I took this picture of myself at the end of a day I spent in bed, scared and crying, feeling alone and hopeless and completely desperate.

This is the face of my mental illness. This is the face of my sadness when it is at its most inexplicable and its most pronounced.

I am not ashamed of it.

Up until now, there is NO way I would let anyone see this face. I first realized something was really up with me around the age of 11. I did anything I could to hide the face you see above. I masked it with anger, with judgement, with jokes. When I got older, I masked it with alcohol and sometimes with drugs.

I did anything to make sure no one saw that face, even if it meant they saw an even uglier version of my face. At least I was in control of that face.

As I got older and my problems got more pronounced, I’d physically hide from people who tried to help me if I was in the state you see above. I’d pretend I wasn’t home. I’d leave. I’d get in a car and drive away before I let anyone see my weakness this way.

Even after I started getting help, I never spoke about it. Then I started speaking about it on stage where I could make jokes about it and remove the tension - again, where I could be in control.

Then I started speaking about my issues frankly and publicly, and that dialogue became something I’m known for probably more than my comedy. Even then, as someone who felt empowered and who has been told he empowered others, I never would have actually let anyone see me like this if I could help it.

Hallie’s seen me like this. My old roommate Jamie. My ex. My old roommates John and Christine. Keith and Bethany one night, to a degree. The Stepfathers and Justin Purnell when I really lost it in the UCB green room one night. My brother. Never my parents - I never wanted to scare them.

But a few months back, I had a breakdown. I had a day where I couldn’t get out of bed. I spent a bunch of hours scared and crying. And I took out my phone and took a picture and told myself “This is what I look like. Maybe having this will help me do some good some day.”

Well, tonight one of my heroes died and apparently he killed himself. And there’s about to be all kinds of articles - “Do comedians have to be depressed to be funny?” The answer is no. All kinds of people get depressed - comedians just happen to be people that professionally deal with the manipulation of happiness, laughter, and other positive emotions, so maybe it stands out more or gets more pronounced.

But in the face of that dialogue, which is frustrating and scary and flawed, I wanted to put out this simpler dialogue.

This is the face of my mental illness.

It’s not so bad.

It doesn’t scare me like it used to, and I’m ok with you seeing it.

If you are suffering, get help. If you feel weak, know you can find some strength.

Stay alive.

- Geth