The Last Black Unicorn - Tiffany Haddish Page 0,39

pounds.

I felt like I was dying. I was crying all the time, bleeding all the time. My stomach was hurting all the time. I was so fucking sick.

They eventually gave me some antidepressants. They recommended that I see a psychiatrist, so I did.

The therapist was nice. She talked to me all about my life and everything, and I was constantly crying in there. But it was weird, because everything I said, she would laugh. She’d be giggling and stuff.

Tiffany: “Why you laughing? This shit’s not funny! My life fucking sucks!”

She’d stop and compose herself. But pretty soon, she’d be laughing again.

Therapist: “Tiffany, what do you love to do? What makes you happy?”

Tiffany: “I like teeth. Maybe I should just be a dentist, because I really love teeth. I really like the way teeth look, but I don’t want to hurt anybody, so maybe I could just be the dental assistant.”

She laughed at that, too.

Therapist: “Have you ever thought about comedy?”

Tiffany: “It’s funny you say that. I like seeing people smile, hearing laughter. That makes me happy. You know, I used to do comedy, in high school.”

Remember when I went to Laugh Factory Comedy Camp? And how great that was? And remember how I had stopped doing comedy when I had got kicked out of my grandma’s house at eighteen? I stopped doing comedy because it wasn’t paying anything. Right? I told her all about that. About how great it was for me, and why I quit.

Therapist: “Well, maybe you should start doing that again, at least as a hobby. Do stand-up comedy again. It made you so happy then, why not now?”

Well, fuck. I forgot about that. I forgot how much I loved comedy. I forgot how much joy it brought me.

I decided to try it, do some open mics. Basically, open mic is some shit that anyone can get up and do.

I thought about it, and I prepared, and I got ready. I got up and did five minutes, and I got a ton of laughs. It was amazing. I went back the next night, did the same five-minute set, but with some improvements. It was even better. People loved it.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was bringing the house down and people were in tears at my brilliance, throwing roses on the stage, and screaming my name. That shit didn’t happen for at least ten more years

But open mics are tough. Most of the people suck and aren’t funny, and the crowd can get annoyed and become hostile. To get any laughs at an open mic is really good. And I got laughs. People liked me. They enjoyed it.

It was like, the smallest thing, but it was so profound for me. I had known this at fifteen, that this was my calling, and I had quit. And now here I was, telling my stories and hearing people laugh at them and feeling that rush again.

I started doing lots of open mics, getting my comedy chops back again. And the more time that I spent on comedy, the more the bleeding stopped. The stomach pains stopped. The crying and depression stopped.

I don’t know how or why, but all the bad shit stopped. All of it. Just from doing open mics.

I started to become more happy and more joyous. I started thinking more positive. I started reading positive books.

Then Titus tried to get me back. He started coming to my open mics, and he would write jokes and put them in my mailbox or whatever. They were terrible jokes! Fucking knock-knock shit! I was done with him, though. I’d already fucked Roscoe by this point, and I had re-found comedy, I didn’t have no time in my life for a fake pimp who thought I was worth $38.

I kept doing open mics and kept feeling better, and then I got my first paid gig. It almost derailed me, and sent me off comedy forever.

One of my aunties called me and said her friend was having some women’s group meeting or something, and they wanted me to perform at their event.

Aunt: “And it pays $50.”

Tiffany: “Yeah, right. How much time they want me to do? Two hours?”

Aunt: “They want you to do fifteen minutes. That’s it.”

Tiffany: “Oh hell yes!”

I got there, and I knew it was a women’s event ahead of time, but damn, there were NO men there. I had come with another comedian friend, a guy, and he was like:

Friend: “Tiffany, a lot of these ladies