I woke up this morning to the news of Robin Williams’ passing. Suspected suicide. And I was devastated.
I have written about Bipolar Disorder from time to time. About what it is like to live with it. And that has always been my mantra. I live with Bipolar, I don’t suffer with it. I don’t let it define me.
And, as many do when they are diagnosed, I also found some people to look up to. To inspire me to continue when the black dog chases me. To help me make sense of this chemical imbalance in my brain that seems to affect every part of who I am. A quick Bing will return a long list of celebs that have admitted to ‘having’ Bipolar, and Robin Williams is one of them. And I looked up to him. Because he was a survivor. No matter what this disease threw at him, he pursued his passions and his brilliance shone through his darkest moments. He was an inspiration.
And when I saw the news, I broke down. Because if, after so many years of surviving and inspiring, the black dog got him. And if it could get him, then how do I stop it from getting me?
So excuse me in my little shallow moment as I shed tears for a man I’ve never met.