The passing of comedian/actor Robin Williams shocked and stunned people around the world. For many, it wasn’t only the loss of Williams, it was the loss of a magic genie, a never aging boy, a cross-dressing nanny, a gay club owner, an alien, and more. Williams was a larger than life persona who also always seemed so warm and friendly, never letting the fame and fortune inflate his ego.

The fact that his death was the result of a suicide left many wondering, “How could someone who brings so much joy and laughter be plagued by such darkness?” Many felt that such an act was “cowardly” and “selfish” while others stated that there needed to be empathy to understand precisely what he was going through.

I’m not here to comment on either one of those thoughts. Instead, I’m here to share a personal response to how Robin Williams’ suicide affected and even resonated with me.

I had it rough.

I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you that I was left wanting as a child because that would be a flat out lie. But I did have a rough childhood. Read my editorial on Why I Love Horror to get a basic idea. But family sickness that resulted in me growing up knowing the ins and outs of the local hospital wasn’t all that I had to deal with. There was more. However, in the interest of respecting privacy, I won’t go into details.

But what happened was that I grew up a very different way than most children. I grew up way too fast. I became an adult before I was taking driving lessons. I was understanding psychology and how people worked in ways that still boggle me and others who ask, “How did you know how to handle that situation?”

This all came at a cost, however. I never felt like I could show my emotions. I never felt like I could feel, as awkward as that sounds. I chose to bottle everything up because to show what was happening with me would take away from the pain of others close to me, which in turn would make me feel endless waves of guilt. This was all the start of my path on depression.

I was bullied.

Until I got to high school, I was pretty much hated. I had a very small group of friends but the rest of the school took whatever opportunity they had to mock, shame, and belittle me. And as many of you know the powers that be at school are pretty much wildly inefficient at solving a problem like that.

It was in sixth grade that, due to all the berating and hatred I faced, I began writing down dark, self-harming thoughts. I was 12 years old and I was fantasizing about hurting myself, even wishing to die. And it felt like no one could help me.

I cut.

Dark thoughts turned to physical action when I was in high school. I mentioned earlier that it was up until high school that I was bullied but by the time I reached 9th grade the damage had already been done. I felt worthless, ugly, useless, unappealing, etc… Pretty much anything negative and I felt like that.

My cutting started with a few small slashes and never went deep into the tissue. For me, it wasn’t the single slice that brought relief. It was letting go of one emotional pain after another by having each cut take its place, giving it a portal to exit my body.

It took me a few years to stop that habit but that didn’t end the mental pain.

I was hospitalized.

I reached a point in my life where I was so deep into my pain that I began attending an out-patient mental facility. I wasn’t there for a few days. It was a few months of daily attendance where I had group meetings, one-on-one appointments, medications, and more.

It helped. But only for a while.

I swallowed a bottle of pills.

May 11th, 2012 will always be a dark anniversary for me. I thought I had known what rock bottom felt like but it was on that night that I crashed through the bottom and fell further than I had ever fell before. After weeping uncontrollably for hours, curled up in a fetal position on the floor, I drank a bottle of wine and then emptied a bottle of pills into my hand and swallowed them.

Clearly I survived, and I have my friends and family to thank for that. But I will never forget that moment, that time when everything seemed so empty and pointless that ending everything seemed like the only light at the end of the tunnel, the only way to find peace.

It took me several days to fully recover physically and many months to recover enough mentally that I trusted myself around alcohol or pills. Even today, I don’t allow myself to get drunk and I’m loathe to take medication for any reason. It’s affected my way of life entirely and still shapes how I live.

I still fight.

There are days where I still struggle. There are days when I falter and the darkness tries to push itself back into my mind. To say that it’s not an easy fight is an understatement. There are days when it feels like giving into that darkness and letting it wash over me would be the simplest thing on the planet.

And that’s the horror and reality of depression. It’s not a switch that once turned off will stay off. It is an ongoing problem, a battle that I will be waging my entire life. And I know that it affects more people than are willing to admit.

I continue living.

Through all of that, as simplistically as I’ve phrased it all, I still found strength to keep on living. I found passions and focused on them, such as collecting vinyl or continuing to write for BD. I work hard and try to enjoy what life has to offer because there is so much out there.

Hearing that Robin Williams chose to commit suicide stuck a very deep chord within me, one that is still resonating. I can make people laugh even when I’m feeling nothing but anguish inside. I can put a smile on someone’s face even when I am using all of my power to not burst into tears. Because knowing that I helped someone, even if just for a little while, means the world to me, no matter the cost.

Those who know me personally say that I’m a very funny person, that I’m loyal, and that I am trustworthy. I give a great deal of myself for others, putting their needs well before my own. I’m the type of person who would give you my coat when it’s freezing outside because you need it more than I do.

That’s why I’m writing this piece and opening myself up entirely to you. If my words can help even a single person, then I will never regret baring myself in such a way.

You are loved.

You are wanted.

You are needed.

If you or someone you know needs help, please, I’m begging you, don’t hesitate to reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. If you are not in the United States, please utilize whatever resource you have available to you.

Never feel like you are alone, because you aren’t. There is always someone who needs you and will be utterly devastated if you were suddenly gone.