Supermergentroid.
This last week I had a big scare. I thought I'd have to give up the one thing that meant more to me than any other thing in the world. (I'm not talking about people here. Thank GOD.) I thought I'd have to give up my passion. Theatre. It might not show--how much theatre means to me, but I'm young. That's still excusable. I like to think it shows, though. This fear is founded--the responsability--in part--lies on my present financial problems and the health/finances of family. I considered that perhaps it's my duty to everyone I care about to put away childish things. I considered that my love of theatre might be childish. It broke my fucking heart. It felt like something stabbed me deep inside. I had my hand on this metaphorical knife. I turned it in the wound. It fucking killed something deep inside.
Whatever it killed grew back.
Whatever it maimed took charge of itself. I consider the last few weeks of my life incredibly ground breaking. I don't care if anyone noticed. The change was internal.
Unfortunately, it pulled me back into my own struggle with my physical self. I had no desire to eat. I had no desire to sleep. I would turn the tv on, but I wouldn't watch it. It illustrated a new concept to me: The difference between depression and sadness. I wasn't sad. I wasn't about to cry. I felt nothing. It made me a little glad I live alone right now. I wouldn't want someone to have to go through what happened to me.
Yesterday, I realized I could shut myself in. I really wanted to shut myself in with another human being, since I was "recovered", but I couldn't think of who to call. I wanted all my "Rover" friends to enjoy the possible cast festivities that were inevitabley occurring at that moment. I cleaned my bathtub. FINALLY. I did some dishes. I made what I decided was as close to fried rice as I would be getting with some leftover mexican rice mix, eggs, and a little cheese. I ate pudding. I drank a little tequila (sour) (two light drinks over the period of an hour and a half). I did some work. I practiced some music and some Shakespeare like a madwoman. It felt good. Started to read some Stanislavski. Put down Stanislaski. Went to bed. A good night. A night I needed.
Whatever it killed grew back.
Whatever it maimed took charge of itself. I consider the last few weeks of my life incredibly ground breaking. I don't care if anyone noticed. The change was internal.
Unfortunately, it pulled me back into my own struggle with my physical self. I had no desire to eat. I had no desire to sleep. I would turn the tv on, but I wouldn't watch it. It illustrated a new concept to me: The difference between depression and sadness. I wasn't sad. I wasn't about to cry. I felt nothing. It made me a little glad I live alone right now. I wouldn't want someone to have to go through what happened to me.
Yesterday, I realized I could shut myself in. I really wanted to shut myself in with another human being, since I was "recovered", but I couldn't think of who to call. I wanted all my "Rover" friends to enjoy the possible cast festivities that were inevitabley occurring at that moment. I cleaned my bathtub. FINALLY. I did some dishes. I made what I decided was as close to fried rice as I would be getting with some leftover mexican rice mix, eggs, and a little cheese. I ate pudding. I drank a little tequila (sour) (two light drinks over the period of an hour and a half). I did some work. I practiced some music and some Shakespeare like a madwoman. It felt good. Started to read some Stanislavski. Put down Stanislaski. Went to bed. A good night. A night I needed.