A suicide note

I am sometimes questioned about the nature of my sense of humor.

I have been told at different times that it is very dark, really sick, and that I have a crazy laugh. I have been called morbid, sardonic, and twisted, all for things that I find funny. After failing recently to describe my sense of humor, I now think that the best way is this:
there are moments when one has to laugh, or cry; I generally choose to laugh.

Or do I?

It may be true that all the universe and all within it is a determinable sequence of events; a steady causal chain that could be traced forward and back, given the right variables and tools to process them. Which means that everything I do, I do because I couldn't have done anything else; I am literally programmed to do what I do. The programming is the result of everything that has occurred before, i.e. the particular events of my life and birth and genetics and environment, all directing my actions.
This is determinism as I understand it.
So where is there room for any real decision, actual free will?

Perhaps free will is contained within the mind, and nowhere else. The ability to conceptualize a multitude of possible actions at any given moment is free will, regardless of any actual compulsion that will push me towards one of the options.

In this sense, free will would exist alongside my ability to perceive of myself as a self, and nowhere else. It would be an illusion, but one equal in importance to the illusions that I use to allow me to mingle amongst others and survive and communicate.

To drop the illusions completely, (if that is even possible without becoming permanently insane) would then also abolish any possibility of free will, though perhaps the sheer magnitude of everything being constantly experienced would make the question of free will moot. A life lived without illusion would be all consuming.

Who knows what I would then find to laugh about?