George Orwell write an essay on why he wrote. I haven’t finished it, but lately, I find myself questioning why I write or create my stories. When I started doing stand-up, people who knew me were shocked or surprised and called me brave. However, I never thought of it as a brave act. I just longed to be heard.

 

           There have been many moments where I’ve had this feeling. When I was a preteen, I loved making jokes and telling my friends stories. I find comfort in comedy. When I was a freshman in college, watching Conan’s show clips on YouTube and other comedians helped alleviate the loneliness. The first time comedy felt taken from me was when I dealt with a monster. This monster was disguised as a man, and if I had known better, I would have avoided him like the hellish ghoul that he is. Unfortunately, I had never dealt with a psychotic and manipulative monster before, so I allowed him and his manipulative words burrow their way into my mind. He knew of my loneliness and exploited it to a greater level, much like a psychopathic dictator. From all of the hateful and manipulative comments, the one that I remember most was when he told me that I was lucky to have found him, because no other man would ever laugh at my jokes or care about what I said, as they’d find me strange. After finally separating myself from this parasitic monster, I found out how much damage I had suffered and longed for the previous me. I was luckily able to later go to therapy, where I saw once more that I liked making even my therapist laugh. She helped me forgive my past self and reconnect with my heart and mind.

 

           Later, when I was graduating from my graduate program, I once more struggled to find my voice. My thesis, especially my words, were heavily criticized and erased from my own paper, which only further cemented the feeling of being an imposter. Then, to even add further insult to injury, I was ghosted by a guy that I had crushed on for two years. Of course, he has every right not to be interested in me, but a goodbye would have helped, especially after having so much hope once more taken. When everything felt so out of my control, I longed for something, and that was when I went to my first ever live comedy show with a friend. While I saw it, I kept thinking, “I want to go onstage.” I told my friend on the drive back, and she said that if I ever do go onstage, she’d be in the audience. I later found a comedy area were they did open mics. I signed up, and my sister, my friend, and her boyfriend all attended. My first stand up routine was designed to heal my heart and mind after a hateful incident occurred at work, but I won’t lie; I was horrified when I realized how little women were present in my audience. As I walked onstage, I remembered the hateful words of the monster I had known, and I once more doubted myself. However, when I went onstage to the blinding lights, for the first time, the loneliness actually felt comforting. I performed my routine for the first time, and so many men laughed at my set. While that fun and great, I also realized that more importantly I had finally recovered a piece of myself. After all, the reason why I use comedy has mostly always been to make myself laugh, and I then hope that someone else also has the same sense of humor.

 

           I might never have all the answers or wisdom, but life has a way of teaching me solutions to problems that I never in my mind wanted to imagine. That’s why I write, some of it is selfishness and the other is to help others. I want to remember and deal with problems, while also longing for hopeful connections. That’s the true reason why I can find strength to tackle down evil monsters, like Trump and his goons, because no man can or should ever take my or anyone’s voice or autonomy. Plus, after writing all this, I realized how weak and sensitive evil “men” are, much too weak to be in politics, if you ask me.