[390] Inspired By Robin Williams

The fire is still hot on Robin William's death. This is something that seems to encompass so much of what I think needs to be talked about, I'm going to risk adding to the fanfare and out pour as if to capitalize on the moment.

If you haven't seen it David Wong tries to explain why funny people kill themselves. I don't disagree with the article, but I think the habit of classifying people as “funny” or “depressed,” in general, steers us in a very specific, and I would argue unhelpful, direction as far as the conversation goes.

Take a look at the comments section if you're subscribed to Cracked on facebook. Immediately there's the person who proclaims “Not every comedian is depressed!” as if that's what Wong was saying. Of course the defenders of “The Point” come in and let her know how badly she's missed it. Then there's the people who need to list off all the names of dead comedians who've suffered depression and anxiety. Like it's now a pissing match between who can come up with the most “healthy” and “troubled” comedians and settle the debate once and for all. There's the people who will tell you how amazing and caring and all around wonderful Robin Williams was. Every phone number to every help line in the world is listed somewhere so we can reach out if we're close to the edge.

I should add a disclaimer, I've handled discussions of depression poorly in the past, and if my phrasing or perspective sounds so “YOU STUPID FUCK YOU DON'T KNOW, YOU HAVEN'T HAD IT, YOU DON'T GET IT!” Let me just say it's bound to happen and I'm not really trying to discuss depression or what it's like to have depression or my story as it relates to depression. Depression is a factor in the digression because it's big and everywhere and related to comedy in a particular kind of fashion.

I think the conversation should be centered around the difference between “distraction” and “appreciation.”

I think a lot of funny people remain secretly sad because a lot of people use them as a distraction verses appreciating where they are coming from. The comedian can also be said to be using the audience as a distraction as well.

I think nice people have it rough. I think they are almost destined to be a martyr for what perfection is supposed to look like. The immensity of the drive to push you to be a little nicer, understanding, or lend a helping hand seems to frequently come from having to battle, if ever to overcome, a lot of bullshit first. I think there's much to be said about how your perception molds that bullshit or why you would go out of your way to be nice or learn how to be funny.

What's the cliché? Assholes live forever. Assholes seem to know something in their bones that never let's them get “too sad” because the world “out there” is hardly the nicest thing they could imagine, but you can scrape the bottom and still find a reason to live. And then perhaps that's all they believe in. That's how I work at least. I'm not “shocked” this “funny, amazing, good spirited, beautiful soul” killed himself. I'm certainly not happy about it. He easily was top 3 funniest people on the planet to me.

But he was plagued in a way I am not. I don't have an “addictive personality,” which I think is often a bad way to label getting into a habit of avoidance. I don't have “depression” which I think is flavored not only by culture, but goes into overload when you incorporate substances or something as vapid as the entertainment industry. I think nice people like Robin Williams, as kind of horrible as it sounds, need to become bigger dicks.

You're lucky if your sweet nature gets you the kind of authenticity reciprocated. I don't do well with nice people. I need to see edge and anger. I need to see that you're not impressively sad about his loss, but maybe infuriated that someone can go 63 years of having the same thing and getting the same comments and “help” and it wasn't enough. I wonder if depressed people were just hoping you'd share the suicide hotline one more time. I wonder if Robin Williams didn't just set a benchmark.

And none of us knew the man. But we know ourselves. We know friends who suffer like he did. We know a lot of the problems they face are the ones we face, but for our worse memories or dickish natures we carry on a little lighter. Focusing on rehashing the buzzwords related to depression misses the point. Focusing on the hidden tragedy of comedians loses it again. Passing the suicide hotline around like a hot potato isn't the kind of lasting staving off or fixing of the problem.

Certainly no one wants to say “some people can't make it.” You'll never be in their head. You'll never figure out the right combination of words to convince them that what you feel and think about them matters more, and it's selfish and horrifying and the worst thing they could ever do to you. But I would think, if it were me, I wasn't able to feel it. My pain outweighed yours, or what I imagine yours will be. I can prove it. Wong points out that you can learn control when you take the funny reigns. Maybe you don't even have to turn dickish, you just have to finally prove you have control of anything, even if it's just a moment of losing the ability to ever do so again.

I want people to see him as a man first. His historical contribution to comedy and culture are as far-reaching and influential as anyone has achieved. But it wasn't enough for him. Do you think we'll figure out why? Do you think we'll be able to save the next one? Are we aware that we only ever get to hear the survivor's tale? If we're going to tackle depression, if we're going to appreciate our capacity for humor, and if we're going to give people reasons to live, I think we need to treat the conversation better. I think it needs a kind of authenticity Robin Williams wasn't finding no matter how often he offered.

Bobcat Goldthwait tells Joe Rogan Robin Williams real cause of death - Lewy Body Dementia