Robin Williams suicide this week has personally hit me very hard. There have been times as I stand thinking about him that I am brought close to tears. In reality as I now write my eyes strain with that strange pang of warmth and glossiness that comes upon one knowing full well what lies ahead. Why I ask has this wonderful persons decision to give up the battle hit me so hard. I can and must admit with great sadness that I am Robin Williams and with further sadness recognize that there are millions more of us out there. There is no need to have known him to be him nor do the others, for we all share a common bond of laughter and in most cases laughter at our own expense. I do not need to have known the man to recognize the anguish when viewing the world. To understand how each and every tragedy that befalls our species somehow deeply affects us. Mr. Williams often talked about his struggles with Alcohol and drugs, a defence mechanism of showing our frailties to the world and the belief that somehow that shall strengthen us threw collective knowledge. It is as much a cry for help as it is a brilliant flag for laughter. If I tell everyone how messed up I am then it is out there and in knowing this I will take strength from that. For to fall off the proverbial wagon again would be to let all my friends down, everyone who has laughed at me and with me at myself, are indeed all my friends.
You see Robin Williams was not just a brilliant comic but to many of us who suffer from mental illness he was an exuberant mirror we could see straight threw. In seeing through that veil of self recrimination and finger pointing at the absurdity of ones own life we drew strength. I think that is what has hit me so hard. All that strength in front of the world was not enough for him, how therefore could it possibly be enough for me and the millions of other Robins out there.
How many of us Robins do the same within our lives? How many of us poke fun at ourselves and bring laughter to others? How many of us pronounce our frailties to the world in an attempt to say it makes it better? How many of us see the leading Robin as a shinning example of coping in a world that seems to have gone mad? Do we now sit or stand and stare into that space in front of us that is everywhere but nowhere as our mind ponders why? I do and many of us I think do as well. We run through those questions, was it all to much? Was the inundation of hate, distrust, death and fear spewing forth from the TV just so overwhelming that no level of reactionary manic humour could overcome the reality. Is our defence of announcing to the world our failings simply not enough to conquer our own repetitive thinking and our dark thoughts. The over analysis that engulfs all us Robins where we stare into that space and analyse our analysis. It is a feedback loop where often the only exit off the thought highway is brief and fleeting moment where you pronounce I don’t care any more and see the humour in it. When that exit is missed it gets harder and harder to find and often it leads to desperation, an explosive moment of physical humour and wacky voices even in the privacy of our own home. The more explosive, the more wacky it is, is nothing more than a reflection of the level of desperation we have to get off that looping highway of anguish.
We Robin’s care for people, our heart is on our sleeve and not just for friends or family but for the world. We bring laughter, we bring solace, we bring love and understanding all things in equal measure to balance against the inner beliefs that we wrongly feel are not allowed us.
Captain my Captain I walked as you did but I can no longer do so. I must, and us Robin’s must, now find our own stride as you once so wisely advised.
In a tragic but foreseeable event this morning Santa was shot and killed by the native peoples’ of the North as they attempted to bring down his flying Caribou. A spokesperson for the group reported that they had been lobbying the federal conservative government for years to prevent Santa from doing practice runs over the area due the health risk posed by the falling frozen caribou excrement. As Mr. Ignogluc stated ‘you have to understand a frozen piece of caribou shit falling at terminal velocity can take your head right off!’. In a sad twist of events the request sent to the Federal Conservatives and Mr. Harper’s office had an attached rider requesting that Canadians recognize the 40 names for snow presently used by the northern peoples. In a leaked statement from a cabinet member, it was reported that the première of Quebec, Pauline Marois, refused to allow the additions as they had no French language equivalent. In an unconfirmed statement Mrs. Marois was overheard to say that the native peoples of the north had no rights to make such request as they had not contributed to Canada in any way, unlike French Canadians who had provided poutine. Mr. Harper also denied the request, as in a fit of paranoia he misunderstood the words for snow to be a secret coded message by environmental groups and David Suzuki to prevent the drilling of oil in Alberta and the north. 
‘Normal’ is one of the adjectives up there with ‘nice’ but in my opinion is far more insulting. Nice is something people say in regards to someone they know, ‘Ya he is a nice guy’ and is not often directed at you within a conversation. Certainly it does happen on occasion but I do not take offence at the speakers inability to use more creative language. Perhaps a thesaurus for Christmas I think is due the speaker! However, ‘Normal’ or ‘Normative’ to me is an insult beyond compare. Call me a nutter, an a-hole, a bastard or any other negative thing, but if you want me to get my underwear in a twist just call me normal, I dare you. 
Tales of a Single Dad 