may WH Y G E T T I N G S O B E R I S W A Y S C A R I E R T H A N T E L L I N G J O K E S ON S T A G E wilkerson
”I got sober not just to protect my reputation, my liver and my dwindling shoe collection, but because I felt I had no other choice.” - May Wilkerson
capable. But when I stood in the auditorium in front of teachers and students, my voice came out in a pinched little squeak. Now I do stand-up comedy, which is a terrifying thing for a lot of people. “You’re so brave!” is meant as a compliment. But it’s a strange thing to hear, because comedy feels like a compulsion. It’s like drinking. Like curling up in my bed with a box of cookies and melting away into a Net ix marathon. It’s not that I want to do it—it’s that I don’t want to do anything else. I didn’t have an alcoholic “rock bottom” before getting sober. I wasn’t homeless or selling my body on the streets. I was paying rent and going to work everyday. But I was miserable and isolated. I stopped going out to drink with friends because I would get blackout drunk and do something I’d regret: kiss someone I shouldn’t or lose my shoes. Instead I would stay home, guzzling vodka. “One day that could be me!” I thought, watching comedians perform on The Tonight Show. Then I’d pass out in all my clothes. I got sober not just to protect my reputation, my liver and my dwindling shoe collection, but because I felt I had no other choice.
I’M A STAND-UP COMEDIAN. People often tell me I’m “brave.” Maybe that’s just a euphemism for “crazy.” But I usually shrug off the word, because I feel like the most fearful person on the planet. This fear is why I drank for the rst half of my twenties like an alcoholic housewife in an after-school special. Then, ve and a half years ago, I quit drinking and began adapting to life without alcohol. Compared with that experience, nothing else seems nearly as scary. Caroline Knapp in her memoir Drinking: A Love Story sums up alcoholism in three words: “fear of life.” You might think: Umm, but isn’t it about alcohol? Sure, kind of. But it’s not as if I just drank too much and then whoops, one day I was blacked out in Washington Square Park wondering where are my shoes? It started years before I ever picked up a drink, when I was a nicky, anxious little kid. My rst sip of alcohol, at a sleepover in 9th grade, showed me that it could eliminate this fear. The more drunk I got, the braver I felt. Growing up, I was scared of everything. I slept with the light on until I was 15. I had a phobia of heights. This fear would manifest physically: My legs would shake and my heart rate would accelerate. Another phobia was public speaking. I tried out for the school plays, believing myself to be funny and
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