One of the more helpful and insightful things I’ve seen about depression/suicide in the last couple of days.
If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them.
People aren’t either wicked or noble. They’re like chef’s salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.
My best friend for the past 5 years decided to leave last week. Who knows what really happened, where he is, if he’s alive, if he chose to be on his own, if he’ll ever come back… I don’t know but god damn I loved him more than any creature I’d ever known. What a great guy, so smart and so fearless (except for drums, he hates drums). He explored with me in so many ways, lived in many different neighborhoods, & on many different beds. Today I move away from the home he left, and into a new one across town. I pray to all gods imagined that he is healthy and free, loving and hunting and sleeping and exploring. I hope I see you again someday, Linus. Thank you for being so lovely.
If you happen to ever find yourself exploring Silver Lake in LA, keep an eye out for my cat with the crooked tail (it looks like a periscope, hard to miss). Catch him if you can…