The news about Robin Williams' suicide hit me in the same way it hit most everyone - like a veritable ton of bricks. I had a physical response to hearing he had died, and another one when I found out how. Just ugh.
Part of the reason that this human outcome feels particularly icky is that like 43.6 million United States citizens over the age of 18, I have generalized anxiety and depression. So I can quite literally put myself in a small section of the shoes Mr. Williams wore in his life, because I know how completely shitty and powerless depression makes you feel.
Depression lies. It preys on your brain and your chemistry, and does its' damn best to keep you isolated. As Harvey Fierstein, Robin's on-screen brother in "Mrs. Doubtfire" tweeted Monday evening:
- "Please, people, do not fuck with depression. It's merciless. All it wants is to get you in a room alone and kill you. Take care of yourself."
Bratty Sister was the first of us to get hitched, and due to hilarious connections with her hubby's family <back story to come>, and the fact that our family was also small, we have spent many a holiday co-celebrating with them.
While every single one of their respective members are super lovely and delightful people, my sister's father-in-law is/was one of my favorite people. He was in a rock band with his buddies, called NOS (Not Otherwise Specified), loved The Big Lebowski so much his grand-kids call(ed) him Grandpa Dude, and was one of the most loving, authentic, alive people I've ever met.
Unfortunately, cancer got him. Effin' cancer.
Chez Nash Humphrey has had an influx of visitors in a short time, so evenings have been mashed into chores and chillaxing because I'm tired from the chores. Oh and it's football season, so work has been all a flurry.
I'll get back to regular posts shortly but did have some updates planned so I'm smushing all of them together into one, fairly lame, post. Sorry, peeps but I am throwing in my homemade toothpaste recipe and review. I know you are on the edge of your seat.
