Dog & Pony Show No More

On Wednesday, I went to Barona Casino to speak for a crowd of their management and local law enforcement officers about what it is like to live with mental illness. There were four of us on a panel, representatives of NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness), and about 25 in the audience. The purpose of the training, like the many I have done in the community, was to raise awareness of mental illness and to humanize thinking about psychiatric disorders.

Basically, the panel was there to show that someone with mental illness can look like anybody.

Now, I have some funny stories of bipolar incidents under my belt. I have rubbed elbows with many sketchy people, had visions, been in car chases with cops, masqueraded as a federal agent to get into some guy's house, destroyed my piano, and much, much more. In short, I have stories that are very funny after the fact. I can always get a few laughs with my tales of mania. After all, mental illness, like any of the other tragedies of life, can be funny given the delivery.

So, it used to be in these trainings that I used my "material" to entertain rather than to educate. It was easier for me, I think, to make light of my experience rather than to actually relate it on a sober and thoughtful level.

When I made a decision to change my comedic style, I often said that I was developing scar tissue on my tongue for the amount of times I had to bite down. After all, being dead honest with people and admitting the seriousness of mental illness in my own life at first was just plain hard. Over time, though, as I kept at it, my courage built up, and I found that the experience of educating, rather than entertaining, was profoundly gratifying and appreciated.

I still crack the occasional joke when I am presenting, but I don't feel the need to put on a dog and pony show. I know that by being real, I don't have to get caught in the trap of having to perform all the time, and I can just let my experience speak for itself rather than dressing it up. It's a huge relief, as the Old Wendy would say, to "be boring," knowing that the audience doesn't need to be laughing. Instead, they're learning a little bit more compassion.

Cheers to that!