R. is the nephew of one of my dearest friends (and by strange coincidence, close childhood buddy of Bryan) – by all accounts a creative genius, caring friend, loving person.
Today at age 28, his life ended. At his own hand.
I don’t know many particulars about R. I didn’t know him personally. I do know that he suffered from a physiological disease called depression that those afflicted will do anything – ANYTHING – to escape.
This morning, before I heard the news, I watched Robin William’s appearance on Inside the Actor’s Studio. He was brilliant, as always. Funny. Occasionally quiet and thoughtful. I’ve had a schoolgirl crush on him since the Mork & Mindy days, and as I watched, I wept to think of him forever removed from my world. Perhaps, I thought, it was time for me to talk openly about my experience as a suicide survivor (the phrase commonly used to describe those who have lost a loved one to self-death.) Maybe I might dissuade someone who was contemplating permanent relief from their relentless agony.
I’m not wondering anymore. Hearing the news about R, I know it’s time to speak and write openly, because depression is a killer that leaves desolation in its wake. I choose to engage this foe with the only weapon I have – my story. Perhaps the telling will dissuade others from seeing suicide as an analgesic. Perhaps it will stir research into depression and other illnesses. If nothing else, I hope it will cause people – perhaps you, dear reader – to donate to such research.
I have writing to do. And praying. Please pray for R’s family. Thank you.
Seeking My Best Self 