In light of Robin Williams’ heartbreaking early exit, I’ve
been asked to repost a blog I wrote just after Christmas of last year when
author Ned Vizzini (It’s Kind of a Funny
Story) ended what promised to be a spectacular career with that
irreversible decision that leaves the rest of us asking questions we end up
answering ourselves. It’s posted below.
Most of the responses I read to Robin Williams’ death were
simply of sorrow, of missing and remembering.
A colossal talent was there, then gone.
Millions of us who never knew him took it personally, I think, because
of the zany intimacy of his gift. The
guy could say ANYTHING. And we’d let him
say anything because the genius of his comedy was to show us the edges, and our
laughter was of astonished recognition.
We appreciate voices of intimate genius because they help define
us. Now he’s gone and we just miss him.
But then the Todd Bridges begin to show themselves, just as
they did after Ned Vizzini’s death.
Suicide is selfish. It’s the
coward’s way out, the EASY way. Life is
tough, suck it up. Life is sacred. Turn to God.
Well sorry, Todd, but that’s the EASY answer. The lazy one.
The one that turns a complex situation simple so we don’t have to think
about it any more.
If selfish were all bad, I guess we’d all be bad. No one but Robin knew the cost of elevating
us the way he did, or of elevating himself with our responses; all while trying
to manage the roller coaster ride of that enormous talent. Like all of us, only he knew how deep; only
he knew how dark. The nature of
depression is that we can’t see out of it.
Medication helps some. Anger
helps some. Connection helps some.
Some finally say, enough.
I don’t know what happens next. Maybe it’s worms and maybe it’s consciousness
moving at the speed of imagination, unencumbered by its former container.
In MY imagination I see Robin out there smiling, throwing an
arm over Ned Vizzini’s shoulder: “So these two nuns decide to off themselves…”
Godspeed Ned Vizzini
(New Years – 2014)
Coming into the new year it’s hard not to think of the recent
suicide of the talented and tortured YA author, Ned Vizzini, and the emptiness
his loved ones must feel. Little has
been left unsaid by my (and his) gracious and articulate colleagues and I am
tempted to bow my head and wish his soul a silent Godspeed as it rockets into
the universe. But some of the public
responses to his death compel me to add some thoughts.
The folks who suffer the same crushing depression from which
Ned must have suffered, understand, and their responses seem the most
eye-opening and revealing. The responses
that bother me are those calling him selfish for leaving a young wife and son
without a husband and father, or for committing the act from the roof of his
parents’ house or simply for committing the sin
of taking an early exit.
My years as a therapist working with abuse and neglect
families taught me at least one important lesson for my own life. Never judge until you can see through the
eyes of that person you are judging, and then…never judge. There but for the grace of chance go any of us. When I was able to help clients who were experiencing
what Ned probably experienced – and there were many times I could not – I could
only tether myself to all in my life that was good and leap into the abyss with
them– provide a witness – secure in the belief that, whether or not we could
find a way to their light, my tether would hold. It always did.
I was lucky.
There are those who believe life is sacred, that suicide is
a sin. There are those who call it a
selfish act that doesn’t take into account the pain of those left behind.
But those responses say far more about the responders than
they say about Ned Vizzini. As much as
we’d like to think life is sacred, there’s not a lot of evidence for that. The universe is maddeningly casual giving and
taking it. Nothing about life is sacred
until we make it so. Each of us.
Our own individual lives. And sometimes from inside that awful
blackness it simply isn’t possible.
Rather than think Ned Vizzini stole from his wife, a husband
or from his child, a father, I prefer to consider his bravery. In the face of that dreadful darkness, he
brought love to a woman and life to a child for as long as he could. He wrote stories that allowed many who shared
in that paralyzing experience to find connection, and so feel less alone;
stories in which his characters found strength he ultimately could not find.
There are fates worse than death.
I didn’t know Ned. I
don’t know if he could have been saved.
I do feel cheated. When I read It’s Kind of a Funny Story and when I
saw the movie, I knew a powerful, embracing voice had emerged in our profession
and I wanted more.
But he stayed as long as he could.
So Godspeed, Ned Vizzini.
Your life has been proven sacred by your works. We know more now than we did before you put
words to paper and some of us will use that knowledge to reach back to ease the
pain of those who walk in your shoes.
