This comment from another forum I subscribe to describes it better than I ever could.
Suicide has such a stigma around it. If your heart goes bad, it kills you. If your lungs go bad, it kills you. If your brain goes bad, it kills you, but for some reason, it has a whole different feel for the ones left behind.
We had a suicide in the family about a year ago. This family member suddenly developed a brain disorder, and eventually became an extremely paranoid schizophrenic. His life was torture. Seeing people that weren't there, people outside the windows, etc. How would you like to come home and find people in the house, nobody sees them but you, and nobody believes you? These people would attack him too. His mom once caught him fist-fighting an invisible person. One time, in the early stages of the disorder while he still had a job, he just got up and left work. He drove across town, broke into a house, fixed himself a meal, then called the police and described a burglar (describing himself). He got institutionalized at that point. Lost his job, lost his insurance.
He tried all kinds of different meds. The only thing that slowed him down was a shot that was $1000 every 2 weeks. This sucks, because he has no insurance now, and had only begun the fight for disability, so he had to apply for charity. This was terrible for a man who took pride in earning his way. He literally cried as he filled out the applications. He had severe reactions to the shots too. One time his tongue swelled up so big he couldn't shut his mouth, and he couldn't breathe.
Suddenly the reactions stopped. Everyone thought his body finally got used to it. One cloudy cold morning, he got up, said he was going shopping. He drove to house where he was raised (his father still lived there but wasn't home). He got a 12 gauge out of the closet and did the deed.
Now, we were all devastated of course. But after you get over the agony of the loss, and start to look at what happened objectively, you start to understand. We talked to his doctor, and turns out, he had cancelled his appointments. He had only been pretending to go. Because of HIPA laws, nobody could tell us that. That's why the reactions stopped. It was simple, he decided the torture would end. I think he was glad to do it. I had to go pick his car up at the scene of the suicide. When I got in and turned the key, the radio was playing very loud on a bubble-gum pop station. I think he was almost giddy to have it over with. And you know what? I get it. I get suicide. Until you have seen it unfold before you, I don't think you really can "get it". It's not selfish, it's not cowardly, it's just a defective brain shutting you down the same way any other defective organ would.
I feel bad for Robin Williams. Just like when the body gets tired of fighting cancer cells and the cancer takes over, I think something in the brain just gets tired of fighting too. I get it. Sleep well friends, until we meet again.
Only problem there is that we have not quite perfected the brain transplant yet.