The Robin Williams tragedy highlights how little we understand depression

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/aug/12/robin-williams-tragedy-understand-depression

Version 0 of 1.

Though an inquest might provide some of the answers to questions people are asking today, the truth is that none of us will ever know, even if he left a note, what was going through Robin Williams’s mind in the final moments of his enriched and enriching life.

No two people’s depressions are the same. But his death shows once more that depression is no respecter of class, race, profession, wealth or talent.

His wife, Susan Schneider, said: “As he is remembered, it is our hope that the focus will not be on Robin’s death, but on the countless moments of joy and laughter he gave to millions.” I find it hard, however, not to focus to some extent on his death. We live in a celebrity culture, like it or not. It means that around the world, people will be talking about this terrible event, reflecting not just on his career but on the reality of the illness that led him to his death. He will be remembered for his acting and comedic skills. But I hope, too, that he will be remembered as someone whose death was another staging post in the changing attitudes to mental health and mental illness that are desperately required all around the world.

If he’d had a heart attack, lost a fight with cancer or been knocked over by a car, would there be a need for a debate about what this says about the state of heart disease, or cancer care or road safety? Possibly, but I doubt it. There still needs to be a debate about depression as an illness because there is still a lack of understanding that illness is exactly what it is.

Almost exactly a year ago today, I said to my partner Fiona that I honestly couldn’t see the point of living. It was not the first time I had said it, or the first time she had heard it. What it meant was that a bout of depression, which I had felt coming on for a few days, had reached its full grisly impact, rendering me physically weak, psychologically drained and emotionally desperate. Fiona had seen it often enough – at least once or twice, sometimes more, in most of the 35 years we have been together – to know it was unlikely I would take that thought to its logical conclusion. Nor do I believe I ever would, though whenever someone does, like Williams, it makes you wonder how many times he survived suicidal thoughts before finally succumbing.

I am lucky to have a supportive and understanding family, a small number of good friends, and a doctor I trust. When finally we spoke, he put me on anti-depressants, and I have been on them ever since – the longest period I have been on them. I don’t like being on medication, but it is better than being depressed.

Openness has been a great help to me personally. I don’t know if Williams was open with others about his depression. But I do know people in many walks of life who find it impossible to be so.

It is important to take heart from other campaigns. Cancer used to be “the big C”. We didn’t like to talk about it. Now we do, and that is part of the reason why funding has improved, the treatments have improved, and campaigns have been strong and successful. Mental health remains the Cinderella of healthcare because it remains misunderstood, and the one nobody wants to talk about.

We have a long, long way to go. I met the health secretary, Jeremy Hunt, last year. We talked about depression and he said he found it really hard to understand “why someone like you, with the life you have, would have depression”. I was, I admit, quite shocked. He was reflecting an opinion that many hold, and this is the fight – to understand that depression has nothing to do with how popular or famous, unpopular or unknown, you are. It just is. Like cancer is. Like asthma is. Like diabetes is. Some people get it, some people don’t. It is a truly horrible illness, and must be viewed and treated as such.