When one of the funniest, most beloved, resourceful, and generous human beings on this planet—actor and comedian Robin Williams—took his own life after a long battle with depression, it was a wake-up call. It wasn’t just a tragedy. It was a signal that something is deeply wrong—not with him, but with the way the world views mental illness.
Like millions of others, I was stunned by the news. Robin was only 63, still vibrant and seemingly full of life. How could someone who appeared to “have it all” make such a drastic, irreversible choice? Did he not know how loved he was by his family, his friends, and the world?
These questions haunt us. But we must stop ourselves right there.
This isn’t about logic, or lack of love. It’s about the brain—plain and simple. The brain, our most vital yet most fragile organ, is often misunderstood. When it breaks—whether through biological, psychological, or environmental factors—we break. When the brain suffers, our thoughts, perceptions, and reality itself can become warped. And too many people still don’t understand that.
If we could peer into the mind of someone with depression and truly see what’s happening inside—the tangled neurons, the disrupted chemistry—perhaps our world would be more compassionate, more supportive, and far less judgmental.
Sometimes, I look in the mirror and wish I could understand my own brain better. I’ve battled depression for years. There were moments when something deep inside me, something I couldn’t control, sent a flood of harmful messages: “The world would be better off without you.” “Don’t bother anyone.” And “Stay quiet.”
Logically, I knew that hearing a friend’s voice or asking for help could bring relief. But my brain, misfiring in all the wrong ways, told me to stay silent. It’s maddening. It’s not weakness. It’s not drama. It’s illness.
I used to think I was fighting “inner demons.” Now, I know better. Depression is not a demon—it’s a disease. It’s not some invisible monster tearing me apart for fun. It’s a serious, diagnosable, treatable medical condition.
We need to stop seeing it as a personal failure. Until society accepts that, the suffering will continue—quietly, tragically, and often alone.
Robin Williams was a public figure, but this same disease devastates countless families in private. For years, I didn’t even recognize that my constant sadness and emotional exhaustion were symptoms of depression. Eventually, I was diagnosed and began taking medication. My doctor also recommended therapy, which became another vital part of my recovery.
Through counseling, I learned I wasn’t only dealing with depression. I also had an anxiety disorder and frequent panic attacks. At the time, I felt like a complete mess. But slowly, everything started to make sense.
Remember the classic song “I Can See Clearly Now”? That’s exactly how it felt when treatment started working. The thick mental fog began to lift. I could finally see myself—and the world—more clearly. For the first time in years, I wasn’t trapped inside unexplained emotional pain. I wasn’t “crazy.” I had a disease. And that changed everything.
Just like cancer, diabetes, or heart disease, depression requires treatment, care, and follow-up. Once my brain chemistry started to stabilize, I could finally recognize the beauty around me again. I didn’t shout my diagnosis from the rooftops, but I did share it with my close circle. Those who knew me best noticed a “new and improved” version of me—a lighter spirit, a steadier presence.
Thankfully, no one ever told me to “just cheer up.” I had mastered the art of hiding my pain in public. But behind closed doors, I would crash—hard. That’s how my brain is wired. That’s me. And learning to accept myself, to genuinely love myself, was one of the hardest and most important lessons of all.
In 2013, as I stared into the mirror, I realized it was time to turn my focus toward the realities of brain-related illnesses and injuries. Why? Because we, as a society, still cling to damaging myths. When someone suffers a heart attack or is diagnosed with cancer, their loved ones rally around them with support and compassion. But when someone’s brain starts misfiring, causing erratic or painful thoughts or behaviors, people scatter. They get scared. They judge.
I’ve broken all the conventional “rules” for managing my own depression. I’ve chosen to spend time with others who are going through the same or worse. I’ve laughed with them, cried with them, held their hands, and embraced them through the pain. Because at our core, we all just want to feel heard. We want to feel needed.
That simple, shared humanity—that connection—is part of what heals us.
With the unconditional love of my family, I’ve learned to cope with depression by giving back. I share my words, my experiences, and my heart with others. I believe that our mission on Earth is to connect, to support, to remind each other that we’re not alone.
There’s a reason there are so many of us—we’re meant to help each other. That, for me, is a lifeline.
Of course, every person’s journey is different. But one thing is universal: we must end the stigma around mental illness. We must invest in education, in awareness, in research. We must act—because depression is already costing us more lives, time, and money than we can begin to calculate.
We can’t afford to lose one more life—not one more precious human being—to something as misunderstood and untreated as depression.
And maybe, just maybe, we need to rethink the term “mental illness” altogether. It’s illness, plain and simple. No need for qualifiers.
We must continue to speak out. To listen. To ask for help—and offer it. To love, openly and unconditionally.
Because life—your life, my life, every life—is worth it.
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A very valid point, depression is never recognised as an illness, people need to understand more. Now high profile people like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge are behind it. Many celebrities have also talked about there battles with depression, Stephen Fry, Freddy Flintoff to name a few. It needs voicing by someone who is not afraid to say they suffer from depression, well done Meera x