Heartbroken....

Heartbroken. I am angry, sad, and lost.

I didn't personally know Robin Williams. I am not famous or in the movie industry. I am neither a comic nor a comedian. I am just a person. A regular person. An ordinary person. A person that can't yet fathom never seeing new a Robin Williams movie or hearing his comedy routines live or watching him ham it up with the latest talk show host ever again.

I loved Robin Williams. His humor, his energy, his fluidity of voice changes and characters. His references were both poignant and truthful. He had a way of making everyone feel like his best friend even if their only connection to him was watching him on the television set or viewing one of his many skillfully played characters at the movie theater. He illuminated the masses with his hyper and manic humor. He brought tears to our eyes with his heart touching roles. He shared some of his life with us. Some of the inner workings of his genius mind and he did it all while making us smile. He reminded many of us that grew up watching him, of our own beloved yet goofy family members. The crazy uncle that dances around and does funny accents and silly voices or the wacky aunt that jumps from story to story, each story being bigger and more implausible than the next. Everyone has one of those kooky relatives and Mr. Williams seemed to encompass them all but with more oomph and better fashion sense. His smile brought many of us comfort. We knew no matter how hard our day was or how sad we might be, that even the smallest of his jokes would change all of that. Even if for only a few moments, we knew that Robin Williams would make us laugh and we would feel better, and he did.

That is why so many of us were so terribly shocked that we lost him in such a profoundly devastating way. He was for many of us, a hero. Not only did he make us laugh but he was open and honest about many of his struggles. He had battled with addiction and wrestled with depression and he helped raise awareness of both of those issues every time he discussed them. He was successful even though he suffered and it made him a hero to a great many of us. He made us realize that we too could reach for our dreams even though we may have mental illness or addiction issues. For me he was more than an actor, comic, or funny man. For me and many like me, he was an inspiration.

Sometimes when others make us laugh we fail to see the pain behind their eyes. Sometimes we fail to see that laughter can hide agony and despair. I do not know why Robin Williams committed suicide but I do know how devastated his family and friends must be. I know what living with a depressed parent is like and sadly I understand suicide and the fear of it on a very real level. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten years old. She suffers from among other things, bipolar disorder and chronic depression.

Depression isn't simply feeling sad. It isn't just being overwhelmed and lonely. Depression is a black whole that sucks up every important, valued, wonderful thing in your life and swallows it whole. It decimates and devastates. It leaves you raw and numb. It smothers your other senses so completely that it tunnels your vision until all that you can see is the pain and agony in which you have lived your life in. It is not just having a bad day. It is an exhaustion, a soul crushing exhaustion that pollutes every sense of normalcy in your world. It takes everything from you and leaves you desperate for any semblance of solace or peace.  Depression isn't simply an emotion, it is an illness and like all illnesses, it can and it does kill.

I think people are surprised by his depression because he was successful and famous. Because he seemed so happy and jovial. Because he had done so many things most of us will never achieve. But that just shows how little most people know about mental illnesses such as depression. Depression doesn't discriminate. It has nothing to do with money or fame. It has nothing to do with race or social status. It has nothing to do with gender, sexual preference, or one's religious views. Depression is a mental illness and as such it can affect anyone, at anytime, anywhere.

I actually read a comment implying that if he had known the love of God this might not have happened and I was sorely disappointed by the ignorance of that statement. My mother has always loved God...she loved God while she prayed...loved God when she went to church on Sundays...and my mother still loved God just as much when she swallowed a bottle of pills...one by one while hoping to die. She never stopped loving God, she just wanted to end her misery. To imply a loss of religion is the cause of suicide is not only folly and ignorant but dangerous as well. You can not simply wash away a chemical imbalance in your brain with prayer. It does not work that way... So it, in fact, does not matter what religion he may or may not have believed in or if he had or had not known the love of God. Suicide has less to do with one's beliefs and more to do with ending one's pain.

And I am afraid that people will judge him. Some will say snide remarks and ugly comments about his life and decisions or his belief systems. They will call him weak or cowardly. They will act as if they know what was going through his mind or that they would have ended up differently but the truth is most of them have no idea what that struggle is like or how deep the pain of depression can seep into your soul. There will be internet trolls and judgy misguided people with big opinions and little ability to understand anything but their own preconceived notions of mental illness. They will try and make his battle with depression something to be looked down on or ashamed of and that is wrong. His family doesn't need judgments and ignorance, they need understanding and acceptance. He lost his battle but that does not make him weak or cowardly. I am not advocating for suicide. I believe it is devastating. It leaves a definable scar on the fabric of your family that never fully heals. However, I believe that we have to stop demonizing those that have done it and understand that they don't do it because they don't love their families, or they are weak, they do it because they truly at that time are unable to see that there is any other way to end their suffering. They do it because they suffer from a mental illness that is often times overlooked, understated, and stigmatized by the public.

If this tragedy does anything to shed light on the issues of suicide in this country, than I hope it reaches people on a very real level. I hope that it can help end the ignorance and stigma that surrounds the topic of suicide and mental illness. Robin Williams was a wonderful person, a big hearted, loving, magnificent person and he will be sorely missed as will the over 30,000  other Americans that commit suicide in this country every year.  Their loss is a tragedy just as horrific and devastating as Mr. Williams's.  The discussion of suicide is swept under the rug or discussed only in hushed voices. We owe it to those that have lost their battle with depression and other mental illnesses to stop sticking our heads in the sand. They deserve our attention and their pain deserves to be discussed. Their lives deserve to be talked about and their suicides deserve to be acknowledged so that we can help others before they get to this point of despair.

Suicide is preventable. There is help. There are other options, better options, and until we start being honest about suicide in this country sadly, we will continue lose more people that could have been saved.

My heart goes out to the Williams family and all of his friends, fans, and acquaintances. My heart goes out to the whole world that has lost such a bright, intelligent, and magnificent man that they will never get to know....and my heart goes out to Robin Williams because his pain must have been profound and daunting and because as in so many other cases, we as a society failed to be open about mental illness like we should be and because of that we failed to reach him in time.


Neurotic Nelly

The Most Beautiful Heart....

I don't celebrate April fool's day. It's not so much as don't as it is can't.

I don't mind pranks so much. I like jokes even better, but this day is a source of pain for me. A source of loss. You see, twelve years ago my uncle's funeral was on April fool's day. And it hits me like a ton of bricks every year.

I wish I could say it gets easier each time. I wish I could say the sting is less pronounced or the loss is less evident. But it isn't and it's not and I refuse to lie to you....April fool's day to me is dead. It died with my uncle and it will never be fun for me again.

I am not going to write an post about how my uncle was a saint. He wasn't. He had issues and problems like everyone else. He had regrets and accomplishments. I don't want to canonize him and his memory because I think that somehow diminishes the man that he turned out to be. An amazing man. A relatable man. A man with passion and drive and a witty sense of humor. A man with the most beautiful heart.

My uncle was more like a father to me than an uncle. He walked me down the isle in my first marriage. He took me on trips to the carnival when I was a child. Since his name was Woody he bought me a tiny stuffed Woodstock from the Peanuts cartoon when I was around five.  He signed his name with the two o's in his name as eyes and the end of the y as the smiley face. He hung out with me and he gave the biggest back breaking bear hugs and slobbery type face kisses. He wore too much cologne and he loved light houses. He used to tuck me in when I would spend the night and tell me to not let the bed bugs bite. He always said I love you. He held my hand when I was nervous. He made me laugh. He scared the crap outta me when we were on the Ferris wheel and he would shake the basket and swear he wasn't the one making it move. He took me on my first roller coaster ride. He was a prankster, a complete unapologetic prankster and he was really good at it. April fool's day has always been his kind of day.

He was loved. Not because he was a tall six foot something, big redheaded man that had a small black poodle as a pet. Not because he would walk that dog with bows in it's hair or bandannas around it's neck down the street and think nothing of how absurd that looked to passers by. Not even because he never met a stranger or someone he didn't like, but because he was a unrelenting force of positivity, of support, of love.

You see my uncle grew up in the same house as my mother, and while he was not sexually abused , he was verbally and sometimes physically abused by his father. He turned to alcohol and drugs early on in his life and he had the same gut wrenching experiences that all addicts go through. Homelessness, prison, loss of family and friends.

I remember visiting him in prison and him bouncing up and down when he saw me. In my child's mind I thought it was because he was so happy to see me. As an adult I realize it was because he was coming down off of the high. There you have it. That was his life. Except it wasn't. My uncle, Uncle Woody, did the most remarkable thing. He got clean and sober and then he payed it forward. He joined NA and he went to the dances, he went to the outings. He went to every meeting he could. He became other people's sponsor and he helped them get clean and stay that way. He became a champion and he had no idea. He only saw it as he was helping those who suffered like he had. He helped my brother get clean. He helped my Aunt. He helped dozens and dozens of people. Each time giving a part of himself to them. Without knowing he was doing it. Whether it was his laughter or his support, Woody gave little bits of his heart to each and every addict he came across. He was so passionate about NA that he got the symbol  tattooed on his big toe. I asked if it hurt and he said emphatically yes!

My uncle and I shared more than I ever really thought about. The love of family, loyalty to friends. red hair, and OCD. We liked the same music. He cleaned with a gusto that would make a sterile room jealous. I dubbed his cleaning skills with the moniker "Woody clean". As in, "Well, it's not woody clean but it will do....ect". We even got our divorces in the same year and he helped me through that as well.

To know Woody was to know a man who loved life. Who supported those around him.  Who went out of his way to help those in need and to help people stay positive. He gave with all of his heart, every day to every person he came across. A man who forgave his father. Who reached out to everyone regardless of the things they had done in life. (Things I am not sure I would be capable of.)

More than anything he was known for his huge sense of humor and his pranks. Clawing at the window at night to scare my mom and aunt when they were teenagers. Having hidden water guns at parties to take out and squirt someone unawares.

Aside from that he was exceptionally gentle. He made a "pet" of a wild squirrel that lived outside his apartment by hand feeding it until it began to trust him. He loved dogs, especially poodles. He gave donations to many places, his biggest being to the 9/11 museum. When one of the steel pillars came to our city to sign it in support, I went not because I wanted to sign it for myself per say, but because I wanted to write Woody's name on it. He would have wanted that. And so I did. I wrote our names side by side. As did my mother and my grandmother....It was a bittersweet time.

It was ironic that the so full of life, prankster would have his funeral on April fool's day. Poetic, sad, appropriate...

He died of a massive heart attack on March 26. He was forty five. He never got to see my children. I think he would have been just as fantastic with them as he was with me. In fact, I don't think, I know he would have been.

He died because he had no insurance and had been just out of the hospital with MRSA which he got from work. He was diagnosed as diabetic. He was self employed and although he was doing well, the hospital bills from the last visit worried him. He thought the chest pain was nothing to worry about and that he would just see his doctor later in the week. He didn't make it....We only know this because he wrote down the times and how bad the pain was on a piece of paper so he could tell his doctor.

Written hauntings of a passed loved one. It still seemed he was standing right next to us as we read it. Heartbreaking. And infuriating as well. If only he had gone to the hospital. If only....

We are left with memories, pain, loss, and if only's, true, but we are also left with his ideals and his passions. His legacy. I don't know if he realized how much he helped change people's lives or just how many people he affected but we found out. At his funeral there were literally dozen's upon dozens of strangers. They all knew our Woody. They all had stories to tell. Beautiful heart warming stories of a man who was sometimes selfish but always selfless. A man who was so wonderful because he was imperfect and accepted that fact. Because he laughed at his faults and he acknowledged his past. Woody was successful not just because he was wonderful but also because he was relatable. He never forgot who he was when he was using and he never judged anyone that was using. He would just stand by them and offer them help and support. And if they let him in their life, he would do everything possible to keep them clean and sober.

And he touched more people than the people where he lived last...We know how many people's lives he changed in other places because of all the cards we received, the NA flyers they made in Texas for a makeshift memorial so they could say goodbye to him where he had first started, and from the mass amount of flowers. People we had never heard of. People we had never seen before. It was astounding and it was moving. This silly goofy and amazing man was magnificent and he never even knew just how magnificent.

A few months before his death he told me a story. A story that I will never forget. Something he had read somewhere or heard and I would like to share it with you.

One day a young man was standing in the middle

of the town proclaiming that he had the most

beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large

crowd gathered and they all admired his heart

for it was perfect.

There was not a mark or a flaw in it.

Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most

beautiful heart they had ever seen.

The young man was very proud and boasted

more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of

the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not

nearly as beautiful as mine."

The crowd and the young man looked at the

old man's heart. It was beating strongly,

but full of scars, it had places where pieces

had been removed and other pieces put in, but

they didn't fit quite right and there were

several jagged edges. In fact, in some places

there were deep gouges where whole pieces

were missing.The people stared. 

How can he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought?

The young man looked at the old man's heart

and saw its state and laughed.

"You must be joking," he said.

"Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect

and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect

looking but I would never trade with you.

You see, every scar represents a person to

whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece

of my heart and give it to them, and often

they give me a piece of their heart which fits

into the empty place in my heart, but because

the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges,

which I cherish, because they remind me of the

love we shared. "Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart

away, and the other person hasn't returned

a piece of his heart to me. These are the

empty gouges -- giving love is taking a chance.

Although these gouges are painful, they stay open,

reminding me of the love I have for these people too,

and I hope someday they may return and fill the

space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running

down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man,

reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart,

and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old

man with trembling hands

The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart

and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and

placed it in the wound in the young man's heart.

It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.

The young man looked at his heart, not perfect

anymore but more beautiful than ever,

since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.

They embraced and walked away side by side. 

That was my uncle Woody, a man with the most beautiful heart. I do not just not celebrate April Fool's day because of the pain and loss it reminds me of, I don't celebrate it because for me, it was his day and I refuse to celebrate his day without him. So instead of jokes and pranks, I reserve April fool's day for remembrance. The remembrance of a great man who changed not only my life but so many others as well. Rest in peace Uncle Woody.

Neurotic Nelly

I Have A Problem

I have a problem. I am too sensitive. I am too caring. I put other people's needs before mine. I put my family and children before me, as I should, but I also put others before me as well. Strangers, people begging on the streets, the mail man. Always other people. I let them use my good nature, my compassion, my weakness. I do it all the time. I feel so much for others. I give them everything I have. I give them my support, my time, my emotional strength. I forget to protect myself. The result is damage. The result is loosing the sanity I have built up over the years block by block. I get pushed back into feelings of guilt, shame, and feeling inadequate and worthless. I come undone and tear at the seams. I put myself in unhealthy situations. I place myself in situations that can mark me. Always trying to do the right thing. To be the good little girl and share. I almost never stand up for myself. I let others harm me and that is a problem. I let them drain my friendship and support until I am empty. I let them bully me, berate me, undermine my good intentions, and demand from me more of myself than I can give. I let them curse at me, abuse, and steal from me and yet I take it.  I let them take my money, my personal belongings, bits of my soul. Striving to be better each time so they are happy with me. I let these toxic relationships in my life and then wonder why I am so stressed and broken. I am after all a person with mental illness. I put that aside to help others and forget that my mental health is just as important as theirs. I let other people push me around until I am bruised and battered. Then I ask for more. I am not someone who enjoys pain. I am just too afraid that people won't like me or think bad of me if I don't give them what they want. It is unhealthy. The result of this is at some point I will shut down. A brick wall will come down from the heavens and land in front of me. I will not be able to go around it to get to my destination. I will not be able to climb over it because I have been exhausted from giving all that I have to offer. I will not be able to function anymore. It will be a complete end of all that I am trying to accomplish. I will be stuck in that spot and be depressed that I can not do what I was once able to do. I am easily guilt tripped, and maybe I am gullible as well. It is not fair that I have worked so hard to be healthy and others siphon that away from me. Drip by drip until I am depleted.  I will give and give and give. It fractures me. It damages me and I deserve better.  Just because I am a good person it doesn't mean you get to use me. Just because I care to much doesn't mean that you have the right to use it against me. Just because I am a giving loving person doesn't mean that you should hurt me over and over again to entertain yourself. I have other things to think about . I have a family and children but not just that I have a responsibility to be kind to myself. To stand up for me. To stay healthy. To finally put myself and my mental health above people that are not my family or my dear friends. It's time that I define my worth in something other than giving myself away piece by piece to those don't care or realize the gift I am giving them. I can't do this anymore. It's not even that I can't, it is that I don't want to. I deserve friendship. I deserve  respect and most of all I deserve the life I have fought tooth and nail for. It has taken me a long time to realize that I can't heal anyone else but myself. I am not anyone's therapist. I am not anyone's Santa Claus. I can't give everyone magical gifts that will make them happy. I can't give everyone every part of me or I have no me left to give. I am just a woman trying to raise a family and have a life while living with a mental illness. I have to, I need to take back my own life. I need to shut out those people that are toxic and bleeding me dry. I need to say enough is enough and this is killing my soul.  It's going to hurt me to do this but the alternative is, that if I don't, I am killing myself. No one deserves that kind of power over me. No one.