Comedians Anna Akana (l) and Catherine McCafferty (r) make their Fringe debut this year. Here they write about tragedies in their lives and the healing power of comedy.
Even in the midst of heartbreak there is always room for a joke.
Anna Akana
Did you know that Scotland has the highest suicide rate in the UK? The suicide rate for young men in Scotland is twice that in England and Wales. From the time I step foot in Edinburgh to the time I leave the festival, about 60 people will have taken their own lives.
But not if I can stop it.
Two years after my sister committed suicide. I was high out of my mind when Margaret Cho stepped onto a stage and changed the course of my life. In the 15 minutes that she spewed raunchy, relatable jokes, I found myself doing something I hadn't in years: laughing. After Kristina died, I opted to skip college, work at a dead-end pizza shop in the mall and devote my free time to a cocktail of hallucinogens. But Margaret's act gave me a gift: relief from the darkest moment in my life.
I started writing in a notebook the next day and making the trek from Temecula to Los Angeles to attend open mics. It took me seven years to write my first suicide joke. 17 years later, my comedy is a blend of the educational, the entertaining, the dark and dumb.
What better place to bring this message than to the country in the UK that needs it most?
Catherine McCafferty
Comedy has always been a coping mechanism in my family, where the men were addicts and the women were… no fun. I grew up Irish catholic. Having a witty and dry sense of humour is how you got attention.
My dad was sarcastic and cracking quips on his deathbed. He knew you had to laugh at the randomness of tragedy otherwise it would consume you. Losing him to alcoholism was heartbreaking, but I still had the thrill of stand-up; an outlet to tell my story and to share my experience in the way I wanted people to digest it. Being able to make jokes about it felt like I was keeping him alive. I learned to contextualise sadness' and spin anything in my life into a joke and have people laugh!
After my dad died I had the courage to come out of the closet and a few weeks later I started my first queer relationship with a gorgeous non-binary lesbian. We dated, moved in together, got a dog and they proposed. I felt like I had the perfect life until one day they told me they had doubts and that crushed me. We broke up. I was devastated and hated it. I'd much rather laugh.
So, from the wreckage of a broken engagement I began to write (Not) That Bad, a testament to the power of comedy, an art that has carried me through the tragedies in my life, granted me perspective and the given me the gift of laughter, for which i am so grateful; for even in the midst of heartbreak there is always room for a joke.
