J. L. Spohr
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Robin Williams, Depression, & the Fear of Frailty

8/14/2014

13 Comments

 
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When someone famous dies, it somehow seems everyone wants in on the action. As if to say, "look at how sad I am about his death," contorting for one last time that celebrity's personal life into something that is our business, our personal right to own and frame.
And thus I hesitate to write this post, as Robin William's death is not about me. And yet, his death has brought to light a much needed deeper discussion on depression. Which is  about me. In the sense that I have depression.

Technically it's postpartum depression, but certainly there's some sort of statute of limitations on tacking on the postpartum bit. I mean, three years? C'mon. But somehow, saying "postpartum depression" get's me out of the "officially bonkers" category, like, "oh, it'll pass, it's just postpartum," the phrase silently mocking me like my pair of size 8 jeans. The only pair, mind you, that my toosh looks any good in. "Oh, that's just my postpartum flab, it'll pass. Speaking of passing, please pass the twice-baked almond croissants." 

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And so, as with my baby gut, my depression lingers. But my need to caveat it with adjectives is where I think the problem lies. 

As a culture, we treat depression like it's just some type of bad mood or blip in hormones -something controllable with enough ice cream and rom-coms. People "struggle" with depression. Kind of like how people "struggle" with putting on Spanx. Or "struggle" with getting their kids to sleep.  

But I'm here to tell you, one doesn't "struggle" with depression any more than one "struggles" with appendicitis. Certainly, as with most health conditions, there are ways to help alleviate some of the symptoms through lifestyle choice, but the underlying disease is still there. 

And, since our culture has decided that depression is merely a struggle, implying one can just get over their sad-sack selves with a little gumption, chocolate and giggles, those of us with depression shy away from admitting our frailty. We try to laugh it off as a bad hair day or the all purpose standby, "stress."

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But the countless deaths caused by depression, Mr. Williams' included, scream out for our culture to put away our judgement, our embarrassment, our polite dismissing. 

Yet all the same, I cringe under the idea that people would think there is something wrong with me - especially my mind. My self concept is of a competent, intelligent, hopefully witty person who may be a bit of a mess around the edges and stick her foot in her mouth so often her taste buds are rubberized, but ultimately has her s*%# together. 

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And outing myself as depressed risks crushing my self concept. It risks admitting to friends and strangers alike that I have to be medicated to function. Well, to function without forcing my children to fend for themselves in the wilderness with nothing but gortex, some sticks and whining to save them, while I hide under my comforter binge watching British period dramas. 

To say this out loud feels like I'm admitting failure as a human being. I gather many with mental illness feel this way. If I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome, that too might be embarrassing and I'd hesitate to ever mention the word "bathroom" in mixed company, but it wouldn't mean I was somehow defective, somehow unable to cope with being alive. And I don't even have severe depression. I just get sad and angry for "no reason" - never suicidal. Escapist, yes, suicidal, no.

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A lot of people are wondering how someone who was as funny as Williams could be clinically depressed. I'm guessing, among other things, his humor was a way he coped. I'm an extrovert, generally lively in social settings. I often speak, perform and do podcasts. I'm very good at my public personna. Rare is the person who sees the ugly underbelly. And yet, perhaps like Williams, all that extroversion, all that public performing, helps me. It takes me away from my spiraling inner world for awhile (well, that and Zoloft). It helps me focus on the joy of others. I need the life, the light, the laughter of others - I feed off it. And so to them, I look healthy. But that's because when we don't laugh, we die. And sometimes we die regardless.

So I think it's time we all decided there is no shame in depression. No failure in needing to take medicine or other measures to feel alive again. It's time for those of us with depression to let go of the self-imposed prison, and time for those who lack the "struggle" to lend an ear and a smile and still see a full person. Time to stop viewing those with mental illness as lessor, and perhaps start recognizing that those who struggle have a lot to teach the rest of us about living a life worth the effort. And I'll start with me. 

13 Comments
Rich Gantenbein
8/14/2014 08:18:57 am

Thank you for your courage and truth.

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JL Spohr
8/14/2014 09:21:52 am

Thanks Rich!

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Jane Ryder
8/14/2014 08:42:39 am

What Rich said!

I got over the shame and embarrassment about my depression (chronic and severe, and I never had the excuse of childbirth) many years back, and these days I figure if somebody judges me defective for it, it's really their deficiency rather than mine. All truly creative people "struggle" with it, though whether creativity is the result or the cause no one has quite figured out, and I've never met a funny person who wasn't semi-suicidal beneath the humor. You're right: it's how some of us cope, and fend off the Black Dog.

The absolute best thing I've ever read about depression is the post "Depression Part Two" from Allie Brosh's wonderful Hyperbole and a Half. It's funny because it's true, and also because it's not funny at all. :)

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html

Reply
JL Spohr
8/14/2014 09:39:41 am

Thanks Jane, for your candor too! And Allie's post is spot on - love the illustrations - and love the part where everyone's trying to "make it better" for her...

Reply
Jane
8/26/2014 08:09:23 am

Glad you liked it! Thanks to that post, now whenever a friend is down I just say "Wow, those fish are super dead. I still like you, though." :)

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Amy Larson
8/14/2014 10:23:59 am

Jenny, thanks so much for those honest and insightful words! I agree with you wholeheartedly. :)

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JL Spohr
8/14/2014 12:14:11 pm

Thanks, Lady!

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April Jahns
8/14/2014 10:35:19 am

I feel like a failure when that feeling of despair wraps its icy hands around my heart. How can I be such an ingrate with two loving boys and husband, all of my needs and wants met?
Then I remember it has nothing to do with my heart. Those damn chemicals in my brain have gone rogue. A little adjustment of medication and I'm back to being me.

Reply
JL Spohr
8/14/2014 12:16:29 pm

I totally feel ya, April. Yes, how can I be so sad and angry when I have a wonderful family and home? And I feel like a disappointment to them all...And then that guilt makes it even worse...ugh.

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Jane Ryder
8/26/2014 08:10:10 am

I feel you, April. Stupid chemicals.

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Peg
8/14/2014 10:36:40 am

Lovely -- right there with ya

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Charity
8/14/2014 04:13:50 pm

Well said

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Christine
8/15/2014 07:39:35 am

I've been in that same spot for about 4.5 years now. My youngest is 5. You've hit the thoughts I have squarely on the mark. Thanks for sharing your heart and part of who you are. Regardless of who people think we are, it is hard to share our insides with random people at times. Here's to knowing you're not the only one who hangs on to the post-partum thing. :) Blessings my friend.

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