Yea, I usually don’t get personal here, but here goes nothing.
I have always said that if (big “if” by the way) I ever have a daughter, her name would be Selena. And that’s because Selena was the first celebrity I remember being truly sad over when she passed. Young, in her prime, absolutely beautiful and delightful to her fans, amazing voice, and gunned down over some money. I made it my mission in life to never make money a reason to end a friendship or a relationship (and trust me, that decision has cost me literally thousands of dollars over the years). It’s never worth it. Fighting and killing over money is never worth it. Especially if it means potentially ending talent like Selena. That singer will remain a part of my childhood life forever and her death will always haunt me.
Which leads me to today.
Death is a natural part of life, and lots of celebrities have disappeared over the years. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track and remember who passed and who is still on this earth. Whitney Houston’s passing remains rather unnerving to me, even if her downward spiral had been happening for a decade. And not to be cruel, but it’s hard to truly be bummed over the passing of people you hardly know. You can feel for their families, you can feel for their closest people, but the connection could never be that strong.
But there are exceptions.
My first exception (Post-Selena) to this rule was Charles M. Schultz, since his Peanuts comic strip inspired me to become a cartoonist back in my elementary/middle school days. I loved his cartoons, I loved his comics, I loved his characters. And when I saw that final comic he drew, which might as well have been a note of defeat, it broke my heart. He died one month from cancer after that final comic was published. I will never forget having to re-write that sad news in my seventh grade history class with Mrs. Workman providing the details.
My second major exception was Steve Irwin. That man was my Superman, traveling from country to country to capture and talk about all the different types of animals you can find around the world. He was constantly in great danger, constantly inches from death, yet there he was trying to show us the beauty of Mother Nature. He also was quite the adventurer, especially if it means saving lives. There was an episode which featured him trying to save reptiles during an awful wildfire. Then there was the time he headed out to sea to rescue a crew after their boat had stalled. And to see him die over a freak accident, and leave behind his beautiful family…it hurt. I watched his rise from random Animal Planet show into an international phenomenon, and watched the job he loved take his life away.
The third major exception to this rule occurred today. Not just any person passed, it was Robin Williams. This man provided us with laughs and enough genuine moments to fill a dozen lifetimes throughout his diverse and unpredictable career. From the 70s in an obscure sitcom straight through just this year in which he returned to his roots in television, Robin Williams was a busy man. He did comedies, he did dramas, he did random indie movies, he occasionally dipped into dark comedies, and of course mixed in his stand-up specials in between. He was a very caring and giving individual that loved people, loved interacting with people, loved entertaining people.
His jokes would fly at such a spitfire pace you wonder why he is in such a hurry. You wonder how he was able to work out such a rapid line of dialogue while mixing in impressions, voices, and physical comedy to boot. Could you see anyone else pull a Mrs. Doubtfire or Genie? Robin Williams saved films from dipping into total disaster. Although I was extremely anti-Happy Feet, Williams gave the movie a huge dosage of life the second he stepped in. And even in his weaker movies, you saw the energy, you saw the smile, and you saw the effort to deliver the material. And of course with Aladdin, arguably the first animated role that deserved an Oscar nomination at the very least, he elevated that movie into a phenomenal quality high that never wavered the rest of the film. Aladdin is nearly underrated by Disney nowadays because of the focus on princesses---but I rank Aladdin higher than Little Mermaid, higher than Frozen, Tangled, and anything else Disney Renaissance except Beauty and the Beast. Robin Williams’ Genie is a major, major reason why.
And then came his dramas. Good Will Hunting. Dead Poets Society. Awakenings. Insomnia (very underrated). What Dreams May Come. The list goes on and on. He won one Oscar even though he deserved more----with Mrs. Doubtfire being a great example.
But I have heard that the man that makes the most jokes in the room also happens to be the loneliest and saddest.
Mental illness might be a bit strung out and exaggerated by the Walgreens Era of diagnosing every single little thing in favor of selling some pills and profiting off of the paranoia (Pill companies should be just as liable as cigarette companies) but it is not all myth and placebo excuses for increased sales. Mental illnesses do indeed exist, and it is a fate worse than death because it can linger with you for your entire life….and sometimes you might not even know it. Cancer can be defeated. AIDS can be contained. Diabetes can be maintained and controlled. But mental illness? Good luck. I have witnessed Alzheimer’s first-hand and it is probably the worst thing a person could ever experience---because not only do you mentally die before physically passing on, but it also takes its toll on the people surrounding you.
Depression is just as devastating, because there is no cure. You can win, you can earn lots of money, you can become famous, you can become universally loved, you can have it easy, you can have it all, and you can go through the prime of your life without any issues-----but still have it. You can be at church every Sunday, religiously preaching, singing, and enjoying life---but still have it. You can have kids, a wife, and a stable career that will set future generations up-----and still have it.
Depression cannot be controlled by pills, I don’t care what others may lead you to believe. You can barely even diagnose it correctly. All you can do is watch for the signs, and pray you can get out of it. Some people can snap out of it, while others, like poor Robin Williams, will spend life with it, the eternal sentence for the crime of being alive. The way Robin Williams dispersed his energy almost made it seem like it was compensation for something, and after reading that he killed himself, the theory might hold some truth. And the entire ordeal becomes interesting because of the fact that a good portion of his movies dealt with the pains of depression, mental illness, and suicide (See: Dead Poets Society, Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come). Perhaps those roles played too close to home.
He was in rehab constantly, battled drugs and alcohol for years upon years. Even with his success, the demons would battle, his demons would come and go, the demons would weigh down his success, and the demons would ultimately consume him. Even with his obvious talent and obvious reception of love from fans all over the planet, it couldn’t fill that empty spot. He had time. His time still wasn’t up. That’s what stings more than anything else. He wasn’t just a depressed teenager that had yet faced the world, the man was in his 60s and felt like it was time to go. Physically he was healthy, had movie projects lined up, his daughter had just turned 25, although his show had been cancelled he was once again in the positive spotlight. He had momentum going. The question remained that how can a man deliver so many delightful moments yet remain emotionally dead inside?
Aladdin I hold near and dear to my heart because that was one of the first movies I watched in theaters as a kid. I remember being immediately drawn in to the story, and immediately becoming a fan of Genie. He was such a great character, but in an example of life imitating art, this would represent Robin Williams’ life. Williams had “phenomenal cosmic power,” as in his comedic talent—but the little living space was his struggles to fill the void. Those gold shackles around him that chained him up to the lamp was the depression. No matter how much he helped others, no matter how much happiness he distributed, he must have still felt trapped. He must have still felt like he wasn’t free. Even after all the wishes, he couldn’t go anywhere he wanted. Depression restricts you mentally and physically, it binds you and constricts you and never lets you go.
So that final moment in Aladdin is just now taken on a new meaning, that beautiful scene when Aladdin finally grants the Genie his freedom after the thousands of years of him being trapped. Now, I am never condoning suicide under any circumstances, but I could never ever imagine being in the shoes of a man in his 60s that had success at his feet and yet still felt like leaving this world was his ticket out of the darkness that was consuming him. His freedom may not be your definition of freedom, but he is free from this world and has moved on to the next one, whatever that may be. Whatever God has planned for him, will be the sentence for what he left this earth.
And he left this Earth in defeat, and also left his children, wife, and endless amount of fans. But he granted so many wishes along the way, it’s hard to ignore the contributions. Some of his movies changed people, some of his movies created childhood memories, and others just straight-up entertained. He was a fine entertainer, a damn good entertainer, and made the world a better place through his laughter and ability to create laughter, sometimes out of nothing (Example: The script to Flubber).
It is easy to be upset at him, I understand. It is very easy to be disappointed, I understand that too. But depression blurs the line between what is right and what is wrong. It blurs up life in general. Your days are darker. Your emotions are darker. And no matter what happiness you can disperse, you can never quite deposit the gunk of emptiness that slowly sucks you up like a black hole.
But this isn’t a post about simply giving up just because you have depression. This post is about how even the most gifted, the most wonderful of men can be taken down from a disease that has taken millions of souls over the years. But just because it defeated him does not mean it will defeat me. There is always tomorrow, there is always the next day, and there is always time for the next opportunity. We all have our time limit, but cutting it short will prevent us from having the chance to truly embellish ourselves in the world that we live in, the world that is millions of years in the making.
The world is a beautiful place, and we must spend as much time on it as possible. And Robin Williams is one of the reasons why the world was such a beautiful place, and although it will remain beautiful after his death, it won’t be the same. We’ve never had a friend like him, and we quite possibly never will.
I will miss you Robin Williams. The planet will miss you. And we will never forget all that you’ve done. And yes, we will (somehow) move on. And yes, we will cherish all the memories: from your stand-up straight down to your cameo in Whose Line is it Anyway.
Genie, you're free. pic.twitter.com/WjA9QuuldD
— The Academy (@TheAcademy) August 12, 2014
You’re free. But thanks for being here with us for 63 years.We just wished there was more time.
R.I.P. Robin Williams.
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