Like a comedyu Rumplestilskin.

Another of our perennial subjects came up in therapy yesterday, and that’s the idea of my mining my depression for comedy gold.

It seems like such an obvious choice. I have depression. I have made comedy skills. Stand-up comedy these days is full of people who are super confessional and talk about their deepest darkest pain and depression is like the top seller in that market.

One would think I am sitting on a gold mine here.

But of course. it’s not that simple.

Why? Because, like I told my therapist. I am just not there yet.

I will need to heal some more and by doing so get more detachment from my depression before I can turn it into comedy.

Right now. the depression is still in the way. When I try to apply my comedy skills to my depression, I get this ache in my heart that says “nope”.

And it’s not something I am prepared to force.

I am closer than I have ever been, though. That ache, that particularly wall of ice, has never been thinner and I don’t think it will be too long before it melts away.

It’s just a matter of time.

Part of the problem (and part of the depression) is that I just can’t imagine anything from my long non-life being worthy of attention, let alone funny. I lead a very boring life, and have done so for a very long time. My life is very low on events. Or any other kind of content, for that matter.

I spend all day on the computer.

Plot twist : I also eat, poop, and sleep!

Not at the same time, of course. Ba dump bump.

Like, what’s to write about there? I’ve never being institutionalized. I have never attempted suicide. I’ve never had dramatic breakdowns or hilarious misadventures with the wrong medication.

I can’t talk about mean people not understanding my needs as a person with depression – I’ve never encountered that. Nobody has ever stood over me and demanded I do things I can’t do and can’t explain why. I have never had misguided extroverts force me to socialize against my will. I have never broken down and not been able to meet my responsibilies – I don’t have those kinds of responsibilities.

All I have is decades of playing video games and hanging out online. My depression is remarkably storyline free.

But perhaps I am defining things too narrowly. I could do comedy about the miserable childhood that led to the depression.

But it would be extremely bitter and cold comedy. Probably not comedy at all. It would just be me unloading my crap to strangers, and while that can be very good for all concerned, it sure isn’t comedy.

That’s the thing, though. It’s not that I’m shy. I am perfectly willing to open up to a room full of strangers about my depression. I am perfectly capable of picking up a microphone and using my power of personality and verbal skills and all that to project my life and my pain and my fucked up head to an audience.

In fact, to be honest, I would probably love it. Getting paid to talk about my deepest feelings in front of a group of people who have actually paid money to hear them?

I could do that all day.

The problem comes when I try to imagine making that funny. The closest I can get to that imagning myself writing it seriously and assuming that because this is me we are talking about, I will end up making it funny anyway.

But at least from how I see it right now, it would not be a comedy. It would be a dark drama with some comedic moments.

And what the hell would I talk about? My depression is not all that special. The only angle I have is that I was a neglected child instead of an abused one.

Although, come to think of it. I was abused too. by the bullies. So, a twofer.

And there is the fact that I was raised without religion. which is pretty rare. Most people were at least raised in a lapsed religion – you know, the “technically, we’re Lutherans, I guess’ kind of religion where you almost never go to church and don’t really think about that kind of thing very often.

A religion that is conspicuous by its abscence, in a sense.

And while being raised sans religion might not seem to have a direct connection to my depression. I can’t help but wonder if religion might have helped.

Other than that, I suppose all I have to offer is my unique and spectacular self. And my ability, as my fave teacher Blair Arsenault put it, to evoke great emotion.

Maybe that would be enough. I know I have the charisma and prescence to hold an audience spellbound. I know that I am a pretty darn good storyteller. I know I can tell my story in a way that evokes both empathy and sympathy.

So maybe all I really need to do is stop thinking of it as stand up comedy and start thinking of it as being a public speaker instead.

Because I truly believe that I can help people that way. I think I could connect with them and we could share our pain and heal our wounds and spend some quality time just being human together.

There’s not enough of that in the world today. It’s a good thing that I think I could bring forward in time from the 70’s. Human connection, man. Encounter groups. Rap sessions. People just getting together to be together, you dig?

I can see myself traveling the world as a public speaker, having these encounters with people where I talk for a while and then I lead and/or facilitate discussion.

I would love that. The opportunity to do that sort of thing is the whole reason I wanted to be a therapist. Maybe this would be a way for me to achieve that dream by sneaking in through the back door.

But how does one even get started at such a thing?

Maybe all you can do is find someplace where they will let you speak, spread the word about your speech, then go there and hope someone shows up.

It’s that middle step that freaks me out.

But at least I have something going in my head now.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,.