Dying From Laughter

My DJ instructor and I were talking the other day about the high suicide rate amongst comedians. My Scratch lessons are usually three hours; the first hour is just for catching up. Esquire and I need a lot of yenta time. It’s usually a mix of my personal life (during which he laughs both at and with me), random facts and events, life philosophy, pop culture, and whatever other bizarre topics weave their way into our airspace. These discussions are just one of the ways I’m certain he was divinely placed on my life. I cannot flourish or learn unless I’m deeply connected to someone. It’s just my process. I’d never have been the student who comes to class, sticks only to the musical task at hand, then slips out back on to the streets of Manhattan. I was BFF with my trainer of ten years, BFF with my contractor, BFF with my OBGYN, and BFF with my BFF’s. It’s just how I’ve always rolled. There’s either a closeness or not. As an aside, I’m working on finding a balance in other areas of my life. There needs to be a middle ground sometimes, just not with my Sensei.   

Anyway, we were contemplating the correlation between suicide and hilarity. This has always seemed like an obvious pairing to me, much like the suicide rate amongst musicians. I’ve never questioned that ratio either. Don’t misunderstand me; it’s horrible, tragic, and always leaves me feeling bereft when a true talent in the world vanishes. Someone who made us laugh will never do that again. Someone who made us dance and feel will never help us articulate our stuff stuff again. Not that anyone’s tragedy is ever about us. Of course not; it’s just that their special creative gift gave us something, even if it was several moments of feeling understood at a time we needed it desperately. This human gig is SO HARD. It is these intensely creative souls, especially the funny ones, who notice everything about the lunacy of the human condition. They miss nothing, zero in on the minutia and nuances of life, and spin it into a joke that our brains, bellies, and weak vaginal muscles react to. What is downright depressing or messed up is made lighter by highlighting the truth of it in a kick ass, dry delivery. Some of the best moments of my adult life have been spent jammed into a tiny, sticky table with strangers in the basement of a dirty New York City comedy club. Listening to these comedians dissect the overwhelming nuttiness of being alive. Whether it’s joking about a hot dog, divorce, a bizarre sexual experience, religion, or the batshit moments found in the mundane workplace, it all feels better once it’s brought to light on a dark stage. It is both a gift and a curse to notice things to such an extent. Bob Marley once said that his biggest blessing and biggest problem is that he notices everything. As a fellow human who notices a lot and picks up on surrounding energies constantly, I relate completely. It’s the details that make life so beautiful yet so painful, and the onslaught of information can indeed feel like an assault on the senses. The more you notice and see, the more the mind has to contend with. I imagine that for a deeply sensitive person who can’t escape all the swirling, often harsh facts of life, the only way out is well, out. Clearly anyone who takes their own life is grappling with some degree of mental illness, and that can’t be discounted. So when you’re a person whose purpose in life is to make everything funny, but you  just can’t anymore, then what? When the laughs die down and the humor feels like denial...?

Those who create are those who feel on levels the average person most likely doesn’t have access to (yet or ever). Creatives just operate differently. Their language is their own. To not create is to die anyway. When the bleak, ice cold reality of life is too painful to tolerate, and all that you notice and internalize makes it too hard to function, indeed not having to function seems easier. It’s the same layered well of pain that causes these comedians to extract the razor sharp laughs from a situation. Laughing and crying in the extreme sense are both considered “hysterical”. People always say “If you don’t laugh you cry”. It’s because they are so closely related. Some of the funniest stuff in life is also the darkest. To notice those things and turn painful truths into entertainment is a true gift. My favorite guests on the Howard Stern show are the comics. Next are the singer songwriters, but I’m endlessly fascinated by the funny ones. Because humor is gospel to me, especially when it’s cutting and the blow of the observation comes down hard and fast. Most of the time it’s stuff that’s crossed our minds before; so not only are our musings validated and we feel in on the joke, but we get to laugh at ourselves too. Self deprecation is such a crucial tool to have.  It’s so important not to take life too seriously. There must be a balance of heavy and light, as in all things. These comedians show us how to do that. Joan Rivers, the reigning queen of comedy, turned her beloved husband’s suicide into one of her most famous bits. She took her tears and made them laughs. It was her way of coping and going on, and she included her audience in her pain. Joan was a soldier who laughed her way through life into her 80’s, until some idiot doctor killed her during routine surgery. I swear I’ve fantasized about tracking him down and vindicating her. She wasn’t ready to die, just like so many of these comedians don’t feel equipped to live anymore. It’s too hard, too sad. It’s not funny anymore. And without the humor there’s no more oxygen. I loved Brody Stevens, the most recent comic to end his life. He was so great. This post is dedicated to him. I thank him for all the laughs he injected into my life, and mourn the jokes I’ll never get to hear. Laughter really is the best medicine, but as we know, not everything is curable.