It’s been a long day. We left Ottawa this morning before 8 am after packing up the car. I drove the whole way, almost 800 km to Edmunston. We got into our hotel, we went for a swim and then we came back upstairs to order dinner. I opened up my laptop and started to visit all my places and there on Twitter I saw the first hint that something bad had happened.

A tweet that seemed to imply that Robin Williams had died, which was impossible.

And then the whole story came out, confirmed by multiple media outlets. Dead, by suspected suicide.

Robin Williams has been around since I was a kid. He was the genie in Aladdin – a character he made so real that I almost forget there was an actor behind him. He was Professor Keating in Dead Poets Society, a film that spoke to me deeply when I was a teenager. He was in What Dreams May Come, which tore my heart out. He was in Hook and Toys. He was this ridiculous jovial man in interviews.

And he killed himself because something in his head told him that it wasn’t worth it.

Every time something like this happens I am forced to face my demons and wonder if they can’t do it, how am I going to be able to battle back? If a rich and talented, well-loved Hollywood star can’t make it then what chance do I have.

It’s terrifying and sad. Devastating.

Professor Keating couldn’t save Neil Perry and Robin Williams couldn’t save himself.

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