Everything is Horrible and Wonderful: A Tragicomic Memoir of Genius, Heroin, Love, and Loss

by Stephanie Wittels Wach

“One time I said to a guy that ‘I loved learning new things. I’m a bit of an infomaniac.’ And he thought I said NYMPHOMANIAC…so he fucked me. And I said ‘No, no, no… I said INFO. I’m an INFOmaniac’ And he said ‘Well, here’s some info…you just got fucked. Clean yourself up.’”

He really seemed to relish getting laughs out of other comedians. Last night, the Parks writers staff and other friends shared Harris stories. One of my favorites was there was a serious email from NBC about a big sexual harassment seminar. Serious execs are cc’d along with Harris and the writers. Harris writes back, REPLY ALL, with this gem—now keep in mind EVERYONE is on this email, all the crew, so many higher-level producers and execs. Here we go: NBC Mandatory Workplace Harassment Meeting A brief reminder that we all have to attend a mandatory NBC Workplace Harassment Seminar this Friday, July 22nd at 8am here at the lot. It will be downstairs in the basement Multi Purpose Room #1 there will be bagels. and coffee Thanks! harris wittels Will the bagels be shaped like pussy holes? Sent from an old rotary telephone

I cackled my way to tears, and before he took his seat, I hugged him with all of the love I had in my body, which was the only thing that existed inside of me on that glorious day.

“Goddammit, Harris, the Westboro Baptist Church just called you a ‘fag enabler’ and you’re not here to see it.”

You responded at 12:00 a.m. her time, 10:00 p.m. your time: There’s only one more Parks episode left and it’s the big farewell episode that will make you cry. i found a cool place to live in Manhattan. I feel good!! I am feeling very fortunate. Love you. And you were found dead on Thursday around noon. It doesn’t make any sense. It will never make any sense. What happened between clicking send and sticking a needle in your arm? I spend hours trying to figure it out, sifting through texts and emails, listening to voicemails, interrogating your friends. Nothing. There is nothing. There is nothing to figure out because there is no case to crack. You were an addict, and it was a stupid, senseless fucking accident. It’s as tragically simple as that.

“Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.”

You’re in everything, but your everythingness no longer makes me hit the ground. Rather, it brings an unfamiliar sense of peace and comfort.

‘Let’s stop finding a new witch of the week and burning them at the stake. We are all horrible and wonderful and figuring it out.’”

Chelsea Peretti did a set straight from the depths of her soul. You seemed to drive her bananas, but she clearly loved you. (I think this is how most people who loved you felt.)

I loved him dearly. We all did. And I’m so sorry he’s gone. But the few years I had with him are better than 10,000 years with most of the boring people out there. I’m glad we all had him while we did. I’ll make sure to keep him in my heart forever and everything I do will be in his honor with the goal of trying to make him laugh somewhere, wherever he is.

“Well, people are fucking idiots.” “Yeah, but they mean well. They’re just trying to connect with you and understand it—they just don’t know what to say. No one ever knows what to say about anything.” And just like that, I was disarmed.

And while it was over for you in a moment (at least I hope it was that fast), it will remain alive in me for hundreds of thousands of future moments. I am forever changed by something that happened to you in a moment.