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Manic Depression: a reaction to the death of Robin Williams

Robin Williams didn't have depression. He had manic depression, which is entirely different.
I have it. I'll share my own story. It's not really directed at any one person, but I hope people will take what I say to heart.
It's the brain. Thoughts don't travel through it normally, not at all. They simply race through the brain, untethered. Looping, looping. Thoughts don't go from point a to point b. They go there, and come back, bearing gifts, and having pupped children, too, but only after having made numerous stops on the way. They might have even done some laps or two, like they were racing Nascar. But since these are manic thoughts, they kept turning right.
Manic depression isn't at all sadness. It's closer to insanity. And when you're in the midst of an episode of manic, you might not even realize until after you've entered the circus tent, and then burned it all down to the ground that perhaps you're not quite right in the head.
It's being out of your mind. Except for the few moments of lucidity you might have to yourself in the day, and you're thinking, "I didn't want to do that, at all."
And then, all your physical energy crashes, like you've come down from a week long caffeine rush, and have nothing left, ever. And still your racing thoughts are trapped in a body that doesn't want to do anything, and so, there must be something wrong with you. And so the body fights off the manic crash off like it's fighting off an illness.
All you want is peace from your thoughts. Robin Williams has that peace, now, I suppose, although by now, I bet he'd be thinking, I didn't want to do that, at all.
You know, through his work, as a whole, he perfectly illustrated Manic Depression. Unrestrained in his comedy, never settling, never resting, never breaking for any one topic. He unpredictably raced through one topic, already moving onto the next.
And in his movie roles, he was conflicted, restrained, sombre, and lonely.
Lonely, yeah. There's honestly a thousand miles of thoughts between you and the world.
It's easier just to fake your way through it.
They say, don't suffer in silence. Fuck that. Let me suffer in silence. That way when I next make some noise, I can show you my best side.
And unless there's some miracle drug out there that forces all the thoughts in my head to queue up, and let themselves be resolved one by one like they're banking customers cashing cheques and making deposits, I don't know what else someone can do for me. All I want, all I'm sure other sufferers of this probably want, too, (I'm not a spokesman for any organization, so I'm not speaking from any sort of authority) is for people to understand, and if not that, then at least fake it like you do.
Well-meaning but misplace sympathy is just as bad as ignorance. I don't want it. Save for it a noble cause.
Learn about it, too, Manic Depression. Know there's no cure, merely learning to live with it.
Please also know that anything that I might do isn't the cause of my illness. There is no cause, other then a faulty brain. Anything and everything I do that is out of the ordinary is instead merely the symptom of my condition. I'm tired of people telling me what is wrong with me. I do what I do to relieve my thoughts. Nothing more. Leave me alone with my thoughts.

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