Pagliacci's Remorse

This week saw the passing of comedic legend Robin Williams at too young an age for the energy he always seemed to have. He took his own life, a victim of depression, something that turns away many eyes when brought up in conversation.

This is my honest take of it.

Depression is an unrare monster. It occurs briefly in some, and forever in others. Sometimes it sits and waits for the right moment to strike, gathering up strength for when one's defenses is weakest. Other times, it is an unwanted companion, invisible to all others, who hovers over you, taking away your life's energy like a dementor from Harry Potter. It is a disease to which no one is immune, and for which there are no symptoms, at least none that are glaringly obvious to the casual observer.
The term itself is a catch-all for a panoply of personal affectations that could be ascribed to a depressive state, but what it is to the person who is feeling it is a chain wrapped tightly around one's ankle, attached to an anchor at the bottom of the sea that slowly pulls on the person. It is the feeling of dreading the day because one has to keep suffering through life even though they are worthless, deadly, poisonous human beings who only infect those around them with the curse of their presence.
To someone who is depressed, they are not good, despite any evidence to the contrary. The ego is so low that the person is either cynical or ebullient, or jocular or defensive; there are a range of ways people deal with their affliction. They can appear to be the happiest, most energetic people of all, as Robin showed, or always masking themselves in off-the-cuff witty rejoinders, because a brief laugh is worth the high it brings to the person who is always low.
Because someone with depression is almost always at a low, the person most likely has an addictive personality. This high can come from anywhere: drugs, gambling, exercise, sex, comedy, etc.
For something like comedy, the high comes from making others laugh, which, in psychological terms, can be attributed to the looking glass self and self-perception theory, whereby one finds themselves making others feel good, which makes the first person feel good in turn. They do that momentary good, and they become good, for the moment.
Contrary to the beliefs of some, one cannot simply 'stop' being depressed. After one has been depressed for years, one would know of no other way of existing. It would be like pulling a fish out of water and expecting it to simply start breathing the rarefied air; maybe that change will happen over eons, but not overnight.
One who is depressed has the yearning to stop being so, but escape is difficult due to the cynical nature of the thing. After all, what is the point of trying to be better if one is already worthless? It's a catch-22 mired in quicksand.
What is the cause of depression? It's hard to say. Each case is so very different. This is not a disease in the traditional sense, like ebola, which is spread through bodily fluids, but an affliction of one's conscious and subconscious mind that cannot be controlled. It is as if one of your legs decided to not work as hard as the other because there simply was no point to working as hard as the other leg, and everything it did was meaningless. Certainly, you would not try to 'beat it out' of your leg, since that would only regress it further.
The only real way to mitigate the effects of depression is to speak with someone about it. Friends, family, strangers, your dog, etc. Josef Breuer's Talking Cure is very much a catharsis for many who have underlying depression, caused by past trauma or by other unattributed causes.
A kind ear is infinitely better than any pill. If you do feel depressed, then please, speak to someone about it. Even if it's something as anonymous as an Omegle chat, it's worth the time to take to really engage yourself in discovering what makes you, you.