, observe and try to understand what's taking place.The demons of depression thrive on moments when I lack clarity.In fact, they lap it up like fine caviar.  It isn't easy to regain my equilibrium, and I can't always do it effectively. I recognize most of my triggers and have formulated coping strategies which occasionally work but I know can just as easily fail. The first time this happened ( after I was gang raped) the depression I expected failed to materialize right away; I was blindsided when it finally did and found myself standing on a curb determining the exact size of large truck it would take to effectively off myself because I didn't want to be merely maimed, I wanted to be dead, damn it all. Thank God-or Whoever is up there watching out for fools like me- that my rational mind drowned out the small, nasty voice of my Darkness that was hissing," Do it, you coward". I have beaten the Darkness on quite a few occasions in the past years and  lived to tell the story. But there is always a fear in the back of my mind that someday I will not....and I will tell you why. Because the Darkness is always there, waiting. Anyone who tells you that they woke up one morning and they're depression was miraculously gone through the power of positive thinking or any other little trick is either a fool or outright lying. It is never completely gone, and there is no way to cure it permanently. Panacea and the medicinal belief in unicorn farts are both simply theories.  

The authorities are labeling Robin Williams' death a suicide, but the truth is that he died as he result of his battle with depression. Using the word 'battle' is not being overly dramatic; somedays it's nothing short of hand to hand combat. I read somewhere that he went back to rehab numerous times for treatment of his drug addiction,and for that he should be commended. I'm not being judgemental when I say that it's a sad fact that the combination of the two were the demons that took him over. Sometimes,no matter what you do or how hard you try, how hard you have faith and pray, or how hard you hope, the demons win. The very best you can do is to occasionally push them into the background and try to live your life as well as you can until something lets them loose to fuck with you again. It doesn't take much; I know from personal experience. Depression takes away your joy and stomps your spirit into the ground, and often, it makes you feel worthless and puts you into a place of self-loathing. The hole you're pushed into is abysmal, and you're not only left looking at that tiny point of light at the top, you wonder what the hell you did to deserve feeling the way you do. There is no answer, and no matter how much cognitive therapy you engage in, no matter how many medications you take, no matter what kind of wonderful support system you have, no mater how good your coping skills are...you're swept away...and the Darkness wins. Depression kills, and today it killed one of the greatest comedic geniuses of our time.

I have come to the conclusion that my acquaintance with the Darkness part of my life's journey. It will allow me to live functionally in fits and starts- but it is always, always waiting just around the corner to trip me. I have learned to manage the ups and downs with the knowledge that the feeling will not last ...and the twisted comfort that suicide is a reasonable option if things get to be too much. I suspect by  his actions, Robin Williams shared that twisted comfort. Most of us subject to major depressive episodes, or whatever they're calling it in mental health circles these days, have this ideation. It is not unique or original and it underscores why it is necessary for our society-and even those in the field of mental health-to take the symptoms of depression very, very seriously. True depression is lifelong illness and that fact must be accepted and dealt with.You do not choose it, it's not something you just snap out of, and you cannot cure it, no matter how much medication prescribed or New Age snake oil you subscribe to. I will never be free from the Darkness, but I will constantly be figuring out new ways to kick it's ass.

Good For The Soul: Venting and Rants

               "Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom."~ Thomas Jefferson

I am a little ashamed that I've neglected this blog; it's not that I stopped meditating and making self-examination. Just the opposite; self-examination is never ending and it takes a lot of time.
I confess that I've been writing for my other blog, the one my esoteric alter ego finds fun and which allows be to be somewhat anonymous, because I at times find it difficult to write when I'm the subject.   I'm still fighting that part of my upbringing that whispers in my ear late at night that people who write about themselves are egotistical and narcissistic. Those who know and abide by the rules of etiquette reserve the opportunity to speak up when they have been prompted. Nice girls don't bring attention to themselves, ever, unless they've done something to earn the admiration and praise of others.

Occasionally I need to throw out the conventional, ignore the rules and force myself to have feelings I don't want to face and say things that make me (and others) uncomfortable. Now might be one of those times.

Editing this entry a little while ago made me wonder if I didn't sound just a teensy bit more angry than the situation warranted. The simple truth is that I wasn't angry at all, I was more exasperated than anything else...Since I'm convinced that indulging in venting and rants are good for the soul, here are some of my current pet peeves for you to relate to as they apply and which I suspect you share too:

• I am tired of being a "good girl". I did not choose to be stereotyped as a paragon of propriety, it came with the job. Although I believe being a member of the clergy has a certain debt of expectation to the public ( and I believe I do try to hold up my end when needed), I am an imperfect, complex being with a lot of quirks. There are quite a few chinks in my armor. I was a human being before I was ordained - and by the grace of the God of Understanding, I will retain that gift. Humans aren't always nice to one another or to themselves. My clerical collar is not tattooed on or nailed into place. It comes off during my private time, and yes, I do have private moments. There are days when I don't feel like putting on my game face  and today has been one of them.

• I am sick of being diplomatic when faced with the overt stupidity and blissful ignorance of others. There are days I can barely hold my tongue and want to choke the life out of some people with my bare hands.

• At 200 pounds I am hardly demure and coquettish, so I will skip that pretense on the days my acting skills are limited. Stop trying to guilt me about being fat by pretending you're concerned about my health; we both know it's only to validate  the perverted idea of perfection touted by the media that you've bought into. Don't try to make it about me, when it's actually about you and your unresolved weight issues. Humans come in all shapes and sizes and none of us actually look like supermodels or rock stars without the intervention of a plastic surgeon. Let's just enjoy being together for who we are and drop it, shall we?

• Ditto to all of you who think that being a vegetarian or vegan makes you a superior and nobler member of the species. No one is going to give you a medal for your dietary choices. Live and let live and stop giving the rest of us unsolicited advice about our food choices. You aren't going to change my mind or my eating habits by being smarmy. ( Note: I have been blessed by the friendship of several fine individuals who are one or the other, and none of them feel compelled to inflict their personal control issues about food on the rest of our little circle of acquaintances.)

• I am finding that more and more often I can no longer manage a beatific Mona Lisa smile when someone who should really know better asks me how I managed to get myself gang raped, or how I ended up in a homeless shelter when I could no longer cope with the PTSD from the experience. Instead of conspiratorially whispering about my perceived character flaws or the state of my mental health (which no doubt lead to my circumstances, at least according to the gossip and active imagination of a few at coffee hour.)  Try asking if there is anything you can do to be supportive or helpful toward improving my lot in life. Just because most of you are members of the Care Committee does not mean you are caring. This kind of mean-spirited behavior is probably a contributing factor as to why your children live on the other side of the country and seldom visit.

• I want to fix the person who so casually asks why I'm still dealing with depression when, it's "obvious to them" that I have nothing to be depressed about with a stare that will instantly vaporize them. And yes, there are  still days when I am feeling worthless and have so little hope for the future that I am still considering stepping off the curb in front of a truck. I don't want your pity, but I don't need your lack of sensitivity, either.

• There have been days when I have wanted to be anything but professional and scream at the people who think they are so much more cool, clever and elite  than I am to knock it off and stop acting like conceited assholes. There are no awards for being overbearingly obnoxious, no matter how cute or important you think are. Not everyone thinks you are as irresistibly awesome  and adorable as you do. Try to get over yourself before someone else with even less tolerance for fools comes along and forcibly helps you to do so.

• Like Tartar Sauce the Grumpy Cat,  I want to look at those of you who are insufferably perky and just say "NO". Bombarding everyone around you with warm fuzzies and quoting Oprah does not not make you credible, so wipe that insipid smile off your face. Some times life sucks, so deal with it.

For those of you who have read this and have come to the conclusion that I'm the biggest bitch you've ever imagined, you're probably right...and I'm not apologizing for it...because I am owning it. And  I'll tell you something else...facing all of your faults and hurts and confronting your own shadow is probably the most healing thing you will ever do in your life. It's a matter of faith to be able to look at yourself  and acknowledge that some parts of you aren't so nice and rosy. Life is messy and dealing with your personal baggage is no picnic in the park, because it's not supposed to be. It's a constant battle to sort out what's authentic and to keep your integrity intact. Honesty is not pretty. You may not always like what I have to say, but you will be able to trust me. I have learned that embracing my crap isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's sad that we've been brained washed (again, by the media and pop culture) into thinking confrontation is always negative, when in fact, conflict might be just what's needed to remove the obstacles to your journey.  I don't know about you, but I want to feel and experience my life-even the bad stuff.  I need  the ups and downs, the good and not-so-good to believe in humanity and embrace living authentically. You have to get your hands dirty to plant a garden. You have to dig deep and get muddy before you can put out the seeds of things that will eventually blossom and ultimately nourish your soul.