Sad Clown

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• September 12, 2016

I sort of unintentionally (or maybe subconsciously intentionally) drew some attention to myself as someone who suffers from severe depression.  It’s not an act of bravery to write about such things.  At least I don’t see it that way, and I cringe when people applaud me for opening up about my demented thoughts.  My blog, for me, is a writing exercise, and a way for my brain to take a dump.  Yes, these blogs are brain shits:  Things on my mind I like to get out of the way so I can write what I really want to write. If you enjoy my brain shits, I think that’s awesome, and thank you for coming back.  This shit is a dark one. Brace yourself.

After publishing a blog called “Stop It,” some people reached out wondering if I was okay, which was kind and appreciated, but I was genuinely confused about it.  I didn’t think that blog was particularly sad.  And the summer has delivered a much needed enlightening respite from what had been a challenging and unstable year in so far.  Then, I re-read what I wrote.  And I realized, “wow, that is really depressing.”  Perhaps the most disturbing part of the blog being that I didn’t think there were any red flags in it, when every sentence was a red flag.

As a rule, if I’m talking (more likely, writing) about it, I’m probably doing okay.  But what might be alarming to the average person has become the norm for me.

This is, impart, because comedians are really depressed people.  And we’re open about it (if not on stage, then to one another).  I mostly spend time with comedians, and it’s refreshing, because no one tries to fix you.  While joking about how we’re going to kill ourselves may be our form of (fucked up) medicine, the empathy is felt and understood.

The question has been raised many times.  Why are comedians so goddamn sad?  While I can only speak for myself, I assume as much for many of my brothers and sisters in comedy: depression is why we got into comedy.  Or at least part of it.  This is not the chicken or the egg scenario.  The depression came first.

For me, my first serious bout of depression was in my late teens, which is text book manic depression, even though it confused the shit out of me because I had a happy childhood, and had always been a pretty jovial kid.  At this time, I worked in a nursing home, which only reinforced the belief that life was shit, and death was the reward.  I did not seek help.  No one suspected I was anything but okay. Because that’s how I wanted it. These burdens were mine, and mine alone, and I would fix them, and I feel that way to this day.  I’d cycle out of this depression, and not have a another bad low until about three years later.

I had a sort of epiphany that was probably drug induced (how anyone has epiphanies without drugs, I’ll never know).  I knew then what I know now, and that’s if I spent 40 hours a week at a job I hated with people I did not care for, I would, for certain, kill myself.  Without question.  I will not stick out that life.  In most envisioned futures, the depression wins.

So, when you’re in the bottom of a pit you dug for yourself, something happens.  You stop giving a shit.  And when you stop giving a shit, something happens in your brain, and you have either the confidence or the delusion (probably delusion) to pursue impossibilities.  And that right there, is why there are so many psychotic people in comedy.  Mystery solved.

Even now, when I’m the happiest and most clear headed I’ve been in a while, I’d still prefer quality over quantity when it comes to years in life.  I say this about football players all the time.  If given the opportunity to make millions doing what you love but die middle aged, I’d sign up for that every time.  Give me thirty something rockin’ years over boring longevity.  Like Jesus.  Even in the 27+ years I’ve been alive, I’d still choose my life over almost any one else’s, even if I died next year.  I’m fully aware I’m not in the majority on this.

Hunter S Thompson said, “I’d feel real trapped in this life if I didn’t know I could commit suicide at any time.” And I remember reading that, and feeling such a sense of relief.

I once went to the movies (as I often do), and there was an elderly man ripping tickets.  He was happy doing it.  He made (very bad) jokes to the movie goers.  I was going to see a movie with Johnny Depp, and he said, “oh that Johnny, he’s a looker.”  “Yah,” I agreed, and stared at him with such curiosity.  How was he happy doing this?  I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t killed himself, let alone enjoyed this life.  What is wrong with people?

This is what I do.  I walk around New York all the time, wondering why people aren’t committing suicide left and right.  I genuinely do not understand it.   I’m not trying to be an asshole here (it comes naturally).  I don’t get what keeps people going.  I just don’t get it.  Most people are zombiefied, media fed, religion brainwashed, unhappy beings, looking forward to one or two days a week, or seeing one or two people.  I know for a fact I’m crazy.  I know it.  But too often do I feel like the most sane person on the planet, and that scares the shit out of me.

But maybe there’s nothing wrong with them.  Maybe it’s me?

When Robin Williams committed suicide, there was a tremendous out pour of people calling him a coward, a weak person, and all sorts of horrible things.  Granted, Williams had an unbelievable career.  I was more disturbed by the anger towards Williams suicide than his actual suicide.  Those who cannot fathom suicide are so lucky. Why can’t they realize how lucky they are.

Depression runs rampant in the comedy community like bed begs in the East Village.  And we help each other out.  There are a handful of comics who have talked me off the ledge many times.

People drawn to comedy cannot be sufficed by the simple life and/or simple things.  I don’t know why a stable job, a house, a family, drinks on the weekends is not enough for me.  It was never really an option.  Comics, like many artists, have black holes which I’m unsure can ever really be fulfilled.

In a lot of ways, comedy is good for us.  Comedy is a precise art of words, and eliciting involuntary reactions from strangers every few seconds.  If you can’t see how fucking difficult that is, you are a moron.  Performing is a form of freedom.  Killing is a high only known to comics.  Comedy did not save my life, however.  I did.  By choosing a life worth fighting for, I equipped myself with a sword and shield to fight my own demons.

Alas, entertainment is a world that perpetuates bad habits.  Drinking.  Drugs.  Rejection.  Loneliness.  Poverty.  Self doubt.  Frustration.  And what you get, is an already broken person with even more cracks, and the black hole grows.  The shield gets damaged.  The sword gets heavy.  And every time an artist declares hatred for their art, it’s a lie.  It’s just animosity towards oneself.

It doesn’t bring me any joy or relief when someone reaches out and tells me they can relate to such words.  Half the time, I can’t relate to my own words.  If it were up to me, I’d be the only depressed person in the world, and every one can stare at me, thinking, “what the fuck is wrong with her?”  Unfortunately, I’m not alone.

As stated before, the last couple months I’ve been in a very stable mind set, and been without a single panic attack for over two months.  I’ve been writing a lot, and excited about some projects I’m working on.  It’s only now when I feel okay that I realize how far I slipped earlier this year, and in this mindfulness, I’ve been getting some help.  But I was stubborn about it for a long time.  Depression is my burden, and I will deal with it.  But it beat the shit out of me.  That being said…

If you’ve ever known someone to kill themselves, please do not blame yourself.  Do not beat yourself up with “what if’s.”  That’s unfair to you and them.

Second, if you’ve ever been suicidal, don’t reach out to me, I’ll probably encourage you to do it (kidding… sort of).  But seriously, hang in there.  Try.  Get up.  Hold on.  I know how fucking hard that is, but just try.