I like being alone. At least, Ive convinced myself that Im better off that style. But no one would be able to decipher that through my giggle, or my sly little grin whenever I make the people around me laugh. No one would be able to see how I sit alone at the end of the day, after everybody else has gone home and left me by myself, as I loath and stare at the various posters on my walls I put up to confuse me from the deep rooted, inevitable sadnes I was destined to suffer from. Posters of my once favorite band Nirvana, to one of my favorite movies The Breakfast Club, and even the swirly, different technique utilizing painting of The Starry Night, made by an equally tormented spirit that went by the name of Vincent Van Gogh.
How many funny people do you know? Perhaps your dad was once a funny guy, building you laugh until youre blue in the face at the dinner table, perhaps your best friend is more hilarious person you know, or perhaps, its that kid who will fissure gags, but for the most component sits by himself, omitting himself from social activity in the classroom. Well, that child is me. And theres a reason that comedians are regularly detached from humanity: They insure the world for what it is , not what the media wants you to think, and for that very reason, is why comedians are the most messed up people you could ever meet, emotionally and mentally.
Being comedic, in my intellect, is a trait that one is born with. A trait as normal as having two different colored eyes like me. Its not normal to be a comedic person and sometimes the comedians recognize that theyre different from the other children in school. Perhaps they have a different ethnicity, a different colored mom compared to their daddy, or even theyre just plain chubby and not as energetic as other children. Whatever the occurrence is a possibility, theres a simple fact that comes with it that kids will not see you as equal. In my example, Ive always been overweight, and Ive recognized it since around Kindergarten, when I had to play with myself on the playground, inducing rocky mountains out of the little pebbles dusting the playground, giggling to myself as I knocked it down when the teacher blew the whistle to go back inside. What were the other kids doing? The popular kids, the skinny kids, the children that were operate of the mill troublemakers? They were playing with other kids, socialize, because those kids wanted those kids to play with them. They never wanted me, and I knew that. But one day, for one reason or another, I did something. Maybe I fell over, or perhaps I passed gas, or perhaps I just plain said something out of the unusual. Children giggled with me , not at me. For once in my life, people were laughing at me for something other than my weight, or my long, blonde curly hair, or how unusual my dark chocolate brown and greenish hazel irises were compared to their dull brown ones. They were laughing at me for me.
My childhood characteristic of observing alternative means of doing things or maintaining myself busy has carried on into my teenage life. As a fifteen going on sixteen Midwest teenager, Im always trying to find another way to do things, in fear that Ill do it wrong and be ridiculed by the kids who could do it right. Whether it be a different way to use a geometric compass, or a different way to build the same painting in fifth period, or using a modification to my workout in weight lifting class. Even if it meant that Id look different, I will not be seen as another pushover kid.
If you know a funny person who hasnt experienced some genuinely rough crap in their life, Id tell you that hes either a liar or hes just really, REALLY good at hiding his ache. Im the latter. I have found ways to construct my ache into different mediums of literature and art that I could be called a modern day Renaissance Man. But theres always that one little thing that I havent been able to sink my teeth into, and that was the believed to be the working day it will be become too much, and I will attempt to end it. To transgress emergency situations glass with the mallet and pull the lever to fell the floor out from under me, emergency situations lever that says Okay, this was fun , now leave me alone. Comedy is usually a product of the cancer cells that form on the spirit, just to cope with that overall feeling of dread and suffering that you always have.
Comedians dont have very many friends, I use the word friend very sparingly because the word friend in my experience is a word that has been beaten to the ground. Some people realize that the reason theyre funny is a defence mechanism, myself included. Because I had a very scarce friend listing up to this phase in my life, Im divided up into two different personalities, completely different from each other. The funny, always clowning, prankster comedic dork that most people know me for, and then the side people dont consider. The side that merely maybe a few friends of mine have ever had the pleasure of consider. The side that uncovers every single flaw I have, from my crippling loneliness, to my tormented genius complex, to my artwork, even this writing right now. This isnt the jester. This is me, and in the end, me is just a scared, lonely fat child with walls around him, afraid to bringing another person in his kingdom in dread of the potential risk he could be opening himself up to. But when hes that jester, hes got the whole world in his hands, and that shy, scared kid goes back to his reclusive tendencies and lets the jester do what he could never do stimulate people love him.
Do you have a close friend that if asked who they were, you would say the funniest person you know, and one day they abruptly stopped being funny, and was quiet and brooding and you didnt know why? Its since they are felt close enough to you that they could let the clown have a break for the night, and prove you who they actually are: Every scar, every wound, every little dig in their scalp, every piece of the broken puzzle that stimulates up the person or persons you call your best friend. I guess the phase Im trying to make you realize here, is that your best friend is at a bigger risk to the working day end their own lives than the average person, simply because they cant make anyone relate to them, because no one but a fellow comedian would understand the pain they have to trudge in. Be there for your best friend, because they were always there for you when you were down, making you giggle even in the darkest hole, even if you dont think that they might need your hand to hold, extend it anyway. It might just buy your friendship another day of love and laughter.
And while he wasnt a comedian, Id like to talk about one of my all time favorite vocalists and idols, Layne Staley. Staley was in the popular metal band from the 90 s called Alice in Chains, and if you ask anyone he associated with, theyd tell you that Layne Staley was a little kid with a funny position towards life and a heart of gold. And it was because of that heart of gold and naive tendencies that he was subjected to heroin addiction. So much so that in fact, when the addiction finally killed off Layne in April of 2002, Staley had isolated himself away from his loved ones for so long that he was received two week ago, rotting into his couch with needles under him, a needle in his leg, and a fully loaded needle in his hand. If it hadnt been for his mother noticing no fund had been taken from his bank account for about 2 week, Staley might have never been observed for months or more. How does a funny, beloved person become so tortured and numb that they isolated themselves from loved ones and destroy their talent with medications and other harmful materials, you ask? Simple. Staley didnt fit in, and it ended up killing him.
In conclusion, next time you see your favorite funny person, even if its only in the hallway or something, give them a hug or a high five or something. Let them know how much theyre appreciated, because that could induce discrepancies between them living another day or their mom determining them in their house, rotting into a lounge to an awful death that they, like many other comedians and good people, under no circumstances ever deserved. Who knows? Perhaps the next time I write something again, I have found a reason to keep dragging my navy blue Converse across the floors of my high school, or maybe I could have suffered the critical blow that pushed me over the edge, leaving my friends and family with a lost dream of what could have been. Whatever the case may be, I hope theres a reason for you to drag your shoes across the floor for another day.