What can I say that others have not said before me?
I was so shocked and appalled at the death of the Hollywood great that is Robin Williams.
Like many on here, I have grown up with his TV Shows and movies, and it would particularly gladdened my heart when he appeared on chat shows, as he along with Billy Connelly was raconteur par excellence:
And of course everyone has been going ‘Why, why?’ and some particularly stoopid folk have called him selfish because they can’t understand why such a talented, rich, successful man could end his life in such a way.
Well let me tell you wankers, mental illness along with cancer, AIDs and death is one of those great levellers that cannot be fixed or alleviated by wonga. Sure you can afford rehab and retreats and get to see the best physicians in their swanky offices, and recline on their velvet covered couches, but at 3am in the morning, when you can’t sleep because something is coming for you, and you are that close to taking an overdose, if only so you can stop running, it doesn’t really matter how expensive your designer jamas are, what the thread count of your bedding is or how presidgeous your postcode/zipcode is, the dark is the dark, and the Fear is the Fear, and there’s no escaping it, no matter who you are.
And that was the thing that really broke my heart.
That he knew the Fear. My Fear. ‘Cos it sounded very much like mine, in an interview he did with the Guardian a few years ago about his addictions.
The reporter asked Robin whether it was the death of his friend Christopher Reeve that pushed him over the edge that time:
“No” he replied “it’s more selfish than that. It’s just literally being afraid. And you think, oh this will ease the Fear. And it doesn’t” What was he afraid of? “Everything. It’s just a general, all round argghh. It’s fearfulness and anxiety”
And I hate it so that it tormented him too.
To the lovely, kind hearted, well intentioned folk out there, please don’t send people like me fucking Fear themed memes or quotes. We’ve heard ’em all. Hell, I’ve even sent some myself. ‘Cos when you feel that bad, none of them mean shit.
I’ve nearly finished my schema therapy book. I thought it would make me feel better. But it doesn’t. What it does do is explain why my years of therapy haven’t been enough to crack my anger, self hatred and self sabotaging behaviour and that, given the number of schemas I have (nearly a full house, folks! Whoop de doo!) there is no way I can do this by myself.
So I’m really frightened now.
I’m frightened that I don’t get picked for schema therapy.
I’m frightened that whatever I do get won’t work.
I’m frightened that I won’t get any work and lose my home.
I’m frightened that I have to give up my cats.
I’m frightened that mine will be the next name in the obits column in my local paper before the year is out.
I’ve read so many lovely comments about the great man on Facebook today and that meme that tells you not to be ashamed about your mental afflictions was all over the place, so just as an experiment, I posted something that wasn’t exactly a confession, but alluded that I was knew more about it that I had previously let on.
Nary a ‘Like’ or a comment in sight.
You see, that’s the beauty of Facebook. Everything is out there and can be summoned or dismissed with the click of a mouse, so you can pretend that you are tolerant, politically correct and big hearted, but the tiniest sniff of anything or anyone that could affect your world or turn up on your doorstep, then you can ignore it, block them or log out, and get the hell outta there.
So I guess I’ll need to keep pretending that everything between my ears is behaving itself, and with any luck, everyone can pretend they’re non the wiser if I end up following suite and bow out early one day.
Sshh…so just don’t tell on me, OK?