The internet world is abuzz with Robin Williams’s death. Lots of writers are writing about their take on depression and suicide and the angst-filled life of comedians. What about the rest of us that suffer the same affliction and aren’t famous or funny, just incredibly, acutely, painfully sad? In a previous life, I heard that if I was sad or unhappy, I just needed more “Jesus” (or Bible reading or prayer, insert your favorite). No one ever mentioned going to a doctor and finding out if you had a real chemical imbalance. Or as an alternative, seeing a psychologist and getting some counseling.

It is sad that Mr. Williams died by his own hand. I have tried to read a couple of the articles that have been written, but they bring back with too much clarity my own struggles. I have always been melancholy and shy and basically just fine with my own company. I have been called anti-social by one co-worker. I told him I wasn’t, I just preferred to be alone to their idea of being “social”, which was going to lunch and telling the same old stories they told last week about what happened 10 years ago. I also didn’t tell them that being around them made me even more depressed that I already was.

What a lot of people don’t understand is that there isn’t anything anyone can do to make you feel better. A kind word is okay, but Bible verses and cute pithy sayings and pep talks and parties only make the hurt worse. When I’m in one of my trying times, I don’t need someone to tell me I look bad, I know I look bad, I know I feel bad, I just can’t shake off the funk. Tomorrow, I will be back to normal, maybe. In the worst of my dark times, reading was my way of escape. I read Harry Potter and Stephen King’s The Dark Tower and watched any mindless TV show I could find on Netflix. I did whatever I could to keep me sane and occupied. The hurt was just as palpable, but my mind was off it for a while.

I know that everyone is different and that with depression, there is no one cure for everyone. What works for me won’t work for the next person. Just as each person’s blood type and genes are different, so too is everyone’s chemistry. I cannot say that I have ever been so deep in the dark that I planned my own demise, but the thought crossed my mind once or twice. I can understand the allure, but I have always found a reason to live. I want to see my grand-kid’s grandchildren. I want to teach my grandson’s son how to spit and how to drive a boat and to never marry a woman who can beat him up. When I begin to sink into the shadows, I try to remember that I cannot trust my feelings and that I have a great life. I cannot pull myself out the pit, but I can keep reminding myself to hang on, life is worth living.