Mental Illness Comic Uses Humor to Destigmatize Bipolar Disorder

by John F. O'Donnell

Listen to the author read his essay aloud:

In 2008, at the age of twenty seven, a nightmare of mine came true: I would have a destructive (and very public) manic episode after having already established my reputation as a comedian in the hyper-competitive New York City comedy scene. I was terrified that I would explode my career just as it was getting off the ground. Sadly, that’s just what happened.

But what did I expect? I wasn’t taking my medication, and I was drinking and smoking weed, constantly pouring fuel on the fire. I ended up having a severe manic episode that lasted from April through November. EIGHT MONTHS! This was ample time for me to burn so many bridges and alienate so many people. My bipolar 1 disorder had caught up with me, yet again. Honestly, I’m lucky that I survived.

I was diagnosed in October of 2000 when I was a nineteen-year-old college sophomore. It was devastating. I was in complete denial. I looked for anything else it could possibly be besides “chronic mental illness due to chemical imbalances in the brain.” I found an out-of-print book, entitled, ‘Manic-Depression: Illness or Awakening,’ that paints a very rosy picture of bipolar disorder. It portrays mania as an illuminating experience that allows one to tap into a higher level of consciousness and perceive the connectivity of all life. Cool! That sounds way better than a severe mood disorder with no cure! Let’s go with that!

By the way, bipolar disorder used to be called manic-depression which, in my opinion, sounds WAY cooler. Manic-depression sounds like something a tortured, genius artist has. Bipolar disorder sounds like, well, a DISORDER. Manic-depression implies an experience of the entirety of the human emotional spectrum. Bipolar disorder implies only two emotions: Euphoria or utter misery; Nothing in between. Plus, Jimi Hendrix wrote a really cool song called ‘Manic-Depression.’ There’s no song called, ‘Bipolar Disorder.’ That song would suck!—These last three sentences are actually the beginning of a stand up bit I wrote called the ‘Bipolar Disorder Song.’ More on that later.

In early 2007, my friend, Timmy, and I started hosting a comedy show called the ‘Kingdom of Heaven’ at a venue called ‘The Creek and the Cave’ in Long Island City, Queens, just north of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. This show became a favorite amongst comedians, and it really allowed us to develop a community. The Creek and the Cave became the comedy clubhouse for all of us weirdos and misfits to hangout and develop our craft. I can’t overstate how pivotal KOH and The Creek were for countless comedians to get their footing in the NYC comedy scene. Eventually, The Creek would develop into a full-time comedy club, and I’m very thankful to have been a part of its origin story.

Of course, it was heart-wrenching when I eventually got kicked out of The Creek when I was manic in the summer of 2008. I got kicked out because, after months of erratic and bizarre behavior and performances, I finally went too far. Drunk off of red wine and full of self-righteous insanity, I aggressively demanded that a large group of patrons immediately come into the performance space to watch the show. These people weren’t even there for comedy. They were having a celebratory birthday dinner in the restaurant portion of the venue downstairs. I proclaimed to them that the comedy show was meant to combat autism in children; something that I completely made up! They still refused to attend, so I accused them of hating children and castigated them for being Republicans. The owner of The Creek, Rebecca, was infuriated. Also, her father, who is a no-nonsense hardass, happened to be in town. In addition to being a hardass, he’s also the head of the Suffolk County, Virginia Republican Party. He rushed over to the venue with the intention of punching me out. When he arrived, though, I was now on stage weeping incoherently into the microphone. Rebecca’s dad was confused by the pathetic display he was witnessing and decided not to fight me.

My bizarre behavior saved me in this particular instant; certainly a rarity. The large group of patrons left The Creek and did not pay, and I got banned. I wish this event had a sobering effect on me, but it certainly didn’t. It just became one in a string of destructive incidents that further pushed me out of the community that I cared about so much. When I came back to the comedy scene in the Fall of 2009, after a year-long absence that was full of depression and self-loathing, The Creek and the Cave was the last place I felt comfortable returning to because I was so full of shame and embarrassment. I didn’t go back there until May of 2010. To this day, I’m deeply humbled that I received a true comedian’s welcome back. More on that later.

Thankfully, before I was manic, I had given out so much goodwill in the scene over the years that a lot of comics were rooting for me to come back. They were incredibly supportive. I’m eternally grateful for this. I also decided that I didn’t want to be a pitiable person that people felt like they needed to walk on eggshells around. So I decided that I was going to address everything that happened with my manic episode head on in my stand up and on podcasts. I really decided to own my experience with mental illness by being funny about it publicly. I seemed to instinctively understand that, if I could show people that I was able to laugh about what I had been through, nobody would have to feel bad for me. In my mind and heart, that was an important thing for me to do. I didn’t want people to feel bad for me because I didn’t feel bad for myself. I knew I wasn’t a defeated person, and I didn’t want to be perceived that way. One of the first bits I wrote that addressed my mental illness was called, ‘Sanitarium.’ Here’s part of it:

“I don’t like to say that I was in a psychiatric hospital or a mental hospital or an insane asylum or a loony bin or a nervous factory. I don’t like those terms. I like to say that I was in a sanitarium. A sanitarium! Because it sounds like a combination of three words: Sanity, aquarium, and planetarium. I like to imagine that I was put in a place that was a synthesis of those three words. Like, I was regaining my sanity by swimming with the dolphins through outer space…”

The topic of psychiatric hospitalization continues to be surrounded with stigma. It can still make people feel very uncomfortable. My ‘Sanitarium’ bit was an early attempt to broach this dark subject matter in a funny way in order to relieve some of the gravity of it all. It also was an attempt for me to share something about myself that I was embarrassed about with the hope that if I could get people to laugh with me, on my terms, it could help heal my vulnerability. It worked. More recently, I wrote a bit called, “Psych Ward,” that further attempts to destigmatize institutionalization by including the audience in a call and response. Here’s some of what I say:

“So this next one makes people feel a little bit uncomfortable. But because I have Bipolar Disorder, I’ve been in the psych ward. Or as I prefer to call it, the ‘Bin-De-Loonay,’ which is fake French for the Looney Bin. [Over the top French accent] “I’ve been in the bin-de-loonay. Because I’ve gone so craayzaay. Hawhawhawhaw.” It’s just really fun to do that. You guys wanna try? “I’ve been in the bin-de-loonay. Because I’ve gone so craayzaay. Hawhawhawhaw.” One. Two. Three. [Entire audience] “I’ve been in the bin-de-loonay. Because I’ve gone so craayzaay. Hawhawhawhaw.” It’s a little bit fun!…But it’s no big deal. Over the years, I’ve been in the psych ward very infrequently…in five states and two countries. Whatever!…New York, New Jersey, Washington, DC, California, Colorado…Ireland! What?! What?!…If I get four more stamps on my frequent insanity rewards card, I get a free cup of coffee…Served to me by the ghost of Teddy Roosevelt!”

I’ve found it challenging to write material about my experiences in the psych ward over the years, but I am proud of both of those bits. I have more material specifically about bipolar disorder. One of the first bits being the ‘Bipolar Disorder Song.’ I mentioned earlier how I prefer the term ‘Manic-Depression’ compared to ‘Bipolar Disorder’ and how Jimi Hendrix wrote a song called ‘Manic-Depression’ and how there’s no song called ‘Bipolar Disorder.’ I mentioned how that song would suck. In my bit, I say, “How would that song even go? It would probably be like…” And then I proceed to sing the ‘Bipolar Disorder Song’ that I wrote. Here’s the 1st verse:

“I got bipolar disorder, yeah. I got bipolar disorder. Which means inevitably it is my fate to become the estranged uncle. That nobody talks about at family gatherings. Because last thing they heard I was living in an abandoned ferry boat someplace down by the East River. True story! And I was telling everybody I was the messiah. True story! It is not cool to tell people you’re the messiah. How the fuck could I possibly think I was the messiah?! I no longer think I’m the messiah, but when I did, I felt super special like a big-time celebrity because really who’s more famous than him? Nobody. And now I’m normal again, so just bored all the time, relatively speaking. Messiah!”

The ‘Bipolar Disorder Song’ bit helped me to process some of the delusional thinking and bizarre actions I experienced while manic by turning all of it into an absurdist song that I could share publicly.

Now back to May of 2010. I finally decided that I was ready to return to The Creek and the Cave. Rebecca, as well as the comedians, were ready to have me back a number of months before, but I was so full of shame that I couldn’t return yet. So when I was ready, the community decided to do something amazing. My friend, Sean, came up with the idea of all the comedians putting on a ROAST of me for my first time back. Instead of watching me limp back into The Creek, full of timidity and embarrassment, my fellow comedians were going to tear me a new proverbial asshole by roasting me! In the culture of comedy, getting roasted by one’s peers is a huge sign of respect. This was a beautiful thing they were doing for me. It reintegrated me into the scene in the best way possible. Looking back on it today, all these years later, I can’t even remember any of the jokes that were hurled at me, but I do remember the feeling of the evening. I remember it being magical and redemptive and just plain fun. That was something I desperately needed. Again, what a beautiful thing!

I mentioned earlier that when I returned to the NYC comedy scene after my destructive manic episode, I decided to address everything that I went through head on in my stand up and on podcasts. This forced me to become a better comedian through challenging myself to make deeply personal experiences funny. This had the effect of making almost all of the stand-up that I wrote pre-manic episode to be no longer viable. My comedy voice had changed. I was actually forced to grow as an artist. Comedy now, for me, became a tool to both process personal pain AND to try and destigmatize mental illness for others. I began going on podcasts and explaining my experiences with bipolar disorder in an honest and vulnerable way while also being funny about it. This had the effect of a number of folks reaching out to me in appreciation for me sharing my story. This had the effect of making other people feel less alone about something they may be going through. That means the absolute world to me. That makes me feel good about myself. I find redemption in that.

I wish I could say that I got with the program and decided to make my mental health central to my life after this 2008 episode, but I certainly didn’t. Even though I had begun talking about my bipolar disorder publicly through comedy, I still wasn’t consistently taking my medication out of the fear that it would stifle my creativity. I also was not yet sober. I am lucky in the respect that I don’t have addiction issues when it comes to drugs and alcohol like the vast majority of people with bipolar disorder unfortunately do. That being said, I wasn’t mature enough to stop drinking fully until I was late into my thirties. Of course, constantly doing stand up in venues where booze is ever-present didn’t help anything. When it comes to marijuana, that’s a huge trigger for me that can induce, heighten, and lengthen manic episodes. When not manic, I’ve avoided marijuana fully for many years. When manic, however, I crave it, consume it copiously and, tragically, that feeds my psychosis.

The truth is I tried to outrun my bipolar disorder for way too long. It wasn’t until many years later, after ruining a very loving relationship and losing a dream job on TV, that I decided that I no longer wanted to subject others or myself to so much pain, fear, and disappointment. I finally took full responsibility for my bipolar disorder. So these days, I’m on medication. I’m sober. I make sure to get proper sleep. I have a support system of friends and family. I have a great psychiatrist. I’ve done a lot of great talk therapy. And I have my creative outlet of performing comedy. I’m finally covering all of my bases. I’m in a great place creatively, and I have a clearly defined sense of purpose in this life: To use comedy to heal and destigmatize mental illness. I hope to be living proof that bipolar disorder is not a death sentence. I hope to show that somebody with bipolar disorder can not only survive but can thrive.

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