external validation

There’s a reason cliches become cliche.

And when it comes to the Pagliacci reference, it’s easy to see why.

It may seem strange that the likes of Robin Williams or Mitch Hedberg – people with this almost alien ability to summon chuckles from us – could ironically suffer such sadness off stage that they’d take drugs, take their own lives, or both. This, however, is the ugly skull that sits under the face of addiction. Depression. Bipolar disorder. Whatever your DSM categorization of it might be, mental illness comes in many forms – and it often goes hand in hand with an inability to put down a drug once you pick it up. And the difference between Mitch and Williams isn’t so great. Mitch, still in active addiction, tragically overdosed. Robin, on the contrary, had gotten clean – but the demons remained. This is why they say that addiction’s not about the drugs, but the unresolved monsters that haunt your cognition.

In a way, I couldn’t help but think of these guys in light of the string of suicides I’m seeing in my region recently. Some of them have been overdoses. Some of them have to do with unchecked mental maladies. But almost all of them have something in common with the comedians I’m seeing: that addiction to externals. We often joke about social media, but the common denominator that keeps popping up in the online obits is akin to this: “She seemed to so happy on Instagram” or “He was always posting jokes on Facebook”. It brings to mind another applicable cliche: “Methinks she doth protest too much.” Whether it’s a slew of inspo-graphics and motivational quotes or a cascade quips and one liners, sometimes we overdo it try to cover up the pain of merely being. (Guilty myself.) No one knows that better than an addict – active or not. Recently, I find myself refreshing apps far too frequently. Who am I making laugh? Who can make me laugh? Who likes this string of words I just birthed from my brain? Who approves of my newfound commitment to yoga? To self affirmation? To Starbucks? In a way, it’s no different than trying to prize guffaws from an audience. It seems benign enough. An OD on laughter needs no Narcan revival. Yet, it’s a rush – that approval. Until it leaves you. Then, you’re searching for the next hit. The next giggle fix. Or like. Or double tap.

It’s all the same really.

So many of us are addicted to something aren’t we?

So, who’s a success story in this sad string of similar stories and slow suicides via addiction?

I suppose that would include recovering addicts of all kinds, who have done the inner work. By that, I mean people who’ve not just sought out substitutes and shoe in fixations – technological or not – but done the daily consciousness remodeling required to manage the incessant insanity. Supermodel and actress Amber Valleta, for example, explains the pain of being a human being in one talk she gave. Meditation and prayer, she says were vital in her recovery after getting clean at 25. But, more importantly, she insists that helping others cope with it is key. Similarly, Russell Brand, who helped dredge me out of the chemical trenches of my own pharmaceutical cell, makes it a chronic commitment of his to help fellow addicts seek treatment via meetings. His words ever resonate with me: “When the pain gets great enough, we seek another way.”

And we do.

Unfortunately, for some of us, that will only ever mean we “seek another way to get high”. Another way to usher in that rush until we relapse. Another way… than living at all. Or all three – in that order. This is why the internal work in conjunction with interpersonal work is so crucial for anyone inviting suicide to the option table. Whether or not we want to admit it, most of us are addicted to something – particularly those of us contemplating an early end to existence. Disagree? How about this fun fact: an obsession with exterminating yourself comes from an addiction to your own thoughts. The same thoughts on rotation, played through the same dim filter setting you’ve also gotten addicted to. If you could change those thoughts, wouldn’t you? Given the option, wouldn’t you rather feel the way your genuinely content companions do? We can’t tell ourselves that that’s impossible or not who we are. As addicts, we know that it was possible for chemicals to change who we were. So if chemicals can change who we are, why can’t our own thought-born intrinsic neuro-chemicals change us? The trick is to change that. And we can’t do that alone. If you hang out only with yourself, you’re going to keep receiving the same bad advice you’ve been internally issuing. To think outside the box, you’ve got to go outside the roof topped box you live in, network with veteran sufferers and survivors, and pick up new tips on how to live and thrive.

In the end, we all “use” in different ways. The key’s not to beat ourselves up, but recognize it and ask “what suffering am I covering?” If you can answer that, then the follow-up’s “what’s the real solution to it?” (preferably a solution that’s not got alcohol in it). And if you can’t answer either? Well, then try my trifecta that has yet to fail me for the past two and a half years: 1.) Do yoga 2.) Meditate 3.) Connect with someone attempting to amend themselves also.

That last one’s a biggie.

Because whether it’s laughter or likes online is irrelevant. When we stand on a stage (social media or the auditorium sort) extracting external validation, we do that alone. In isolation. We take the digital hat tips and audible approval and we go home alone with them like a single stripper with singles in her g-string. There’s something isolating about prizing praise from others if the bait was uninspired and not coming from somewhere authentic. Granted, we shouldn’t vomit our problems into Twitter like it’s a toilet – but there’s nothing authentic about a misrepresented life online or one liners to cover up what you’re not modifying.

(He concedes this is a chronic struggle somewhere around 37 seconds in)

This is what Russell Brand gets right. He finds the funny in the mundane while motivating viewers to self betterment. How? Because he’s done the work. He’s gotten honest with himself. And, as a result, he can be blatant about it – but not bitter. This is because he’s not bitter. He’s fixing himself daily because he’s conjured up a posse of others like himself on the road to recovery. That’s why we’ve all got to find a tribe with whom we can address our individual, legitimate issues, too (instead of simply sugarcoating them with empty cackles or commiseration). We let them help us… and then we help other sufferers too. This is the imperative inner work. This is what leads to making us who we wish we were. This is the best prevention against the clown’s tear tracks and track marks alike.

Do that – and any validation that happens after will also follow you into your solitude.