Why Comedy Might Be the Best Medicine For Mental Health

[Dana] (00:01)
Welcome, friends, whether you’re out on a walk, running errands, or relaxing at home — it’s wonderful to connect with you. Joining us today is Dave Mowry. Dave is a comic telling his story of living with severe mental illness one joke at a time. He also teaches stand-up comedy to folks with a mental illness, helping them find humor in their dark days and lost years. Dave, welcome to Phoenix and Flame.

[Dave] (00:37)
Thank you, Dana. Great to be here.

[Dana] (00:39)
This is awesome. Now, before we get started, I also wanted to point out that you are the bestselling author of the OMG That’s Me mental health books. You’re a blogger of over 1 million reads, and you like to say you’re a comic who shatters stigma one joke at a time.

[Dave] (00:58)
Exactly, exactly.

[Dana] (01:00)
That is, wow, that’s so much to dig into. Where would you like to start? I mean, your experience with bipolar and what that meant to you, and we’ll just weave back and forth and have a good conversation.

[Dave] (01:16)
Yeah, that’s great. I think starting with the bipolar — I was a successful businessman. I had it all. It seemed like a happy family, a nice house, kids. Everything was great. Then in 1994, I had a psychotic break and fell into a deep, deep, deep depression. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t function socially. I couldn’t do anything business-related. I couldn’t function.

And we lost everything. We lost our house. We were homeless for 18 months, with the kids. And that started my 14 lost years and dark days of not being able to function socially, not being able to sometimes get out of bed. I couldn’t go to the mailbox in case I saw a neighbor and they’d look at my eyes and see just the illness, the sadness, the loss, the sense of dread — the overwhelming sense of dread. So I’d go to the mailbox at night so I wouldn’t see anybody. If I heard a song on the radio, it would trigger an experience, a thought, and I’d have a panic attack. It was bad. It was terribly bad. I spent time in the hospital. But those are my lost years.

I mean, I could tell you stories about the dark days and the overwhelming sense of depression and the impacts, but we don’t need to go to all those dark places unless you’d like to go to some of them.

[Dana] (02:57)
Well, I think you have an excellent point. Maybe not going to all of those dark places, but I’m listening from the perspective of my listeners and viewers. And in case there’s someone out there sliding down into what may be some lost years for them, or maybe they’re in a lost year right now and just happen to be listening to this podcast — what I’d be interested in you potentially sharing are some experiences, maybe two or three that were more poignant for you, that would explain to people who’ve maybe never experienced something like this what it’s actually like.

[Dave] (03:56)
The depths of depression are almost indescribable. I think there’s situational depression and clinical depression, and in my mind the clinical depression is awful. You go to these deep, deep dark places with constant negative thoughts. If I was able to get out of bed in the morning and make it to the couch, that was everything I could do — just to sit, just to be, just to hold it together. I prayed and prayed and prayed for peace of mind. I couldn’t shower. People commented — I wrote a blog post about being too depressed to shower, and the overwhelming response was, “me too, me too, you told my story.”

And if I did make it to a social function, I’d stand against the wall and try to blend into it and pray that nobody came up to talk to me. And if somebody did, I’d answer in one-word, one-syllable answers and try to be as boring as possible so they’d go away. The panic attacks were overwhelming — if there was any added stress or anxiety at all, I’d start to sweat and have a panic attack. It was everything I could do not to just take off and run away, but I’d escape as soon as I could, and it would take days to recover.

I think it’s important for folks going through this to understand: there is hope. I was in the darkest, deepest places, and there is hope — you can come out the other side. I never resigned myself to that being the way it was always going to be. I did accept the fact that I had bipolar disorder and severe anxiety, but I just kept trying, and kept failing — I don’t know if that’s the right word — I’d crash and burn, and then three months later I’d try again. If you’re listening and you’ve got a family member going through this, those are some of the experiences. And I could go on and on.

[Dana] (06:30)
I remember someone telling me one time that for them, just trying to get out of bed in the morning — we’re not even talking about taking a shower, just getting out of bed — they said, “Dana, trying to do that felt like I was trying to pull the leviathan from the ocean depths.” The energy it took to just get out of bed was so much more than they had. Like they were being asked to do something that was so much more than they had the energy to do. I never forgot that description.

[Dave] (07:10)
Yeah, yeah, and that’s exactly right. You’re laying there, just trying to hold it together, just trying to be. Getting out of bed to do anything was overwhelming. I’d sleep in my clothes — it was too much to take them off at night, and too much, if I did get out of bed, to get dressed again. So I slept in my clothes for months and months and months. It was just too much to take off my clothes and put them back on.

[Dana] (07:44)
You said something a few moments ago that sparked a memory of mine. I remember a conversation with someone who said she was terrified she was never going to get better, because there was no proof, no evidence, that this horrible darkness, this horrible weight, was ever going to go away. And for her, that was almost worse than the current situation — this terror that she was always going to be stuck there. If somebody could tell her, “no, you’re not going to be stuck there,” she could hold onto it like a life raft in the middle of a tsunami. But she didn’t have that, so she was just terrified she was going to stay just like that for the rest of her life.

[Dave] (08:41)
Exactly. I felt the same way — when you’re in that deep, dark hole and you look up, you don’t see a light, you don’t see an end. I didn’t see an end. I hoped for an end. I tried, and tried again, and tried again. And it’s important, I think, what I share with people is: don’t get stuck. When we’re feeling that way, that there’s no hope and no end in sight, just do something small. If it’s getting out of bed and going downstairs and sitting on the couch, that’s an accomplishment. But if you’re in that state, sit in a different spot on the couch. Sit in a different chair. If you’re taking medicine, I’d take it in order, left to right, and then sometimes right to left. Each one of those little things was me not getting stuck — me finding a little hope that there was the possibility I’d come out of this.

[Dana] (09:58)
Those are great, I love those ideas — really small bites, and really readjusting the expectation, your self-expectation. It’s got to be readjusted during that period of time.

[Dana] (10:15)
So Dave, you mentioned your family, and I’m wondering — sometimes it’s hard for family members to understand what’s going on, and they certainly have a right to their own frustrations, aggravations, and confusion during something like this. What pieces of advice, or words of encouragement or support, could you give family members? If there’s a family member listening who has someone going through this, and they don’t know what to do, don’t know what it feels like, don’t know when it’s going to end — they’re experiencing it as a family too, like you explained so well earlier, losing your job, being homeless. There are definite consequences to going through something like this. What are some practical pieces of wisdom you could share?

[Dave] (11:26)
I think first is that it’s not a moral failing. It’s not a moral failing — it’s a medical condition, a chemical imbalance of the brain. It’s happening. The person going through it can’t do anything about it at that point; they’re just trying to exist. So as a family member, accepting the fact that it’s not a personal failing, and realizing that your spouse is not lazy and is doing the best they can — because truly they are. Going through this and coming out the other side is one of the hardest things to do. People with depression or bipolar disorder are the bravest, most courageous, strongest people to be in this place and get through it.

So I think acceptance — my wife accepted the fact and didn’t get angry with me for not getting out of bed or just being able to sit on the couch. She just sat with me and accepted it. She’s truly the hero of my story. She stayed with me during these losses and dark days when someone else wouldn’t. She held the family together. When we were homeless, hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, she took over the financial situation when I couldn’t. She got me treatment, she got me help, she advocated for me. Truly.

[Dana] (13:54)
She sounds amazing, absolutely amazing. So I’m hearing you describe all of this, and it’s resonating with stories I’ve heard in my office from my patients. And I’m thinking, okay, wow — you went from experiencing this to comedy, to stand-up comedy. So you’re going to have to take us on this journey and help connect these dots. How did you go from what you’re describing to even contemplating the idea of stand-up comedy?

[Dave] (14:34)
Yeah, and who knew? You don’t chart this path. As we went along and I started to get better, I found NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, and I found a NAMI affiliate. That was really helpful, because one of the hardest parts for me was pretending — it was so hard to pretend to be okay when I wasn’t, and I knew people could see it in my eyes.

I found NAMI through Heather, my wife, and the county put a little notice in the newspaper that a comedy class was starting for folks with a mental illness. At my wife’s urging, I went. The first time, I just sat there, and they asked us to tell our story. I told some of mine, and the teacher — the comic who was teaching — said, “That’s just sad.” And it was just sad. But by the second class, I was looking for humor in my experiences. And just starting to look for humor was transformational.

Whereas before, I’d be driving down the street or listening to the radio, and a song would trigger me into a panic attack because it reminded me of a bad situation — after taking the class, when that song came on and started to trigger me, I’d say, “okay, where can I find the humor in that?” And it reframed everything. It turned out I had the ability to find humor, write jokes, laugh-out-loud funny jokes, and help other people write jokes and find humor in their stories too. After the class ended, we performed. It went great. On stage, I wasn’t nervous, because I was telling my story one joke at a time — completely honest. And I liked my jokes. The audience laughed, and it was great.

But then the class wanted to keep going, so I facilitated it. And then next thing I knew, I was teaching a class. I saw the same transformation happening in other people that had happened to me. It reframed everything — it really kickstarted my recovery.

And I wrote a book about it. It’s called Healing with Humor, and it’s the story of six people who went through the class and had this transformation. It’s inspiring, it’s funny, their jokes are in there. Hopefully it’ll help other people living with mental illness relate — and laugh — and help family members understand too.

[Dana] (17:57)
Oh my gosh, I just love that journey.

[Dave] (17:59)
I know — stand-up comedy. And then pretty soon we sold out the Helium Comedy Club, 185 people. It wasn’t long, and I was a thing. I mean, who knew I was funny?

[Dana] (18:18)
I love the way you say — and I love this phrase — that you’re a comic who shatters stigma one joke at a time. Because people who are struggling, and think they’re the only one, or there’s a shame component to it — maybe they’ve lost their job, and they see the consequences going on around them, and they don’t want to talk about it. And so that stigma grows and becomes more powerful. I heard a phrase once: “we are as sick as our secrets.” The more secrets we’re keeping, the more we’re not talking about it, the sicker we get. So I love the way you phrase this — a comic who shatters stigma one joke at a time — because it gives you that platform to be funny, to tell a joke about it. Comics are the ultimate truth tellers, are they not? In a very funny way, where people can receive it, hear it, and participate in it. What was your experience when you started being honest about different experiences and trying to shatter these stigmas? What kind of feedback did you get?

[Dave] (19:51)
Well, first, when I was blogging for bphope.com, I wrote all my blog posts completely open and honest, and told some of my stories, and that helped me. The response from people was overwhelming — hundreds and hundreds of comments, and the most common response was “OMG, that’s me — you’re telling my story.” So many blog posts were “three steps to this” or “things you can do to solve that” — mine was just, I told the stories, like going to the mailbox, or being too depressed to shower — and people could relate to that. That’s why I got so many views.

Comedy gave me an opportunity to be honest and share my experiences. When you ask somebody, “what’s your vision of people with a mental illness performing stand-up comedy?” — everybody’s got a different vision. But people come to the shows, and here we are, and we live with serious mental illnesses, and we get up there and we’re confident and capable and laugh-out-loud funny. And it changes people’s perspective of those of us with a mental illness — they see us as strong and funny and capable, instead of weak and vulnerable. That’s part of shattering the stigma.

But I didn’t tell people at first — I was ashamed, I knew the stigma. My wife did tell some people about my bipolar disorder, and the kids who used to come play at our house — after she told them, they wouldn’t let their kids come over and play with ours anymore. So I was like, “yeah, don’t tell anybody, don’t tell anybody.” But then I came out, so to speak, and that was huge.

One thing, though — people sometimes, when they start talking about their mental illness, overshare. They try to tell their whole story all at once, and people just back away, back away, back away. But we can talk about it in bits and pieces, and it’s really healing.

[Dana] (22:30)
Yeah, that reminds me of a speaking course I took once, where the leader said: share, be honest, be vulnerable, share things that are in your rearview mirror. Because sometimes when you’re currently in it, like you said, you tend to overshare — you’re kind of dumping on the person, almost clamoring onto them like they’re your life raft instead of you being someone else’s life raft. But when you’ve gone through something — like walking to the mailbox, or learning to sit in different places on the couch — you were sharing something that you’d been through, that was in your rearview mirror, and you’d learned something helpful. That’s kind of the difference I hear you describing.

[Dave] (23:25)
Yeah, I think so. In the rearview mirror, yes. These things — being homeless, losing everything — I felt like a failure, as a husband, as a father. And sharing about those experiences opened it up. I don’t feel that way anymore. You don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.

Mental illness is something you talk about in bits and pieces, or to people you’re really close to. For me, writing about it in my blog posts was really helpful — it helped other people. I help people write, and people want to write their whole story, start to end. I tell them, no, pick a spot. Pick a story, pick an event, and write about that. Write 600 words, write 800 words. Then they’re writing about a particular experience — it brings it into the light, helps them accept it, and move on from that experience.

[Dana] (24:54)
Exactly. And we all love a good story, so it helps them become a storyteller, zeroing in on one particular story. As I’m listening to you describe this, I’m wondering — the people you were teaching to be stand-up comics — what did they struggle with the most? What did they have the most trouble overcoming as they learned to present their mental illness in a stand-up comedy fashion?

[Dave] (25:32)
I think first of all, being open and honest about their experiences. Once they were open and honest, we could find humor in it and create jokes out of it. But people would come and sit and not talk. So we started out — it was as much a support group as a comedy group. The classes ran 10 weeks, so we had time for that.

In the first part of a joke, called the setup, is the truth, the honesty, the reality. The second part is the punchline, which makes people laugh — it’s a surprise, a creative part. Some people couldn’t get to that creative part. We’d come up with a punchline and they’d say, “but that’s not real, that didn’t happen.” Those were the hardest ones to get past, but they’d get past it.

During the class, as you’re in there with a group of people, talking, being honest, developing relationships — we went everywhere. We talked about everything: the dark places, the hard places, the funny places. Almost everybody in most of the classes had had suicide ideation at some point, and we’d talk about that — okay, if you’re going to kill yourself, what are you going to do, jump off a bridge, run into a tree — and pretty soon we’re laughing, we’re talking.

So one of the most important jokes I tell is a suicide joke. Suicide’s not funny, but it’s a gentle suicide joke, and it’s huge — it’s helped so many people. My wife loves it. I’d like to share it with you now, if that’s okay. I had my own experience with suicide — I went out into a park with a gun. I sat on a park bench, looked at the river, the sun glinting up the river — and I didn’t do it.

So I had that experience with suicide. But my suicide joke is: one time, during my dark days, when things were really, really bad, I decided to end it all. So I went up into the bathroom and took a bunch of pills. Afterwards, I called my wife for help. She said, “There are more pills under the sink.”

[Dana] (28:34)
That is hysterical!

[Dave] (28:36)
It is. And talk about breaking the taboo, the stigma, making it okay to talk about it — I’m a peer support specialist, I work with folks, and I had a fellow who was seriously suicidal, had a plan, everything. His parents brought him in — he was an adult, but he was morose, walking slowly, monotone, flat-faced, no glint in his eye. We talked together for about an hour, and at one point I told him that joke, and he laughed, and his whole demeanor changed. He said it was the first time he’d laughed in years, and it was a real belly laugh. I had him come back the next day, and the next, and we talked and looked for humor in his other experiences. And I’m comfortable saying it saved his life.

[Dana] (29:36)
Wow. That is amazing. I want to be very encouraging to you and to the listeners and viewers — sometimes when we put ourselves out there and do authentically what we feel led to do, there are almost always going to be critics, naysayers, people who judge and criticize. It’s important to listen to the feedback, because there might be something legitimate in it that can encourage us to reevaluate what we’re doing. But at the end of the day, listening to you describe the suicide jokes, I’d be shocked if you didn’t have people along the way battering you, calling you names, for doing this. I’m so thankful you stayed the course, let them have their opinion, and didn’t change your authenticity. What was your experience with that?

[Dave] (30:44)
Honestly, when I tell that joke, it takes a beat before people come around to it — because it’s a laugh-out-loud funny joke, but it’s a suicide joke, and they’re apprehensive, and it takes just a beat before they start laughing. People with mental illness laugh the loudest and the hardest. Family members laugh loud and hard too. I’ve only had one person come up to me after a show and say I probably shouldn’t tell that suicide joke because it’s triggering — and I talked to them, and they were somebody in the mental health field, thinking somebody else might be triggered. I’ve never met that somebody else — that person with the mental illness who was triggered. They think it’s funny. They’ve had suicide ideation, and they laugh out loud. It brings it out.

I think sometimes in the helping profession, people are out to save us — to protect us — and sometimes they treat us like we’re childlike, like we can’t handle a word or a joke. And it’s exactly the opposite — we’re strong, we’re capable, we’re able. We don’t get triggered by a joke, or by the word “suicide,” or the word “crazy,” or somebody saying “the game last night was insane.” That stuff doesn’t trigger us. We don’t need to be protected. I’d say to anybody in the health and helping profession: we don’t need to be saved. Support us and all that, but don’t try to save us. We don’t need it.

[Dana] (32:42)
I love that, I love it. So as we’re wrapping up — and I do this with all of my guests, as the Queen of Boundaries — I’m always interested in how boundaries have impacted your journey. What boundaries protect your mental health and your creative work now? Or looking back, in what ways did not having boundaries worsen an experience, or having boundaries help you?

[Dave] (33:17)
Yeah, I think not having boundaries was during my mania — the flights of fancy, the grandiosity. I didn’t have any boundaries. The guilt I feel from the things I’ve done came from mania. The regrets I have from things I didn’t do, or how I did something, come from the depression. I didn’t have boundaries with mania, and I had problems and challenges because of it.

Some boundaries — my sleep, I protect my sleep. I’ve got to get enough sleep; if I don’t, I’m not well, and that’s common with people with a mental health challenge. If I can tell when I’m starting to get depressed, I still get depressed, but I don’t go as low. Mania’s not so high, I don’t go as high — with the medication, I’m pretty stable. But I can feel myself sliding, and I protect myself by saying, it’s okay, I don’t have to do this right now, I don’t have to go to this place right now. It’s okay to say I’m not well. Those are important boundaries to me.

[Dana] (34:43)
I love that. I’m hearing you say that you give yourself permission to say no. Someone might invite you somewhere, want you to do something or participate in something, but you know you’re in a place mentally where that’s not a good choice for you. So what I’m hearing is that you give yourself permission to say no in those instances, to protect yourself.

[Dave] (35:04)
Yes. And that’s very important. If I’m not well and I go anyway, it takes me days to recover, and I don’t really contribute anything to the event. If I do go when I’m not well, I look for my chance to escape as quickly as possible — I go to the car, lay down in the seat so nobody can see me, and just try to hold it together.

So yeah, saying no — I don’t go through those experiences anymore. I did, over and over and over. I kept trying to be social, kept trying to do different things. Finally I learned it’s okay to say no and protect myself. And I know that I am going to come out the other side. Like I said, with the Phoenix — going from successful businessman, to dark days in the lost years, to peer support, to blogging, to stand-up comedy, to being an author and writing books — I kept rising from the ashes. I kept trying, even though I failed.

[Dana] (36:40)
Well, you were definitely an inspiration, because failure, I think, is inherent in life, and some people maybe feel like they get dragged around by it more than others. The getting up is the power — it’s being that phoenix rising from that pile of ash, and I hear that in your story. Dave, I know there are numerous people listening to and watching this podcast who want more access to you. So, where can they find you?

[Dave] (37:25)
Yeah, that’s two things, actually. For reaching me, I’ll just tell you my email — it’s davemowry2, the number 2, at gmail.com. I have a website, davemowry.com — it’s mostly focused on the books, but there’s a contact form. And OMG, That’s Me! — if anybody wants to know that they’re not alone, it’s an inexpensive book, an easy read. Get the book, the Kindle, or the audiobook, and you’ll know you’re not alone. If you’re a family member and want to know what it’s truly like to live with a mental illness — that’s it. Those experiences, those dark days, those hard times, the panic attacks, barely being able to get out of bed, not being able to shower — that’s what it’s truly like to live with a mental illness.

And I’ve got a new book that just came out called Healing with Humor. It tells the story of the people who took the class — it shows the resilience and the strength. It’s inspirational. So if you want the books, that’s great; if you want to email me, that’s great too — I answer all my emails.

[Dana] (38:55)
That is fantastic, Dave. I appreciate you being willing to spend your precious time and energy, and share your wisdom and experiences, and being so transparent with myself and the Phoenix and Flame listeners and viewers. Thank you very, very much.

[Dave] (39:13)
You’re welcome. I appreciate the opportunity to be with you.

[Dana] (39:17)
Now, listeners and viewers, my goodness — I know you’re thinking, “wow, I have a friend, a coworker, a family member who absolutely needs to hear what Dave has to say.” Take this podcast episode, copy and paste it, send it in a text, send it in an email, put it on your favorite social media sites, so we can grow our Phoenix and Flame community and let people know: you are not alone. I hope your day is going great. I’m Dana, on Phoenix and Flame.