When the Humor Is Gone

By James Bean

In the spring of 2004, James Bean faced a failed marriage, the death of his father, and a floundering career in comedywith no one to talk to. He began visualizing a world without him and planned the details of his suicide. The world would go on, and he would become a statistic, particularly in Las Vegas, where the suicide rate is uncommonly high. Minutes before taking his life, however, Bean realized his life had been an incredible journey, and he thought seriously of his love for his five-year-old daughter.

In When the Humor Is Gone, Bean shares an honest and inspiring look at suicide as he recounts his brush with death and recalls how he was able to move past his suicidal thoughts. Through his experiences with depression and suicide and the recollections of others who have endured the suicidal death of a loved one, Bean offers advice for getting therapy, obtaining family support, and finding purpose and meaning in life.

When the Humor Is Gone presents Beans love letter to the worldhis legacy of care, hope, and empathy for those who are living under the gripping vice of depression.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480801592

James Bean

James Bean is the President and CEO of the Relational Logistics Group. He is the author of the books: the "Sybase Client/Server EXplorer" © 1996 Coriolis Group Books and "XML Globalization and Best Practices" © 2001, and has written numerous magazine articles for technology journals. He is also the Chairman of the Global Web Architecture Group.

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Copyright © 2016 James H. Bean

Cover concept by James Kelly

Author photo © Robert Kley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-0158-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0160-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0159-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013913055

Archway Publishing rev. date: 9/6/2016

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1 A Turning Point

Chapter 2 Finding Your Worth

Chapter 3 Joys Of Life

Chapter 4 The Crisis

Chapter 5 Who Depends On You?

Chapter 6 If You Were Not Here

Chapter 7 Leaving A Void

Chapter 8 The Purpose Of Life

Chapter 9 Longevity

Chapter 10 The Ones I Knew

Chapter 11 Reasons For Doing It

Chapter 12 Seeking Treatment

Chapter 13 Discovering You

To the memory of

Muhammad Ali, Prince, and Malcolm X

The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.

—Bob Marley

PREFACE

S uicide has intrigued me since I was a little boy. At that time I didn’t understand what life events could bring a person to contemplate taking his or her own life. Most of my religious indoctrination focused on how life is precious and that I should honor God with my life. All I understood about death was its finality—that when we die, we cease to exist.

I recall attending a young boy’s funeral when I was about six-years-old. It was at a time when the body was placed in the family’s front parlor, and the wake was held in the family’s home. I did not know this boy well. He lived near my cousin across town, and I used to play with him sometimes.

At his funeral, he lay motionless, his eyes closed, dressed in a black suit like grown men wore. I looked in curiosity and disbelief at his body in the casket. I could not believe that I would never see this boy alive again. My memories of him playing baseball or tag were replaced by the vision of his body lying in that casket.

Fast-forward about twenty-five years, and there was another young boy lying in a casket. This one was my little brother from the Big Brothers/Big Sisters agency. The agency had paired Timothy and me about four years earlier during my sophomore year in college. We enjoyed a great friendship, me acting as his mentor because his father left Timothy’s family when he was seven-years-old.

I was living in Memphis when I received a telephone call at my office from the Big Brothers/Big Sisters case worker telling me Timothy had been involved in a shooting. She did not tell me at the time it was a suicide. I immediately grabbed my car keys and asked what hospital he was taken to so I could go and be with his family. There was a long pause, and the case worker said he didn’t survive the shooting. I collapsed into my chair and began crying uncontrollably. I was shocked. Years later there would be a few other acquaintances of mine who committed suicide.

In the spring of 2004, I was confronted with my own depression and suicidal thoughts following my divorce and the death of my father a few months earlier. I shared excerpts of this book with a few friends, and they said I captured that critical moment of despair and hopelessness in describing my state of mind when I was on the precipice of taking my life. You will read my account of that day in chapter 1.

My underlying thought was that I didn’t want to be on earth even one minute longer. I felt as if my head was centered in a metal vice and someone was turning it slowly, increasing the pain and pressure with each turn.

I was exhausted mentally and physically. There were days when I did not want to get out of bed; instead I would stay home, holed up, and not have to come into contact with anyone. I felt like a walking corpse, devoid of emotion, feeling, and desire. I just wanted to make the pain disappear.

For many years, I was promiscuous and used sex to fill the perceived void in my life. During the dark time in my life, however, I did not even entertain the thought of sex, although it was readily available to me. I lived in Las Vegas and was surrounded by women at both of my jobs. I did not even masturbate during this time because my depression was so great.

So there I was, failed marriage, struggling father, floundering career in comedy, and absolutely no one to talk to. I began visualizing the world without me. The truth was the world was going on with or without me. The truth was that someone, maybe more than one person, would mourn my passing and shed a few tears. The truth was those tears would dry, everyone would go back to living their lives, and my memory would soon fade.

I lost my brother and sister in a span of two years, and there was a time when I would think of them daily. Then it became less frequent, and later I would have passing thoughts even more infrequently. I wondered if that would happen with me.

I thought about the hierarchy of death and imagined that suicide was at the bottom, just under capital murder. Really, what could be lower than taking your own life? I wracked my brain and concluded that nothing could be.

I would become a statistic, particularly in Las Vegas where the suicide rate is uncommonly high. I thought of what the next day would be like, not for me, but for those who survived my death. I’d be the subject of water-cooler talk at work. There would be the irony of me being a comedian, bringing joy and laughter to so many when my own life was in turmoil and despair.

Overcome by a flood of emotion, the only thing that kept me from slicing my wrists that day was my love for my daughter.

Some people who have had a near-death experience say their entire life flashed before their eyes. I had a similar experience when I thought about committing suicide, but it wasn’t my entire life that flashed before me; it was only the good parts that came to the forefront of my mind. It was as if my life was edited for this reason, and I saw a plethora of images flash before me like a Michael Bay movie, juxtaposed against the tremendous mental pain I was experiencing.

Amazingly, in that moment, just minutes before taking my life, I came to the realization that my life had been an incredible journey. I read a quote once about our lives being works of art, and we all start as a blank canvas. Through our own actions, we build a tapestry of memories, all compiled to make up a life.

I did not feel that my life was a master work of art like a Pablo Picasso painting, neither was it a tepid piece of art drawn by a four-year-old and placed on the refrigerator. The fact was, I had beaten the odds and was continuing to beat the odds with my life.

My life started in one of the worst ghettos in Providence, Rhode Island. I survived an abusive, absentee father. I was the product of a below average public school system, yet would earn a scholarship to law school. I had a failed marriage, but even it produced an exceptionally bright, beautiful daughter. I somehow blossomed from a quiet, shy little boy to an engaging, cerebral stand-up comedian.

   I thought to myself, who the hell am I to decide to terminate this life? I had responsibilities, particularly to my daughter. I had always considered myself a generous person, but surely committing suicide would be the most selfish act of my entire life.

I was worthy of living. I said that to myself over and over. I did have joy in my heart, but I had to remind myself of those little things that made me happy. Those moments of pure joy that put a smile on my face were most important.

I thought about my goals as a stand-up comedian, the legacy I wanted to leave. I did not have grand visions of being on par with great comedians such as Richard Pryor, Rodney Dangerfield, Louis C.K. or George Carlin, but I still knew I could touch audiences and affect someone’s life for just a few moments while I was on stage.

I thought about having purpose in my life. I knew I had lost my edge in the past few years, neglecting my wife, Christy, and my daughter, Soler. I had lost my way; I did not prioritize as I had in the past to reach my goals. I thought about the drive, purpose, and focus it took me to finish law school and pass the bar exam the first time. I was locked in at that time, committed to accomplishing this mammoth task.

I also realized in that moment that I needed to seek therapy immediately. I called my company’s employee assistance program hotline shortly after this realization and was in therapy the next week. Seeking therapy was the most important decision I made at that time to turn my life around.

My ex-wife had always suspected that I suffered from depression because of my mood swings and unpredictable fits of anger. I could no longer deny that I had a problem, and I needed to seek professional help. I did, and I benefit from those sessions to this day. Ironically, it was later therapy sessions that led to the writing of this book.

I was starting to feel stagnant in my life. I hadn’t accomplished much over the past few years, and I was fearful of depression seeping in again. My therapist asked me pointedly what I wanted to accomplish or what would make me feel that my life was moving forward. I told her that I wanted to write a book, so she told me to write a book.

Suicide, even with its stigma and dark undertones, was the only topic I wanted to address in my book. I was passionate about it because of what I had experienced earlier. My friend’s husband committed suicide, and she and I talked extensively after that. I was one of the people she opened up to about her experience and dealing with the aftermath of her husband’s death. We discussed his life, her guilt, and a multitude of issues surrounding his suicide. I wish we had taped our conversations because they were deep, thoughtful, and insightful. She is an amazing person who has done so much to overcome her husband’s suicide and regain balance and perspective in her life.

My reason for writing this book is that I know there are others like me, like my friend’s husband, who are suffering from severe depression and do not see a way out. They see suicide as a viable option to a temporary problem.

It is my hope that my words will encourage these people first to seek therapy from a licensed mental health professional. The stigma of seeking professional help for depression must be removed. There are people in real pain, who are suffering daily from paralyzing depression.

Second, my book is intended to help suicide survivors. There are so many unanswered questions and feelings of guilt that suicide survivors have. I have dedicated one chapter of this book to those survivors and helping them cope with their loss.

I don’t think there will be anything that I do in my life going forward that is more important than writing this book. That is not to say that I will not continue to grow and evolve.

This book is my love letter to the world, my legacy of care, hope, and empathy for those who are living under the gripping vice of depression.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Andrew Duggan for his financial contribution and steadfast support in helping me get this book published. I would also like to acknowledge my beautiful daughter, Soler Bean, for providing me the strength and inspiration for writing this book.

Special thanks to Steve Shakerian, Anthony Tricase, and my sister Sheila Baker for challenging me to write an honest, revealing, thought-provoking book on a difficult topic.

Finally, to my family and friends who inspire me in ways that I do not always acknowledge: you are my strength. Thank you.

INTRODUCTION

W hy was I lying in an empty tub with a razor blade to my wrists?

I was a golden boy of sorts, first in my family to earn an undergraduate degree. Graduated from law school and passed the bar exam on my first try. I was living the American dream: nice house, great career, beautiful five-year-old daughter.

Yet there I was on the brink of it all turning black like Tony Soprano on the final episode of The Sopranos. I was on the brink of being that guy: seemingly happy-go-lucky, a kind word and smile for everyone he encountered.

Moreover, I was a comedian entertaining hundreds of people each night. Part of my craft was to make light of serious topics, twisting them and juxtaposing ideas so that people would laugh at the absurdity of it all.

What happens when the humor is gone? How could I possibly reconcile my job as a comedian making people laugh with the reality of dealing with severe depression that led to the suicidal state into which I was locked? I believe it was Shakespeare who coined the phrase theatre of the absurd. There I was living it, sitting in the cold bathtub with my razor blades at the ready.

There was nothing heroic about what I was contemplating; rather, a cowardly act was about to happen. I was about to give a huge middle finger to the world, but did the world even care? In my manic, depressive state, did anything even matter? No. My death would be summed up in a three- or four-paragraph obituary. My family and friends would be dismayed that they didn’t see the warning signs. In all honesty, I’d be nothing more than a sad statistic. It was fitting to become a statistic because at least I could fall into a category and be a part of something. I’d stopped feeling human months ago.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), more than two million Americans contemplate suicide every year. More than one million attempt suicide each year and more than 40,000 succeed; more than one million succeed worldwide.

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) estimates that there is a suicide in America every 13.7 minutes. Further, the AFSP says that 90 percent of suicides were diagnosed with a treatable psychiatric disorder.

A recent USA Today article pointed out that suicide deaths in the US military have tripled in recent years, averaging nearly thirty-three per month.