Japanese Happiness Soup

Robin Williams died recently. He committed suicide in his home, alone, he was 63 years old. At least that's the word on the news. Apparently he struggled for years and years with addiction, he also struggled with depression... probably for much longer. One could always picture him doing himself in. He was the type, after-all; a blazingly intelligent, manically comedic, tremendously talented performer who could conjure hilarity and heartbreak in the same role. There was a humanity in his performances that nobody could ever fake, not even himself. A humanity that only comes from within. In interviews with the likes of James Lipton and others, one could tell that Robin Williams struggled to fake a kind of Hollywood superficiality. He was a real person, even when he played a role.

Robin Williams ended his life as so many comedians do, either intentionally or not. It's been speculated that Laughter is mankind's original coping mechanism. So what does that say about comedy? What pain and insecurity can drive comedy, especially when it becomes a person's career? What happens when you can't laugh anymore? Where does the funnyman find solace? Where he find cover from him, or her, self? The late John Belushi probably fell victim to the same. He was a master of laughs but could not cope with himself, so he found shelter in excess that ultimately killed him. Ironically enough, Robin Williams (a close friend of Belushi) was one of the last people see him alive on that day in 1982. John Belushi's death supposedly convinced him to go cold turkey and fight-on, which he did until Monday.

Contrary to popular belief, suicide is not a short-term crisis. Normally the idea sparks many years in advance and as one grows older and rambles on through life it either diminishes or blossoms and grows up the walls of the heart and mind and becomes realer and realer. In short, people seldom commit suicide because of one bout of depression or one major letdown. It's a long build-up of a lot of little things. Little disappointments, little addictions, little things that people say, the sun growing a little dimmer everyday. Most likely, the pain and disillusion that made Robin Williams so brilliantly funny and so humane both on stage and in life is most certainly what he could no longer handle.

According to the latest statistics, Lithuania has the highest rate of suicide in world at 28.6 cases per 100,000 people. South Korea is second at 26.3 cases per 100,000 people. China and India beat-out Japan. Of course Japan is the best known country for suicide. Aokigahara, or "Suicide Forest", is a 30-odd kilometer expanse of forest at the base of Mount Fuji known as a hot spot for suicides. People go in and never come out. It's a problem that the Japanese seldom address, either because they consider suicide a legitimate way out or because it is simply too negative to think about. Japanese thinking strives towards happiness. Suicide isn't happy.

All anyone can do is talk about it. Unlike the advice of certain doctors named Phil, nobody can stop a suicide. There's no jumping into action, family intervention, or breakthrough moments. People will do as they will do, for better or for worse. All we can do is talk about it, and think about it, and talk about it some more. All we can do for those who struggle is to be there and to listen. All we can do is remember the laughs they left us with.