Rob Fischer has finally figured out how and where he would kill himself.

He drives past the place every day. 

“It’s terrifying,” he said. “Because what if I feel that way again someday? Will I call the people who can help me off the ledge?”

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Fischer has a therapist and a psychiatrist on speed dial. The suicide hot line is programmed into his phone under the word “Life.”

And right now, I realize, you may be reading this and thinking, “Wait, Rob Fischer? That Rob Fischer? The warm, open, funny guy who is part of the Grizzlies television broadcast team? Who wears all the colorful suits and shoes? That Rob Fischer has suicidal depression?”

Yes, he does.

Indeed, that’s why he has decided to talk about it for the first time. That’s why he is sitting across from me, explaining the anguish that is hardwired into his days and reading me a quote from Robin Williams, the actor and comedian who killed himself in 2014:

“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”

It’s not about what you have

Fischer, 48, might be the last Memphian you’d think would suffer from suicidal depression.

I mean, the guy has it all.

“I’ve got the dream job that I wanted as a kid,” he said. “I have an amazing wife, two beautiful children, I make a good living. So when people ask me what I have to be depressed about, I have to say, ‘I don’t know.’ ” 

That is the thing too many people don’t understand about depression, of course. It’s not about anything. 

It’s a feeling of emptiness, worthlessness, futility.

“It’s feeling small, feeling lost, feeling like the world is out to get you,” Fischer said. “It’s wondering, every single day, how am I going to get through the day and be positive? How can I keep myself active and moving forward? I keep a list, every day. And it’s not just a to-do list. It’s a list of things I can do to keep going and feeling good.”

Fischer remembers the first time he knew he was different. He wrote about it in a short letter he titled “The Demons Inside.”

“It was Christmas night 2004,” he told me. “I was back in St. Louis, at my mother’s house. And my hair wouldn’t lay right. I was so frustrated, I pounded the sink. I couldn’t fix my hair, and I started crying and screaming, screaming at myself, and then I punched a hole in the bathroom wall. And then I sat on the floor, shaking, crying, saying this is not normal, this is big.”

Fischer sought treatment from a therapist in St. Louis after that incident. He saw a psychiatrist in Memphis a couple of times.

“I was told I had bipolar suicidal depression, which is a lot to hear,” he said. “But I started taking meds, which helped.” 

At least, they helped as long as Fischer took them. But that’s the sneaky thing about depression. Once you’ve done the things that can make you feel better, it can urge you to unravel the things that made you feel better, telling you that you don’t need them anymore.

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“I stopped taking my meds, and I thought I was doing great,” he said. “That led to my worst day ever, May 29, 2018. I don’t know what triggered it, but I was in the bed, crying, and I got to the point where I wanted to kill myself. I thought about how I’d do it, and how to make sure my wife got the insurance, and how to do it so my kids wouldn’t find me. And even though thinking those things terrified me, I didn’t stop thinking about how to end my life.”

Fischer texted his radio partner, Brett Norsworthy, to tell him he couldn’t do the show that day.

“He asked if I had eaten something bad,” Fischer said. “I told him it was mental. He texted back and said, ‘Don’t do anything stupid, OK?’ ”

But Norsworthy didn’t leave it at that. He followed up with other people he knew cared about Fischer, including former Commercial Appeal reporter Ron Tillery, who lives just down the street from Fischer.

“Not that long after, I was in my garage, having a cigarette, crying my eyes out, when Tillery comes walking up and gives me a hug,” Fischer said. 

Tillery coaxed Fischer to join him at a bar for a drink. The day turned out OK.

“But usually, after I had a bad day, I’d be better the next day,” Fischer said. “This time, I couldn’t shake it. Every time I was alone, I’d think about that day. And I finally figured it out. I figured out how and where I would do it. I can start shaking a little, just thinking about it now.”

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Fischer has thought about talking about his depression for several years now, on the theory that it might help others going through the same thing. He actually called my cell phone nearly two years ago to talk to me about writing a column, but hung up when he got my voicemail.

“I don’t want a pity party,” he said. “That is the last thing I would want, because that would only make me feel worse. I just want people to know they are not alone, and that talking about it helps, and that depression is real and can happen to anyone.”

That last point is particularly important. Depression can happen to anyone.

“I remember when Robin Williams killed himself,” Fischer said. “The immediate reaction was, ‘How can someone so happy want to kill himself?’ Well, I perceive myself as someone who is considered pretty happy, who gets along with everyone. So when he passed, I saw myself in him.

“A few years later, Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade killed themselves within a matter of weeks. I think that was the moment when people started to realize that fame, job, lifestyle, those things don’t matter. It isn’t about being depressed. It’s about having depression. When you’re depressed, people can define what they’re depressed about. But when you have depression, you can’t define it. But you’re going to be dealing with it every day of your life.”

These days, Fischer has a lot more good moments than bad. He has a therapist and a psychiatrist he trusts. But when his wife, Dipti, called him not long ago to tell him their backyard fence had fallen down, he found himself sitting in a church parking lot, sobbing, for more than an hour.

“I can get angry at the smallest thing because it feels like the things just pile on,” he said. “You drop your soap in the shower, and then you’re cleaning the counter and you spill sugar everywhere, and then you go to put something in the car and you hit your head on the car, and you feel like the world hates you, and you start cussing and screaming.

“There are times when my children are around, and they see me have an outburst. And then the thing is, I’ll get even angrier at myself, at why I got angry in the first place, and I’ll hate myself for doing it, it always comes back to hating myself.”

It’s hard to fathom, isn’t it? That the sunny, upbeat Fischer we all see on the TV can be in as much pain as those words suggest?

But that’s exactly why Fischer thought it so important to talk about this. Because if depression can happen to him, it can happen to anyone.

The TV persona isn’t an act, either. It’s more of an escape.

“I love entertaining people, that’s pretty much my goal every day,” Fischer said. “We have a great time on the set. It’s genuine, we have such a good group. Until recently, the only people who knew about my depression were my family and my television family. They’ve been even more supportive than I could have hoped.”

Fischer made a recent promise to his colleagues, one the rest of us might take to heart.

“I told them that now, when they ask me how I am, I won’t lie,” he said. “That’s what we usually do, isn’t it? We say we’re doing great. But if you ask me now, I’ll tell you how I’m feeling. And I’ll thank you for caring enough to ask.”

Which brings us once again to what Fischer hopes will come of this. He hopes it will make it easier to talk about mental illness, easier to seek and offer help. NBA players Kevin Love, Paul George and DeMar DeRozan have all been open about their mental health challenges. The sunlight can feel good. 

“The worst thing for mental illness is loneliness,” Fischer said. “People who have it think they’re all alone. But they need to express it, they need to talk about it and they need to get help, because it’s the only way they’re going to feel better and survive.

“For everyone else, if you know someone who is struggling, send them a text or give them a call. We just need someone to make sure we’re OK — because a lot of times, we’re not.”

If you are depressed, if you need to talk to someone, if you have thoughts of self-harm, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.