Oh, Captain, My Captain.

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I’d be remiss to not write about the news of Robin Williams’ passing today. I honestly was not even going to post anything, but I stumbled across this well written post on Robin Williams, celebrity, and pain. By the way, Robin Williams, to me, meant Aladdin, Hook, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Jumanji, which means a nice chunk of my own childhood.

Tamara Robson

Robin Williams died, and it was most likely suicide. He had been struggling with depression for a long while. There’s a flood of posts on social media about how he brought laughter to others and how he was a talented soul, and I agree so heartily with those sentiments, but there’s something more that’s nagging at me right now. There’s something tugging violently at my heartstrings that I cannot ignore it.

The man who brought joy to others could not find joy himself.

We spectate on the lives of celebrities and we consume what they give us and then we move on. Robin Williams’ death will not impact our lives in the long term, but today it is all that Facebook can speak about. The posts about ISIS are suspended in favour of the death of a comedian, and I understand. I understand that we’re attached to this individual because…

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