Many years ago when I was still a young girl, I used to rush home from school each afternoon so that I could tune into my favorite television drama titled Dark Shadows. It was a gothic soap opera that stood out as an original in its time. Filming took place at Lyndhurst Estate, which dates back to 1767 and resides outside of Tarrytown, New York. To the show’s devotees Collinwood Mansion was the perfect classic setting where veteran stage and film actress, Joan Bennett, presided over the Collins clan. The mansion’s striking figure during opening credits must have made every loyal watcher such as me envision what it must be like to live in such graceful fashion, even if it was just a little bit ominous in stature.

During its five year tenure, the show played host to every conceivable stereotype from vampires and werewolves to witches and warlocks, even zombies decades ahead of The Walking Dead. To a girl like myself whose age had barely pierced double digits, the show represented an escape into a world of make believe where fright and intrigue both reigned supreme. Watching it taught me to maintain a healthy respect for that which lurked deep within the shadows, far out of sight from whatever eyes might pry. But at least back then I was comforted by the fact those demons didn’t really exist, therefore there was nothing to fear from those dark shadows in particular, because once I turned off the television set any implied threat no longer endured.

By today’s standards it was cheesy at best, which was amplified in the 2012 remake featuring Johnny Depp and Michelle Pfeiffer, which however proved to be a disappointment to loyal fans such as myself who could have appreciated an updated version that respected the integrity of the original ground-breaking series versus making it into a parody. But alas I digress ….

Fast-forwarding a couple of decades, I was forced to view those same dark shadows in an entirely different light, if you’ll forgive me turning a phrase, as they became a semi-constant threat from an imposing enemy who resided within, frequenting my sub-conscious with the intent of exhausting every ounce of peace from my mind. Brought on by the pressures of raising two children on my own – one of which who was troubled at the time – while remaining married to a man who refused to set up housekeeping in any traditional sense of the word couldn’t help but take its toll. In the wake of my new normal, feelings of inadequacy were constantly fueled by my husband’s abandonment, thus leaving me with the troubling question, “What’s wrong with me?”

Try as I might to sustain some sense of equilibrium, I was plagued by infrequent bouts of crippling depression that sometimes descended into self-destructive behavior, which further complicated my life as I strived project an outward sense of self-control. As such I over-compensated by maintaining a perfect household while continuing to work full time and struggling to instill some sense of normalcy into our children so that they wouldn’t be forced to suffer the sins of their parents …. though I couldn’t really explain why their father wasn’t home anymore. After all how do you explain to any child that we weren’t enough to keep your daddy home?

It’s hard – if not impossible – to maintain a healthy sense of self-worth in the face of abject rejection. If a husband cheats on his spouse, oftentimes it has nothing to do with his feelings for his wife but more to do with a kind of thrill-seeking behavior designed to satisfy a temporary impulse, but when he packs his backs and drives away without notice, he is discarding everything the two of you once had and shared in search of something altogether different, thus leaving you alone to try and pick up the pieces. It's not that I'm trying to diminish that kind of pain but rather to say, "It's different."

In an effort to stabilize my self-esteem, I’d look at myself in the mirror and say you’re smart, still reasonably attractive and can converse intelligently on any number of subjects, as well as the fact that your kind and compassionate enough to oftentimes place the needs of others before your own, but in the end loneliness and despair would always win out by telling me if I were so great, I wouldn’t be alone. I literally tormented myself for years until a failed suicide attempt placed me in an all-expense paid, three-day vacation in the Middle Tennessee State Mental Institution where I found myself in a coed ward surrounded by people whose problems were so much greater than my own. In the end I know I didn’t really wish to die …. I just wanted to stop the pain, to make it go away and leave me alone once and for all. That was back in 1999, and although I still have to battle my own inner demons on occasion, I no longer resort to foolish or reckless behavior in an effort to strangle the demons who still occasionally whisper in my ear.

It’s not that I like talking about such a painful period in my life, but with the tragic recent passing of Robin Williams from suicide, I feel compelled to do my part in helping to remove the stigma attached to mental illness. It’s easy from the outside looking in to think you know someone …. particularly celebrities whose characters we become so attached to onscreen, but you can never judge the amount of pain anyone might be carrying around inside until you walk a mile in their shoes. I know firsthand depression strips you of all dignity and mercilessly toys with your perception of reality until you can feel like the world would be a better place without you. When you couple that with the kind of self-destructive behavior that can only lead to regrets, then you really are fighting a battle that can very well lead to your own destruction, and it’s only through some dramatic intervention, that you will eventually find death or a means to survive. I was one of the lucky ones.

I of course didn’t know Robin Williams, but I was often moved by his performances. Although he was a comic genius, I most remember those roles that called upon him to reveal his innermost vulnerability as his characters struggled with a world that could on occasion be cruel and unfair. Among my favorites were Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poet’s Society, Good Will Hunting and of course The Fisher King. Those are just a few of the many parting gifts he left with us all, and because he’s no longer here, they are worth treasuring. I pray he’s found the peace that eluded him in this life. I pray others will find it as well by choosing to come out of the dark shadows and into the light.