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His final message breaks my heart. The heart of the 8 year
old boy in me breaks because that little boy still wants to hear about the zany
culture on the planet Ork.
The teenage young man in my still wants the courage
to stand up and say, “Oh captain! My captain!” The 20 something man in me, who
is sorting out his past, still wants to cry and be held and be told that it’s
not my fault. There is a health professional in me that needs Patch Adams to
remind me that we treat patients more than we treat diseases and disorders and of
how laughter is so healing.
As a mental health professional and educator, I also see the
death of Robin Williams through the lens of depression. Williams, like millions
of others, did not sit down one day and make a choice that he would like to
wrestle with depression, but rather it rolled in like dense fog obscuring his
psychological clarity or perhaps slowly crept in like black mold infecting him
and his ability to psychologically breathe. Depression is an insidious
experience that no one chooses. Sometimes it goes away all on its own like a
common cold, but sometimes it is psychological Ebola that requires immediate,
intense, and sustained intervention or else it is fatal. The problem is that
there is no way to know on the front end whether it will heal on its own or
will progress toward death.
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2 comments:
Though I'm not Jewish, I would call that blog post a mitzvah. So I will. It's a mitzvah!
Blessings and peace today.
Cool. many thanks.
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