I’m struggling today.
The heartbreaking news of the world’s loss of Robin Williams has hit me hard.
It’s hit most of my generation hard.
We grew up with Mork and the Genie; were inspired to read the classics, and to stand on tables and carpe diem.
There is so much pain; unarmed teenagers being shot in the street, six year olds dying of cancer, the terrors in the Middle East.
The world is hurting.
I woke up this morning, and
thought hoped I might be OK today.
And then I saw the quote that Zelda Williams’, Robin’s daughter, Tweeted:
And I cried.
The sadness washed over me in a way that is hard to explain.
Because if depression can take a man with all the resources at his disposal, how am I supposed to survive it?
How am I supposed to go on, if even he couldn’t fight it off?
We lost him.
I want to share what happened in my mind this morning, but first I want to be clear: I am not going to injure myself. I am, thankfully, far enough on the other side of a dark place that I can see myself going in that direction, and I can power through. Today. Sometimes, I can’t. I’ve come closer than I care to consider, on a day so much like today, when I’m grasping at straws.
As I walked to work this morning, crying behind my sunglasses, my “happiest” playlist blasting in my ears, these are the things that went through my head, and my heart:
This is the worst.
I wonder what people would say if I were gone.
It would be nice not to hurt any more.
It would be so easy.
I shouldn’t be thinking these things.
Change to Pharrell’s “Happy” in my ears
But still, just to be done.
It would be so easy.
I should call one of those hotlines.
Hell, I tweeted it out myself last night.
Nah, I don’t want to waste their time.
I’m sure there are people who are more in need than I am.
I’m not worth it.
THANKFULLY I am far enough past my most recent darkness to be able to stop it there.
Because I AM worth it.
Because I might have called today, because I’m teetering, but can step back from the edge.
And I started to draft this post in my head.
Because that’s what depression does. It lies and tries to drag you down with it.
But I fight daily not to let it.
I got to the platform and was waiting for the train. After several moments, I pulled out my phone, starting to type a text to a friend.
Before I could hit send, I felt a hand on my elbow. “Hey, it’s great to see you!” Hugs are exchanged. Before me stands a friend from Facebook, someone from my moms group who I’ve never seen before on my commute. We make small talk for a moment, and in a lull, she looks at me and asks “Are you OK?”
Even with hiding behind my big sunglasses, she asked.
Did she save me?
Maybe not today, but today the depression wasn’t winning.
If it had been?
She would have evened the score in my favor.