Literally the day after another article stimulated me to write about writing and depression, I came across this article about comedy and mental illness to stimulate a slightly different lobe of the brain.

First, let’s discuss the article itself. It is a fascinating subject for a crazy comedy nerd myself, but I think it started from a flawed thesis (loosely deduced, it might be stated as “Is mental illness good or bad for comedy?”) and then explicates that thesis in a raw and unfocused, and hence unsatisfying, manner.

There is plenty of potentially interesting stuff in the article, but without a clear and well established thesis to add structure to the stream of observations, it ultimately, in my opinion, fails to deliver.

Perhaps I would be less judgmental of the article if the premise did not appeal to me so much. And I will say right here and right now, I am not saying I could do better.

My own writing often lacks focus and coherence, especially the stuff I write for this space, so that too perhaps informs my opinion of the piece.

Still, I don’t think anyone has ever seriously proposed that mental illness is universally good for comedy. Sure, a lot of comedy people are tightly wound and neurotic, and there is probably a pretty good reason why a lot of successful comedians drink, do drugs, or otherwise show signs of self-medicating depression or anxiety.

And sure, a comedy type might make a crack about how backstage at the comedy club seems like group therapy, or how they become a standup comedian because it was cheaper than therapy (ha, ha, ha).

But I think the article goes a little far in trying to explore that.

Still, it is an interesting topic, so here are my thoughts on it.

I think there is some truth to the notion that the funniest people are the ones who truly need to laugh. It is a deep pain and darkness of the soul that provides the driving force for honing one’s comedic skills. The constant pressure to amuse oneself and hence chase away the darkness inside is the same pressure that forges the mind into a comedy-generating machine, one that constantly seeks out the funny side of things just to try to maintain some sort of island of safety out of remembered laughter in a deep dark sea of depression.

That, certainly, could lead to somebody becoming a comedy fan. But not all fans of something try to do it themselves. What drives the comedy fan to become a comedy producer?

Well, you know what is better than making yourself laugh? Making others laugh. Especially if you are shy and/or neurotic and/or nerdy enough that you have a lot of problems relating to people in the usual way.

You make people laugh, and then bask in that glow of approval and happiness. Making people laugh is especially attractive to sensitive, empathic people, because you get to enjoy their happiness as well as your own. Making people happy makes high empathy people happy. It is just that simple.

So is there a relationship between comedy and mental illness? Yes. But it does not necessarily mean that mental illness and comedy are joined at the hip, and the article’s final conclusion (such as it is) that some mental illness is good for comedy, but not TOO much… well, that’s hardly earth shattering, is it?

I mean, like, DUH.

Myself, I really want to make people laugh. I want to make others happy in the way that comedy has made me happy. Like all true artists, I want to create that which has been good to me.

And I definitely also crave the approval and rewards for making people laugh. That includes the financial, obviously. Hey, I live on $8K/year, money is kind of on my mind all the time, in the way someone who is slowly starving to death thinks about food a lot.

That was sort of a joke.

But I am not particularly interested in standup. While I have been known to greatly enjoy performing (like a lot of shy people, I have a hammy side (a side of ham?), too), for some reason, being a standup comedian does not appeal to me.

I am a little surprised to note this, as I was really into standup at a certain point of my life. Certainly, during the standup comedy boom of the 1980s, I soaked up all the standup I could.

But never during that time did I really imagine myself as a comedian. Perhaps I am too shy for the job, I don’t know. Or even back then, I had some clue that I was better suited to writing than performing.

But does that have to do more with my mental illness than with free choice? Certainly it would make sense for a shy but creative person to prefer the role of creating the comedy but not being in the limelight for the actual end user experience.

But I have performed, and without much in the way of stage fright. I experienced anxiety before the performance (in plays, not standup) but it was the sort of alternately pleasant and painful sort of anxiety that mixes excitement, anticipation, and trepidation. Certainly, it never made me not want to perform. Performing is hella fun.

So why not become a comedian? I could just write my routine, practice it, then treat standup like I am doing a one person play every time.

Still not appealing to me. Standup is such a limited art form. I want to paint on a much larger canvas than that. Writing funny novels might just be the right art form for me.

I can write as big as I want without worrying about how to stage it, or shoot it, or whatever. The novel is one of the most powerful forms of expression for that exact reason.

Hmmm. I might not have gotten to the core of the link between mental illness and comedy, but I may have just figured out what to do with my life.

I’ll take it.