Just another theory among others

August 13, 2014

As we know, the world has lost a fellow depressive. Robin Williams, the funny man, ended it without an ounce of humor for us. He was done, and he meant it. Many don’t understand-I mean he was scheduled to start filming the sequel to Mrs. Doubtfire.

The movie came out in 1993. I remember it as being a fun gender bending trope, along the lines of Tootsie. It was fun, silly, with the appropriate happy ending, and a dialogue starter on social constructs. 

 

As someone who understands a lot about depression, I know what it’s like to be in a depressive state, “the down,” as I call it. I can maybe hypothesize that this movie sequel would not be enough of a trampoline to get back into the healthy thinking stratosphere.

Actually, I don’t know a thing about Robin Williams' depression. He was brilliant, and he could be manic in his brilliance. He was adored, he could fill auditoriums. He was amazing. I can’t relate to any of that celebrity royalty stuff. I can only relate to a feeling of that pit of sadness with a perception that the only thing to look forward to is some silly thing that will require tons of energy and time.

And so it seems he did something depressives shouldn’t do: over extend, get too tired, forget that your brain chemistry requires intellectual stimulation, your heart requires connection, and your body requires rest. If these things are thrown out of whack, there isn’t much a depressive can do, except wait it out. Wait until those things become in sync again. I have developed many strategies over a lifetime of how to get my out of sync self on that trampoline and jump back into that healthy thinking stratosphere. Unfortunately, he just didn’t have the will to wait it out once again. And he stopped the clock. Serious business this flipping sad stuff.

That’s my two cent theory anyway. 

Space

I’m not in Omaha anymore. When I drove out of town last May, I drove, and drove determined to put as many miles as possible between that place and myself in one day. 800 miles later, blurry-eyed, thrilled, I stopped in Rock Springs, Wyoming for the night.

Being back out west is a dream. I love the west. It’s a lot more densely populated than the spaces that stretch from Rock Springs, WY to Omaha, NE. But out west is where I belong. I can breathe. It seems the spaces in the Midwest are vast. But in my experience, the space to be fully human was small, and cramped. I did cross paths with some wonderful people. And they were the kind of people that give the Midwest its good name. But there were those experiences that were beyond the absurd. And it is only now that I’m feeling that my experience of Midwest oppression is becoming more and more distant. In a year or two, it will all be nothing but dust.

So, I still do carry some anger. Who wouldn’t after completely changing your life, and then having to put up with some really stupid, unnecessary situations? But, I am beginning to talk as if I can now. Freedom is sweet. And I am turning that anger into a determination to be the human being I choose to be. I don’t want to be an angry, bitter person. My life even before Omaha could have turned me that way. But, no. Screw that. I want to be that soft, compassionate, but stronger than anyone thinks kind of person. Of course, it’s not always so easy to be that way out west either. But I don’t care. I will, “to thine ownself be true.”

So after some re-entry adjustments, I have a job as a cardiovascular sonographer, my stuff is out of storage, and either donated to the Goodwill, or with me, and I have a cat. Somehow I have inherited a cat along the way.