So, Robin Williams killed himself today.

I don’t know why creativity and depression so often seem to go hand in hand, but they do.

I wasn’t a big fan of Robin Williams. I liked him because other people I admire were his friends, such as Bobcat Goldthwaite. I hated Mork and Mindy, and I thought he was typecast as “childlike” in many movies. Mrs. Doubtfire was a piece of crap with one decent joke.

But I’m still sad. It’s distressing to see people give up. Especially people with talent. I think life’s always a struggle, though, and that the same person who earns success through creativity is often burdened by an inexplicable weight. I don’t mean to mythologize artists (Picasso was a monster who lived forever), but I see something…..some kind of counter-balance to ability, that exists within the creative.

I guess it got Robin Williams today.

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