Part of the Process


Okay, if I can’t work on the script, I’ll just write on this blank piece of “paper.” I’m so angry right now. What is wrong with me?! I “bookended” with a man in Chicago– that is I texted him and said, “I’m just going to write for 25 minutes on the script and I’ll text you back and tell you I did it.” That was about an hour ago. The first thing I did after texting him is look at some pretty videos on my computer. That’s not writing. That’s self medication. The medicine cabinet behind my zipper. I know that I did it because I was afraid. I’m afraid I won’t know how to fix it. I’m afraid the whole thing will be shit. The “it” that I’m trying to fix is Lilac and Liquor. After the reading the other night, I was pretty relieved as I believe it to be a very good play. But there’s one sort of major thing that needs to be changed– actually a piece of the storyline that needs to come out. Excising it from the script will also bring the total time down to a more manageable length (I think we were actually pushing about three hours with it– hard to tell exactly with a reading). But all it requires is some thought, sitting down and doing the hard work of fixing problems with the script. I tell myself I enjoy that process but if that were true, wouldn’t I be eager to sit down and do it rather than feeling like I was going in front of a firing squad?

Other than that one major change, the only things that need correcting are a couple of little things I noticed– a line given to the wrong character, a line I remembered I wanted to add but so far haven’t. I’m scared and I’m depressed and– well, I feel sort of mentally ill– like I’d just like to start clawing at this keyboard instead of typing on it.

I just saw a picture on someone else’s Facebook page of my ex and me. He really looked great and I didn’t really like the way I looked in the picture. You can image, on top of the way I was already feeling where that took me.

I had a job interview over the phone today. The job is in New York City. It’s helping homeless veterans who may also be dealing with mental health issues and substance abuse to get connected with resources that can help them out. Can you imagine anyone more qualified than me for such a job– based on my experience I mean? I think the interview went well. It’s the first time I’ve interviewed for a “real job” in years. It will likely be a week and a half before I even hear if they want to do a second interview. If they do, I’ll have to figure out how to get my ass to New York City again. My three weeks of “I’m sure I’ll find a job and a place to live” did not turn out that way– three weeks of “I’m sure God will make a way for it to happen.” Nope! Here I am sitting in my teenage bedroom in Parrish, Alabama.

I missed my appointment with my VA voc rehab counselor in Manhattan today. I’m not in Manhattan but I also hadn’t called and rescheduled. I wonder what veteran could have used that appointment time today. I am a selfish asshole. The counselor left a message and said he’d rescheduled for April 3 (I think). My brain has a very hard time with scheduling and such. I even try to use the calendars on my phone and my computer. I was under the impression that they talked to each other. Maybe I was wrong. Jacking off is depressing.

I wish I hadn’t seen that picture of my ex and me. I wish my 20-something-year-old “buddy” wasn’t off in Atlanta with his next “daddy pro-tem.” I don’t want him to be my boyfriend or nothin’ but something about his being over there doing this pisses me off. I think he disposes of people when he’s no longer amused. I think I have done that often through my life. I think when we can’t forgive a trait in ourselves, we find it particularly egregious in others. Plus my friend is a narcissist like me. At the center of narcissism is self-loathing. I hate myself for hating myself. (Isn’t that funny?) I’m a good guy, Me. Lighten up, you fuck! Don’t call him a fuck, he’s a nice guy too. Well tell him to…

Ah the voices.

One more word about my little buddy since I’m pissed with him for no reason: I’ve never seen him cry. I don’t trust people who don’t cry. In that way, he is definitely not me.

(hours later)

I called up another person in recovery on my drive to Birmingham tonight. She reminded me that I should be mindful of what I say about myself. (reference:”I am a selfish asshole.”) She reminded me that what I think and say about other people makes a difference too. (reference: ” I think [my friend] disposes of people when he’s no longer amused.”) The wise woman in LA reminded me that thinking negative thoughts and saying (or writing) negative things creates for myself a negative experience. I don’t want that. She is right. I almost put all that part of the blog before “hours later” in the stack of “un-publishable because of content” blogs. But I opted to leave it. Because that’s an important part of this blog for me– that I’m honest about the process– that I don’t try to “look good” or be “spiritually evolved” or “have it all together all the time. (“Clearly!” you say.)

This process has been hard. This process has been sloppy. This process has had me in a complete state of upheaval since it started– but actually my life needed some disruption. It was a structure built on a weak foundation. To rebuild a foundation requires more than a facelift. I’m willing to do the hard work. I want my pain to be worth something– not only to me but also to others. I want to learn from all this. My hope is that others are helped by it too.

See y’all tomorrow.

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