Maria Bamford's first memories of comedy came from listening to her dad's Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy records and taking in the comical Canuck stylings of SCTV's Bob and Doug McKenzie. Later on, in high school, she found other ways to entertain herself.

"I enjoyed getting up and doing speeches," recalls Bamford on the line from her home in Altadena, California. "I would run for office if there was a student-council position, so that I could do the funny speech. Then, of course, once I was elected, everything sort of fell apart--as it does with most leaders."

Falling apart--and trying to keep yourself together--is something that the 51-year-old comic knows only too well. Growing up in Duluth, Minnesota, she suffered from severe bouts of anxiety and depression, and was later diagnosed with bipolar II disorder and OCD (obsessive–compulsive disorder). Her response has been to build a successful and fulfilling career as a comedian addressing issues of mental health.

"Some people do their comedy about things that are more everyday," she says, "and I think that can be just as valuable. I think it's a totally valid point for comedians to say, 'Oh, even if I had something serious to talk about, why burden the audience with it?'

"But I like talking about things that are meaningful to me," she stresses. "I like the feeling of talking about something on-stage, and then if people laugh that means they know what I'm talking about. If they don't, well, then we're all in a pickle."

Bamford's self-deprecating efforts to use comedy as a therapeutic tool has brought praise from the likes of Stephen Colbert, who told her on his show in 2016 that she was his "favourite comedian on planet Earth".

"I could not believe it," says Bamford. "I still--even when you say it--I almost can't believe it. But it's on tape somewhere, so there it is. His feelings may have changed since then, but at that moment in time, that was pretty wonderful. I kind of went, 'Wow, he's a pretty gracious person to put himself out there for me, at risk.'"

Colbert's compliment came the same year that Netflix launched Lady Dynamite, a subversive comedy show based loosely on Bamford's life. The series only lasted for two seasons (20 episodes), but Bamford wasn't surprised--or saddened--by that fact.

"It was the perfect amount for me," she explains. "I don't know if you've ever worked on a television production, but it turns out I did not realize that it involves 16- to 18-hour workdays, every day. You're extremely well paid, but it's a bit of a big deal. And the medications that I'm on made it extremely difficult, so I am grateful that it's only two seasons. It was fun while it lasted, and it bought me a house. So thank you, Netflix, for a house."

Other highlights of Bamford's career include doing voiceovers for animated shows like Adventure Time, BoJack Horseman, Big Mouth, and HouseBroken. She also played Debrie Bardeaux, Tobias Fünke's love interest, on 15 episodes of Arrested Development.

"I really enjoyed that show," she says. "It was creative and unpredictable and bananas, and then had great wordplay. Most of the time I was acting like a methamphetamine user or someone who was withdrawing from some sort of heroin addiction, laying down with my eyes kind of half-shut half the time, so it wasn't too off my normal state."

These days Bamford is mostly performing standup--as she will be doing on May 25 at the Vogue Theatre. She suggests people check her act out on YouTube to see if they have any interest in what she does.

"Right now I do a bunch of material about my mother," she says. "My mom passed this year. I do a bunch on cults that I am a member of, and mental-health issues. Suicide hotline is talked about in my act, and really anything about what I've tried to do to cheer myself up in the last few years."

As well as immersing herself in standup, Bamford runs an open mike in her neighbourhood once a month.

"It is so good!," she raves. "It's six to nine hours of three-minute timed segments of people shouting into a mike. And it's great because you get everyone's perspective. It's just a diverse bunch of opinions and thoughts and life experiences; all ages and all ethnicities and all sexualities and gender identities. It's a learning experience with some laughs, and also moments of great discomfort, which is quite possibly my favourite part of comedy, when the show isn't going well."

Besides working hard to overcome the stigma of mental health, Bamford shows her big heart in other ways. She donates 11 percent of the net profits of her company, Bamfooco, to the Downtown Women's Centre in L.A.'s Skid Row neighbourhood, which provides housing and health care and other services to women there.

"We give 11 percent," she says, "because I grew up Christian, and I want to give one percent better than my mother did."

Bamford's concern for the plight of others is also evident on her current Twitter feed, which includes this bio message to her over 230,000 followers: "See me live! Tix are usually $30! If low on $ and can't afford, email me at ariamaamfordba@gmail.com I'll get you on list if not sold out!"

"That is real and true," she points out. "The tickets for comedy are sometimes very expensive--I don't know what they are for JFL--but please, if you are tight for money, all you do is email me and I will do my best--unless it's sold out--to get you in. That is no problem at all. There should be all access to all comedy to all people."

Humble to the end, Bamford even paints that atypical act of generosity as being somehow self-serving.

"Uh, well, I just want it to be a good show," she reasons. "I mean, it's really sort of a selfish thing. It only works out in my favor that I have people who are truly delighted to come see a show."

Maria Bamford performs at the Vogue Theatre on May 25 as part of Just For Laughs VANCOUVER.