Depression, Diagnosis, Disability: How Robin Williams’ death played out on social media

Mass outpourings of grief via Twitter and Facebook are now commonplace. Speaking of the death of Robin Williams, Jonathan Mahler wrote in the New York Times that, “in the age of social media, everyone is an obituary writer”, and this is evidenced whenever a celebrity dies.

We instinctively head to social media when big news breaks, to share our thoughts and see what other people are saying. Maybe there’s something cathartic about it, but we seem to need to witness how the world is reacting to the latest bad news; we see the raw, emotional responses of superstars alongside those of our closest friends.

The sheer number of tributes being shared in response to Williams’ death demonstrated clearly how many lives the funny man had touched. Many, many people were moved to speak, and everybody from Syrian protesters to children’s television shows shared their own messages of sadness and grief.

Celebrities and fans alike spontaneously cited their favourite films of his and quoted their favourite lines, and many created artistic tributes, too, tapping into the increasingly visual nature of social sharing.

Inevitably, because Williams apparently died by suicide, these moving and heartfelt tributes were intermingled with well-meaning, albeit often trite, pleas for people who are depressed to seek help and not give up hope.

The problems with over-simplifying the recovery from suicidal depression to ‘reaching out’ and ‘looking on the bright side’ have been well documented. A lot of people spoke out about long-term, chronic mental health problems that last for many years, as well as the lack of mental health support services in many areas.

The problem for people facing months, years or decades of mental distress is that talking about it only offers limited relief. Treatment options are complex and often inadequate, so while somebody experiencing their first significant bout of low mood or strange psychological symptoms may well benefit from telling somebody, in the longer term there are no quick fixes. Encouragingly, though, Williams’ death has also begun to open up some more meaningful conversations about mental health treatment, too.

These are important discussions to have, because mental distress is rarely a fleeting experience that can be eased with a single conversation or inspiring quote.

Tributes poured in, and — trolls and shock jocks aside — the overall sentiment was that Robin Williams’ death by apparent suicide was tragic. The man who had overcome substance abuse and lived with mental health problems for so long had chosen to die, and the world mourned his passing. Suicide was something we needed to fight, something to prevent, and something that had taken the great man from us. And sure, these messages were often naïve and reductive, but they were at least well intentioned.

But then, news broke that Susan Schneider, Williams’ wife, had announced that Robin had developed Parkinson’s disease. He had apparently not yet been ready to tell the world about his diagnosis.

And the social media narrative palpably shifted.

There was no less sympathy but, instead of being sad for the loss of his life, people began to suggest they now approved of his choice.

As Williams was repositioned in people’s minds as someone who was disabled or physically unwell, the element of ‘tragedy’ that resulted from his untimely death got notably smaller. Did the watching world really get less sad because the person who had died had, unbeknownst to us, become physically unwell? It seems so. In fact, his actions became understandable.

An inevitability.

And everything finally made sense.

Morticia Jay, for example, said in response to the Parkinson’s diagnosis that it sounded “more like a choice to not suffer further than to opt out of life”. This may be true, but it is a sentiment that could equally apply to his experiences of depression, and yet it was not an argument I heard in that context.

Instead, his depression – a condition no less disabling than Parkinson’s, in many cases – was something people wished he had fought to overcome. Depression was something we were all encouraged to never stop battling, to never give into. Despite depression, we were assured, there was always hope. We could cope if we tried hard enough.

Not so, it seems, Parkinson’s.

John F. Taylor expressed a sentiment that strangers in the street have approached me with. They tell me they would kill themselves if they became disabled, which is somewhat dejecting, to be honest.

The problem with this attitude is the underlying message it sends out about people who are living with disability. The kneejerk assumption that disabled lives must be unbearable does have an impact on the way disabled people are viewed by society. Perhaps it is caused, in part, by charities who rush to share how terrible things can be in order to solicit donations, and perhaps by a generally negative media narrative about our lives, but many non-disabled people simply cannot imagine being disabled without envisioning utter despair and hopelessness at the same time.

Some disability activists and others have stood up against the stereotypes that this shift in public opinion about Williams may seem to suggest. Ashleigh Tordiffe responded to a blog post on the subject with, “Disability doesn’t mean ‘better off dead’”, while TVNDY, a Canadian anti-euthanasia organisation, pointed out that having Parkinson’s “does not make suicide understandable or a rational choice”.

The way that many people stopped mourning quite so much, when they found out that Robin Williams may have killed himself to avoid the progression of Parkinson’s disease, was certainly somewhat disconcerting. Friday Wright is somebody with the disease who states she never feels she would be better off dead.

Other high-profile individuals with Parkinson’s disease include boxer Mohammad Ali, comedian Billy Connolly, athlete Roger Bannister and actor Michael J. Fox.

When the news of Robin Williams’ death was first announced, Muhammad Ali tweeted his condolences to his family, along with a photo of Ali and Williams play fighting. He has not released any further statement since the information about his Parkinson’s diagnosis has been revealed.

Michael J. Fox, on the other hand, who initially shared his sadness at Wliliams’ death, has since spoken out on a more personal level about the news of him having had Parkinson’s disease. To his 1.17 million Twitter followers, Fox said he was “stunned to learn that Robin had PD”, and shared that Williams had supported Fox’s Foundation for Parkinson’s Research.

As somebody who has the disease himself, Fox can perhaps relate all too clearly to Williams’ distress at his diagnosis. After reported problematic drinking soon after his own diagnosis, Fox is said to have got it under control with the aim of becoming an advocate for people with the condition. Rejecting pity as “another form of abuse”, he has also testified before Congress about the lack of funding for research on the disease.

Parkinson’s disease charities have also taken this opportunity to speak out about the reality of Parkinson’s disease, to offer reassurance, and to provide clear information and hope to those with the condition.

The National Parkinson Foundation shared information on the way that depression can worsen Parkinson’s disease, and the Parkinson Association of the Carolinas posted a summary of statistics and resources about the connection between the two conditions.

The intense public reaction to Williams’ death demonstrates how many lives the actor and comedian had touched. Rarely is there so little dissent when grieving occurs on social channels, and the manner of his death certainly added to the overall dismay at the loss. However, the shift in response when Williams’ Parkinson’s diagnosis was announced was very telling, and should perhaps provide food for thought for those trying to change public perceptions of disability and disabled people.

The tragedy of Robin Williams’ death is no less acute because he had been diagnosed with a physical health condition. The apparent perception that it is somehow less sad is a problematic one that we all may need to examine.

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Philippa Willitts is a British freelance writer who lives in the north of England. She mainly writes about SEO and social media, health and disability and women’s issues. You can find her on Twitter @PhilippaWrites.