As the world struggled to make sense of Robin Williams suicide, a friend asked stand-up comedian Kermet Apio if it’s true that comedians are sad people. This was his answer.
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From the tragic loss of the brilliance that was Robin Williams has come an important discussion of depression. A friend of mine asked me on Facebook if it’s true that comedians are sad people. It’s something I think about a lot and have revisited since finding out how Robin Williams died. I have been asked to share my response, so here it is:
For many of us comedy is the only thing that works to fill the void. There’s nothing like it. Nothing.
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I don’t think sad is the right word. Comedians are generally outsiders. They relate to many, yet are truly close to few. But the isolation they feel in a crowded room is what makes them what they are. While everyone in the room is trying to figure out what they need to do in order to find their place, the comedian wants to understand why. This need to find perspective rather than accept defined norms is the basis of the comedian, and it often comes from a place of emptiness, or loss, or dysfunction. To some extent many of us are broken. Whether outcasted in school, holding pain of parental negligence or divorce, battling addiction or depression, etc., the comedian is often filling a void. On the surface, that void is curiosity, but beneath that layer, that void is often a cavern of emptiness that we need filled. And for many of us comedy is the only thing that works. There’s nothing like it. Nothing.
Comedy is hard at first. You spend the first two years eating it because there’s so much to learn. You make lifelong friends with fellow open-mikers because only they can truly understand what it’s like to have people stare blankly at EVERY word you have to say and then still want to come back again the next day. Why would anyone put themselves through that night after night for little or no money? Because they have to. They need it. That one laugh in a 3 minute set is enough to keep it going. People often tell me they could never do what I do. That it’s the hardest thing to do. I am always baffled by that. 99% of Americans work harder than I do, but how many would want to stand in front of total strangers and talk for 45 minutes? Very very few. But for me, I don’t consider it hard because I need to be doing it. On stage I feel like I’m answering the questions, I’m connecting with people, I’m in control, I’m fighting back the demons, there’s laughter in the room. For many, that hour makes the other 23 bearable.
We are each trying to live in a world we don’t quite trust.
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Certainly becoming a husband and father changed the perspective a lot for me, but at the root of all this there is still this drive inside me to seek this visceral reaction from strangers. It will always be there. It’s who I am. So although many comedians do suffer from some form of depression, I wouldn’t say we are sad. I would say that to different extents we are each trying to live in a world we don’t quite trust. We are trying to answer questions. We are trying to solve it all, which at times can seem futile, because it is. I can’t speak to suicide as I have never been to that point. But I can say that there is a lot of pain and doubt in comedy. And trust me, it’s what makes comedy so enjoyable to watch.
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Originally published on Kermet Apio‘s Facebook page. Reprinted with permission. Photos used with permission.
Brother Kermet,
Your honesty and authenticity are equaled only by your wit and timing. I am so proud of you for lighting up our lives every chance you get. And yeah, creating is hard. It means living in a world others don’t see until you show them. And when you show them, who knows if they’ll buy in. Maybe, maybe not. Does that create a bit of discomfort that never quite eases away? Wow, if they only knew.
Keep making us laugh, we need the medicine!