Darren Hayes: 'We are all Robin Williams'

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The hardest, most debilitating and soul-devouring aspect of depression is the self-imposed choice to hide it away from the world.

In the place of the cold, utterly dark void that we feel inside, people who suffer from depression will use secret stores of energy they don’t have, energy that could be used to solve their problems or seek help, to put a mask of happiness on to fool the world.

I was diagnosed with my first depressive disorder in my mid-twenties.

There have been times in my life where I’ve been suicidal and thank God the people around me noticed and begged me to seek medical help.

I’m so glad I did and continue to.

The last few years have been a journey for me to take control of my happiness. I chose to deal with my depression in a practical sense and to take back my life from the insufferable and greedy clutches of darkness. I cried with grief earlier this year at the realisation that there were seven years of my life I lost. From 2007 until recently I had suffered my longest battle with depression. A saga so debilitating, which became so commonplace, that I forgot what it felt like to be free of that feeling of dread. Waking most days feeling sick to the stomach with worry and anxiety had become so familiar I had come to accept it. For some periods that feeling would ease after a few hours. But for some months, it would linger 24/7. There were periods of six months or more over the past seven years that depression was so consuming that it was in fact joy that seemed alien to me. A vague memory of a past life perhaps. That was not living. That was like being a zombie. Walking through life, feigning happiness but often looking on the outside of life peering in.

There’s so much shame and guilt associated with depression. The judgment from my own self would say things like ‘You have a blessed life. You have love, you have a career, you have money. How dare you be sad’. But depression isn’t rational. It’s like being thrust into outer space, spun in a tumble dryer and then expecting to know which way is up. You don’t. You can’t possibly. Your compass is not just off, it’s broken and smashed into a million vengeful pieces.

I’m glad I’ve always been open about my mental illness. I really believe transparency is a life-saver. Suffering in silence is the beginning of disappearing silently. And I refuse to go quietly into that dark light.

Screen Shot 2014-08-12 at 16.50.36 I am so glad I’m alive. I’m so glad I know to always expect another sunrise, and on the nights I can’t imagine ever being happy again, I’m so glad there’s medication, therapy or friends and family I can turn to, to help me get my compass back to pointing true north.

I, like many people, have been so moved by the death of Robin Williams because in many ways he reminds me of myself. Maybe he reminds us of ourselves. Life can seem like a struggle and can at times seem cruel. We look to artists like Robin Williams to make us laugh, to relieve that burden and to encourage us to dream. We never realise they create art and work for the same reason we do – to escape. We don’t stop to think they’re fragile just like us.

We are all Robin Williams. We are all unique, wonderful, brilliant and essential characters in the play of life. Let’s never forget to reach out to each other and remind the person next to us of this fact. Without you in it there’s no point to the story.

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Darren Hayes: ‘We are all Robin Williams’

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