A friend killed himself. I had known that he was struggling.
I had made a mental note to reach out to him. And then I let myself get
distracted. I barely knew what to do with my own sadness, let alone his. Comedy
was healing me; I’d assumed it was saving him too. I was still consumed by
guilt. I knew that depression ran rampant in the comedy community – that was one
reason I felt like I belonged. But I couldn’t lose anyone like that again. I
considered quitting, everything. Instead of figuring out what to do, I kept
going.
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