(222//365) When the news broke today of Robin William’s death my entire body tensed in discomfort; a completely involuntary, silent and reluctant welcome to his loved ones left behind into the what-could-I-have-done-differently club, the did-he-not-know-how-much-we-loved-him club, and the I’ll-always-blame-myself-for-this club because-how-could-I-not-have-known club. Once you’re in, you don’t leave this club. It’s the lifetime membership nobody wants. These occurrences, these reminders of the fleeting quality of life and the potential so briefly and darkly snuffed out by our very own powerful two hands leaving many trying in vain to put the pieces back together their remaining days tend to hit too closely to home for me and I thought it be best to stay off social media for a bit. (Memories are hard but regrets are a bitch I’ve long accepted I can’t move forward without so sometimes it’s just easier to close my eyes.) But I chanced it and instead of being bombarded with negative feelings, I was overwhelmed with displays of support for everyone enduring a similar battle, those looking down the barrel of a gun at the front lines and those left behind after the trigger was pulled.
It’s wonderfully comforting to see the suicide and mental illness epidemic get such a spotlight, even if it’s just for a day.
Love to you all but especially to my kindred survivors. <3
Ps. Dead Poet’s Society will forever be one of my favorite movies and I’ll now watch What Dreams May Come with a whole new pair of eyes.