...With a Sense of Humor

Always.

CW: Mention of suicide/suicidal ideation

My mom and dad passed down a lot of traits to me: anxiety, catastrophic thinking, mild rage, intensity, whiplashian mood swings, a large chest (thanks, Mama), good legs (thanks, Dad), and most importantly

A WICKED SENSE OF HUMOR.

Humor has always been at the forefront of my family and myself. I use it to get through everything. I try to find it in every situation, no matter how bleak or dark things may feel. And it’s what has pulled me through some of my worst times.

Don’t get me wrong—I feel deeply. Very deeply. Too deeply, even. And my family has never denied me of those feelings or insisted I don’t feel them. They always let me have the moment I need to go inside and dwell, especially if it’s a particularly bad bout. But after a certain amount of time, all bets are off and it’s time to make light of the situation so we can all snap out of it and move on. Self-deprecation is a love language my family speaks well.

Example. When I was 25 turning 26, I experienced my first depressive episode (that’s probably not entirely true. Chances are I had them before but wasn’t sure how to label them). It was a culmination of things; the perfect storm, if you will. I had just gotten my first professional copywriting job and was terrified of not performing and realizing I’m a fraud, I had been excused by an acquaintance of being too big of a flirt with her boyfriend and felt like a whore, I’d had my first one night stand (sort of. I mean, I knew him but it was truly one and done), and I’m sure some shift was happening with my female hormones all at the same time, too. Seemingly out of nowhere, I fell into a very dark place—the darkest place I had ever been. I guess you can call it an existential crisis. Suddenly, I was questioning the point of life. I began feeling an urge to hurt myself. My wrists felt oddly exposed all the time. I couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts of suicidal ideation, and imagined wrecking my car on purpose or throwing myself off a building constantly. I remember sitting on the floor of my apartment kitchen one night, frantically googling something along the lines of “can’t stop thinking about killing myself but I don’t want to.”

I wrote an email to a friend during this time (2013) that I found just now as I was digging through my backlogs and want to share a snippet to shed some light on what my brain was like during this time.

i have myself in a total uproar and feel like i'm not gonna come out of it. i try to keep myself distracted from my negative thoughts but it's so hard to fake feeling normal when you don't at all. it's like suddenly, one day, i woke up and was like "what's the point of life. why are we here. why am i here. we're all gonna die anyway and what impact do i have on the world?" i started overthinking so hard and freaking myself out really badly. now, in the past week, i've heard of two suicides - not people i know, just random facebook shit - and since i'm so suggestible, i'm like "i wonder why they did it. did they have thoughts like mine and couldn't take it anymore?? did they finally lose their grip and just decide they couldn't escape all these horrible thoughts any other way? am i on the same path as them?" then i start snowballing even more and have panic attacks, thinking i can't be alone or anything because what if i do something to myself?

It was at this point that I called my parents, told them what was going on, and asked if I could come stay with them for a bit (they live 25 minutes away from me, so no big deal). Of course they said yes, so I packed up a few weeks worth of clothes and toiletries, grabbed Cece, and we drove to the suburbs to find solace. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts; I was having them so obsessively and so intensely that I was terrified I was going to do something I would regret forever, so I essentially instituted my own suicide watch by opting to live with my parents until I got my head straight.

Once I was there and settled in, there were serious talks. My dad cried, expressing his pain that I was in pain and feeling helpless. My mom laid in her bed with me and was gentle with her words. I commuted to work every day and ate dinner with them every night, reverting back to my teen years.

Slowly but surely (and with the right medication because I was absolutely seeing both a therapist and a psychologist at this point), the fog started to lift a little more each day until one day, I was looking online at dresses for an upcoming event. I must’ve run some options by my mom because I’ll never forget her saying,

“Now, are you really going to kill yourself? Because shopping for dresses isn’t really the behavior of a suicidal person.”

And I laughed. And realized she was right.

I wasn’t ready to leave my safety net just yet, so I extended my stay and every day, I got a little better until my mom finally said to me

“You’re not gonna kill yourself because, if you do, I’m gonna kill you.”

And for some of you reading this, you may gasp or grimace or take offense. But this is my humor. This is my family’s humor. This is how we get through really shitty times, by leaning in and then making jokes. We’ve done it about almost every single horrible thing we’ve experienced in life, and it’s my favorite way to come out the other side. Yes, it’s dark. And yes, it’s offensive to those who don’t get it. But it’s who I am, it’s how I was raised, and it’s how I get through life.

Some common phrases said in my family are as follows:

• “I hate myself.”

• “I hate everyone.”

• “Fucking kill me.”

• “BRB gonna KM.”

And so on and so forth.

It’s why my sister says the same thing to me any time I’m having a *moment* with social media or work (“Honestly? Give up.”) or why my family has used “idiot” as a term of endearment since I was a teenager. Our dark, twisted humor snaps us out of it. Brings us back down to Earth. Reminds us that we’re fine, it’s fine, and everything’s gonna be okay. That what we’re not that important and what we’re upset about isn’t either. The world can be a shitty, twisted place so why not combat it with shitty, twisted humor? And I get that people don’t get it and find it offensive or rude or hateful or insensitive or troublesome. But it’s what makes us laugh through the tears. We’re a dark bunch but a hilarious bunch, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. So next time you’re feeling low and can’t pull yourself out of it, remember this:

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— EGM