I am standing in Wal-Mart doing back-to-school shopping when my husband calls. “Didn’t you tell me once that Robin Williams had bipolar?” my husband asks. “Yes, why?” I say, catching something in his tone of voice. “Well, he killed himself today, I am so sorry.” He is sorry because Williams was one of my favorite actors. He is sorry because he knows how deeply personal it is to me each time we lose someone to this horrible condition called mental illness. Others may think that people who end their lives are weak somehow. Williams was brave to hold on this long.
I suffered from bipolar for twenty years, I have been free of it for over ten now. I do not think I could have survived even a couple more years as bad as things were before I found my med free method of treating it effectively. What is senseless to me is that hope is so close; I believe an answer has already been found to this horrific condition, but that so many drown with a life ring within grasp. If they only knew it was there.
I start crying on the phone with my husband, a pack of highlighters forgotten in my hand. I cry for his wife, for his son and daughters, fans and friends, and for all the lost talent this world will miss out on without him in it. So many have been taken by this horrible condition of the mind. ENOUGH!!!! I have had enough! I am tired of knowing what I know to help people and not being able to shout it to the world. I am tired of the senseless deaths, of the lost artists and musicians and some of the most gifted people of society. There is hope! There is healing! There is reprieve from the moods, madness, mayhem, highs and lows. I am sorry for the pain others experience yet relieved I am free of it finally. My husband holds me close when I get home, telling me that he is so glad I am healed of that dark and light disorder, bipolar. I lean into his chest and let him hold me.