Today could be interesting.
At 9:45am I had some mushroom pizza for breakfast. Not even a whole piece. I figured that’d be enough. Been a while since pizza for breakfast.
Here it is, 11:30am. Recorded a little music, and now I’m hungry again. So I had another half a piece. For lunch.
I figure I’ll be on Jupiter by dinnertime. Will record soundtrack for later.
But I’ll tell you what hermits realize. If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.
If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them.
One of the more helpful and insightful things I’ve seen about depression/suicide in the last couple of days.
Yes, a thousand times, yes.
After Williams died, I thanked him for holding back the darkness for so long. Because that’s what it’s really about: It never goes away. It never stops. No matter what drug you do, or what drug you quit. No matter whether you talk to a therapist, a lover, or no one at all, so as to spare them. It’s. Always. There.