Death of the Party

There's a party going on in my house right now. I'm in my bedroom with the lights off. Crying.

Social anxiety sucks.

I thought I was doing okay. I haven't had a bad attack in awhile, and I have good coping mechanisms. But tonight, I just felt off.

I started baking cookies mid-party. I've done it before. It gives me an excuse to be away from conversation and people for awhile, without looking like I'm abandoning a party.

It wasn't helping enough. So I ended kept plugging my ears, focusing on a spot on the floor, and humming. It was sort of helping. Until it wasn't.

When the cookies were done, I went to take them out of the oven. Someone bumped me, I burned my elbow on the oven, and I dropped a tray, which knocked some of the cookies into the rungs of the oven shelf.

And then I knew I wasn't okay.

I went to the living room, where I was alone, and tried to calm down. And I couldn't. D-Train came over and tried to calm me down. I blamed my state on the burn, so he got me ice. By the time he got back, I was crying.

He brought me upstairs with a paper towel of ice, and sat on the floor with me in the hallway. (He couldn't come into my room, of course, as it's in its usual embarrassingly disheveled state.) He held me for a few minutes, got me some tissues, and told me I was going to be okay.

He said to stay upstairs until I was calm. He said that I didn't have to come back down again, and that I shouldn't unless I had a real smile on my face.

As he left me, I heard people downstairs talking about me. "Oh, she's just upset because she dropped the cookies." "I burn myself all the time. It really hurts, so I bet that's why." Those sorts of things. Nothing mean, but it's still weird to hear people talking about you.

I heard them singing Happy Birthday to OD a couple of minutes ago. I didn't go down.

It's getting quieter. Maybe I will just stay up here.

This sucks.

I think I'm just going to keep crying. And eventually go to bed.

The funny thing is, before this, it was a pretty good day.


May you escape when you need to.

~A~

Please Just Like Me

Alright, I'm just going to sort this all out through writing. It's late, so please forgive my potentially incoherent babbling.

I think there are a couple of guys who are interested in me. And, as usual, I have no idea how to handle it.

The first is an Iron-Maiden-worshipping karaoke maven that I've known for over a year now. Frankly, he's been interested since the day we met (or since the day he first saw me karaoke, which was a few weeks before that). But I'm somewhat, shall we say, uncatchable. I was quasi-dating a different karaoke guy. Then I started dating The Filmmaker... And since becoming single, I've gone to karaoke exactly once.

He's a nice guy. He thinks I'm worthy of high praise, which is of course a huge score in anyone's favor. He's a bit of a know-it-all (not usually in an attractive way). He's a bit socially awkward (not in a cute way). I wouldn't call him combative, but he does have a certain air of "I win all my arguments" about him.

I adore him as a friend. But beyond that, I can't say that I'm interested.

He keeps buying tickets to things and asking me to go along. Things that he has chosen to bring up, clearly, because he thinks I'll like them. A Yo-Yo Ma concert (I was, after all, a cellist for 8 years). A Bernadette Peters concert. The touring company of Avenue Q. I couldn't go to Yo-Yo Ma because I was in tech for a show. The other two concert dates are still upcoming, and I haven't given a response (although, honestly, it would be impossible for me to do so in advance, due to the hyper-changeable nature of my grad school schedule).



The second guy I met though a classmate of mine. He got to know a lot of people in my program over the summer while I was up East with my family. He's nice. I see him in social situations and make small talk. He showed up at my surprise birthday party...

(Side note: My roommates threw me a surprise birthday party during my dinner break from tech. It was unreal, and super cool. Sometimes I love people.)

Anyway. The other night, I was in a bar (where aforementioned classmate who links me to this guy is a bartender once a week) and started a conversation with him. A real one, and not just our usual superficial pleasantries. We bonded over our common Catholicism and social phobias/anxieties (he apparently used to be agoraphobic). We decided to go to Mass together next Sunday (which will be nice... I've been going to church by myself pretty regularly these days, and I do hate going alone, as a result of the social anxiety).

We talked about Guitar Hero and played darts (um, I'm REALLY terrible at darts. Like, if I get the dart to stick into something other than the floor, it's cause for celebration). I invited him to join a group I'd been organizing to go watch the meteor storm on the beach.

We were both leaving the bar at the same time, and his car needed time to warm up (to defog his windows), so he chilled in my car for a bit. I played him some of the random-as-all-get-out variety of music currently housed on my fraction-of-an-iPod. "Subtle Sexuality" by the girls from The Office. "Do You Wanna Date My Avatar?" by the cast of The Guild. Several mash-ups from Glee. And some of the songs on Natalie Imbruglia's latest album (Come to Life, which might be my favorite yet... which is a HUGE DEAL considering that she was already my favorite artist. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!!!!!!) It wasn't until we hugged as he got out of my car that I realized that maybe he was interested (in retrospect, I'm incredibly dense; the signs were all there). And then I was grateful for the cherry-flavored Chupa-Chup lollipop, whose stick was protruding from my mouth at that point in a way that surely threatened off all possible romantic gestures and impromptu kiss attempts.

He text messaged me about 20 minutes later to say what a great time he'd had, and I knew I was in trouble.

Then I found out: this guy? He's mid-fight with our mutual friend. And knowing her, she's probably upset that I was even TALKING to him while he was in her bar. Let's just say she wasn't thrilled when I told her he was coming meteor-spotting with us.

He has texted me a few times in the last two days, asking if I want to go over and hang out, watch a movie, play Rock Band, etc. So far, I've turned him down. (I've had stuff to do, anyway.)

I'm not that into him. He's cool, and I'd like to have him as a friend. But again, I just don't want it to go beyond that. And I really hope that he doesn't think me going to Mass with him on Sunday is a date. Because it is SO not.




The thing is, I'm really quite lonely. I am. I miss cuddling. I miss talking to someone who cares about my problems. I miss talking to someone on a regular basis. Anyone, really. I'm around people plenty, but I still often feel like I'm in a cone of isolation.

The most recent person I was talking to on a regular basis was a friend who was calling me drunk every night talking about his depression. One night, he started the conversation by telling me that he had just called a "suicide hotline", and that "they weren't helpful" because they're not authorized to give advice (I'm sure it's a legal issue). All they could do was listen. And he wanted someone to respond. So even though I had a day full of classes and an evening performance ahead of me, I stayed on the phone with him until 3:30am trying to keep him talking about the positive things in his life.


Of course, The Filmmaker isn't completely out of my life. He recently sent me a birthday gift. One that, if we were still dating, would be really quite lovely and wonderful. But because we're not? It's riding the line between awfully sweet and creepy. Riffing off a conversation about how a guy in a bar once misheard my name as "Tarantula", and Filmmaker thought that would be my mutant name as a superhero... He got a bunch of his artist friends to contribute to graphic-novel-style art on the subject of me being said superhero. It's three framed pieces of collaborative art, which he said he thought would be nice in my room, which currently is somewhat lacking in wall-covering decoration.

How do you respond to a thoughtful, complex gift like that from an ex? Especially an ex like this one?



Maybe it's because it's 1:00am, but it seems like I keep getting thrown all these wily pitches that I don't know how to hit.



The crux of the problem is probably that I just want people to like me. And I don't want to disappoint anyone. And I don't want to be alone.

But it creates so many problems.

I can't be everyone's go-to gal in crisis. I can't be everyone's friend. I can't be everyone's crush. I can't.




May you figure out what the real problem is.

~A~

Woes in a Hurricane

Everything negative is raining down on me at once, and I'm drowning in the flood.

I need to vent, so I'll do it in list format.

- The Filmmaker dumped me. (SIDE NOTE: I am now rehearsing a play called "The Filmmaker's Mystery". And God is giggling.)
- The Filmmaker called me, post-dumping me, to verbally abuse me. And, because I have a history of abuse and always fall back into the spot of being the victim despite how many times I reassure myself that I'm never going to let it happen again, I let him attack me. I let him. I thought it was me doing something nice for him. I LET IT HAPPEN. Which just makes it MY fault, and makes me feel even worse. - My brother had swine flu. (He's fine now, but it's just one more thing on the list of badness).
- I got bad casting for my season. Which I'm actually okay with... But I'm not okay with not knowing WHY. My auditions and callbacks went well. I've had nothing but positive feedback. Did they plan the season and forget about me? Did I do something to offend someone? What went wrong?
- The thing that my professors wanted me to work on above all else this year? Confidence. (Yeah, really easy to do that when you show so much faith in me).
- My 1st-year acting professor said that he hasn't seen "me" in any of the work he's seen me do this year, and implied that I'd forgotten everything I learned last year in his class, and that he's disappointed in me.
- A classmate of mine who got good casting (actually, unfairly good) insensitively said to me (TO ME!), "Not everyone deserves a lead." (And THIS is the kind of person who is getting REWARDED??? I wrote a very angry poem to her and was going to perform it at an open mic night, but then my roommates said that I shouldn't because it was too harsh and everyone from my school would know who I was talking about.)
- Same classmate tried to tell me today that she thinks ADHD is misdiagnosed in children, and that I should really just add more protein to my diet. WHY DO PEOPLE TRY TO INVALIDATE MY F***ING DISORDER??? I was NOT misdiagnosed! I wasn't even diagnosed as a CHILD! I wasn't medicated until I was 18 YEARS OLD. WHO THE F*** ARE YOU TO TELL ME HOW MY BRAIN WORKS???
- The only guy who has shown any interest in me since my break-up? A pothead who was in the army for 8 years (Why do I attract military men?) who has worse social anxiety than I do. No thank you.
- I overdrafted my checking account twice last week.
- My car insurance company took away one of my discounts because my paperwork didn't go through properly and now says I owe them an additional $60.
- My beloved laptop (and best friend -- and I mean that in a non-ironic way) Lady MacBook died yesterday. I got her on October 3rd, 2006, and I was told I had 3 years worth of AppleCare coverage... but for some reason, Apple says that it expired on September 27th. They think the hard drive is gone, and apparently I have a "warped battery". And if everything that they think is wrong ends up actually being wrong, then I don't have the money to fix her.
- I keep having blindingly bad pain in my stomach, and no one can tell me WHY. Today, it was so bad that I think I literally BLACKED OUT from pain in the middle of class. When it started to subside, I was shaking, light-headed, and tears were streaming down my face, and four of my classmates had their hands on me, trying to help or calm me down or something. I JUST WANT IT TO GO AWAY!!! Or, at the very least, I WANT TO KNOW WHY IT'S HAPPENING!!!

I think that's a pretty solid list of BAD STUFF ALL HAPPENING AT ONCE.

And there are more things. Some that seem lesser. Like the fact that the karaoke bar I used to go to now has new people running the karaoke, who arrange their (terrible) collection BY SONG TITLE instead of by artist.

Or that the classmate that I used to go out dancing/karaoke-ing with on Sunday nights has now picked up a Sunday night shift working as a bartender, so I haven't been able to do the things that make me forget a bad week (and I can't go alone because of my social anxiety).

Or that I had such great plans for my Golden 25th birthday next month (wear a gold dress and karaoke to "What's Up" by 4 Non-Blondes because of the line "25 years and my life is still/trying to get up that great big hill of hope/towards a destination", and also a Katy Perry song since she and I have the same birthday in the same year), but they all have to be cancelled because my birthday falls on tech weekend for the play I'm in... Which means both the day before my birthday and my birthday itself, I will be in rehearsals from noon to midnight. And I can't throw a party post-midnight, because my roommate has to sleep before her matinee at 10:30am the next morning.

It all just sucks.

I've started going to church regularly. I keep praying that things will suddenly get better. But I just feel so unsatisfied by life right now.

I like to think that everything happens for a reason, but right now, it's really hard to see the reasons.

Please, if you have any compliments for me, I'd like to fish for them right now. I could use some.

~A~

Flying Close to the Sun

A week ago, I could fly.

At least, that's how I felt. Like I could do anything. I had no limitations.

That's how good things have were going with grad school. That good.

I look at acting in a completely different way than I did when I got here. I've found a new level of connection, honesty, and focus on stage. And I'm incredibly proud of myself.

I met with my Acting Professor last Thursday, and he gave me nothing but encouragement. Nothing but positive comments. He said that I was using the techniques properly, and that I was helping my scene partners to do the same. He said, "Truth is contagious."

After our Acting Showing (which is somewhere between an Open Class and a Performance), people kept coming up to me and telling me I did a great job, and I felt like I had. The 2nd-Year Acting professor came up to me and said, "I like you" (which I understand to be a good thing). The head of the program said, "Really great work, Angela. Everyone, really. But particularly you." And one of the program's donors (not one of my sponsors) invited me and four of my classmates to dinner (I've heard that this donor doesn't hide the fact that she has favorites).

In our Acting class on Friday, we spent about 2 hours just talking about our (1-hour) showing. And my professor held up the two scenes I was in multiple times as examples of great work. And he said that audience members probably left the room thinking I was a "cunning actress" (of course, this was in the midst of a larger statement about how they misunderstand our technique, but I'm still hoarding it as a compliment).

Of course, none of you out in internet-land knew any of this, because I decided to post something from my drafts folder instead of a new post. I guess I kind of assumed the good stuff would continue and I'd post a happier post at a later date.

But then things left the happy place for awhile.

On Saturday, I was at an understudy rehearsal next to one of my classmates, The Pro. He started telling me that he and four other classmates (whom he referred to as "the fab five") were all thinking of dropping out of the program.

*bombshell*

I don't understand. I really don't. I thought everything was going so well. We were finally coming together as a class. We were doing great work. And they want to leave???

To be fair... Two people in my class were probably too young (emotionally, at least) to come to grad school. One person is clearly in the wrong program (he chose this one because it was the only one he got into that was free). One person REALLY needs therapy. And The Pro? Well, grad school in Acting probably wasn't the right decision for him. He's a song and dance man, and was getting consistent work in national tours of musicals. (He actually almost left the program in September to be in the national tour of Legally Blonde: The Musical.)

I was shaken. I've been in class with 11 people all semester, and suddenly 5 might be leaving.

The Pro didn't show up to our musical theatre workshop the next day (which he'd been looking forward to all semester, for obvious reasons), and I knew that he was gone.

I sent him a text, and got a weird response. I ran out of the workshop on our first break to call him, and left a voicemail.

My social anxiety started in a major way. There were way too many people in that room (in reality, there were only 23). It was too loud. There was too much input. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I just had to get out of there.

So I ran out of the building when it was over. And I got in my car. And I just kept driving, and driving. And crying. And talking to myself. I was headed south. I didn't have anything to do on Monday until the evening (when I had to go to dinner with that donor), so I decided that if I had to, I'd drive all the way to Miami and just stay at a hotel for the night.

I started trying to work out why I was so upset about everything. I realized that part of it was the uncertainty. I'm great at talking myself into things. If I KNEW they were leaving, I could talk myself into thinking our ensemble would benefit from that. But I can't switch over to that opinion yet, in case they stay. If I KNEW they were staying, I'd convince myself that we're all in this together, and that we need every person to stay afloat. But I can't do that in case one of them leaves.

Digging deeper, I realized that I take them leaving as a personal failure. Like I haven't been open enough, caring enough, helpful enough. And maybe, on some level, I think they're leaving because they don't like me enough. I know that's irrational, but I do feel a sense of abandonment. And I need to acknowledge that emotion.

I ended up in a town I'd never heard of, and I got a call from Two-Shots-Up asking me if I was going to karaoke. I decided to turn the car around and meet her there.

I somehow got to the bar before she did. I sat in the back corner alone, wearing a hoodie and no makeup, and clearly in a bad mood. And guys kept coming up and trying to hit on me. I wanted to scream, "Excuse me, do I LOOK like I came here to get picked up?!"

Eventually Two-Shots-Up got there. She's one of the people who is thinking of leaving. We got into a heavy discussion (not really an argument, but close), and she left about 15 minutes after she got there. I got up to the mic after she left, belted a good angry song ("The Wreckoning", by Boomkat), and left to drive around some more.

I got home at 2:30am, and then cried hysterically to my roommate for awhile. She convinced me that they're not all going to leave just because The Pro did. And I believe her.

I broke down in tears when it was my turn to go in the Musical Theatre workshop. Mostly because I still haven't fully gotten over my fear of singing. But I think I was also releasing some of the other emotions I've had this week.

The Pro wrote me an email saying that he's officially leaving the program, and thanking me for my support. Hopefully I'll see him again before he moves.

Maybe I was flying too high. Maybe I got too confident. Maybe I ignored all the things I didn't want to see. Maybe I got too close to the sun. Maybe that's why I crashed so hard when people around me started spontaneously combusting.

I'm being dramatic. Only one person is gone. I'm still waiting to see what the others will do.

Despite all this, I need to look at the bright things. I need to keep looking at all the progress I've made, and see that the path ahead is sunny. I need to remember that just because things are changing, doesn't mean they're going bad. And I need to remember that I'm here for me. I'm here to make sure that I become the kind of actor that I want to be. And I need to do that regardless of who else is around.



May you watch where you're going.

~A~


P.S. In my mind, I have redubbed the people considering leaving as "The Flaky Four". The rest of us? "The Solid Six".
(ETA: This labeling is in response to The Pro calling people "The Fab Five"... it's not because I would mentally label people on my own.)

Calming Her Down

I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago, but it's been sitting in my "drafts" folder unpublished with a few other posts that I don't really want people from down here to read... But I'm hitting the "Publish Post" button anyway. Time to be brave. Here goes.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The last time I took my car into the shop to get fixed (which is a regular occurrence for me and a good example of why you should never buy a used Suzuki from a Honda dealer), they disconnected the battery and consequently messed up my whole radio system. Instead of kindly giving me the code that the thing keeps requesting so that I can turn it on, the Honda dealer says I have to bring the car to the Suzuki dealer so that they can reset something or other. And as I'm a grad student, I simply have not had the time to do that... And when I HAVE had the time (read: last Monday morning), I did not have the will or energy.

Therefore, I've been driving around in silence.

And I've reverted back into an old habit of mine from Chicago... The sort of habit that one develops after living alone for a long period of time...

I've started talking to myself again.

As soon as I leave the parking lot, I will verbally check in with myself to see how I'm doing. This usually then turns into a marginally insane solo conversation. Yes, aloud. Here's one from a couple of weeks ago:


Angela: Hey, Angela. How are you doing, babe? How are you doing?
Angela: Pretty good. But a little weird.
Angela: Weird? In what way?
Angela: Not sure. Frustrated, I guess.
Angela: What's making you frustrated?
Angela: That conversation we had in Acting class.
Angela: That discussion wasn't directed at you. Are you frustrated on behalf of the other person?
Angela: Not really.
Angela: Then why are you frustrated?
Angela: Maybe because I couldn't do anything to help?
Angela: Are you sure it's frustration that you're feeling?
Angela: No.
Angela: What else could it be?
Angela: I don't know. Anger? Fear?
Angela: Angela, what are you afraid of?
Angela: Him. Yelling at me.
Angela: Still?
Angela: Yes. Still.
Angela: Sweetie, you've got to let that go.
Angela: I know. I know. I thought I had.
Angela: Shhh... It's okay, baby. Tomorrow will be better.


I don't know if it's helping or not. On the one hand, I do think I'm more in touch with the roots of my problems instead of the symptoms. On the other hand, I'm talking to myself. Perhaps one step forward and two steps back?

I've tried to stop feeling things over the last few weeks. It feels like emotions just get in the way. And they make people hate me.

I'm sorry that I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. I'm sorry that I believe everything that people tell me. I'm sorry that I'm sensitive and that everything affects me. I'm sorry that I can't just walk away from people who are hurting me. I'm sorry.

I've had some abusive friendships in my life. Mentally abusive. Emotionally abusive. Verbally abusive. And even physically abusive (although never all that bad physically -- I never had more than a scrape, a bruise, or a bad scare).

Every time I got out of one of them (particularly the one relationship that I count to be the worst), I'd think, "Wow, I'm so much stronger of a person now. I will never let this happen again. Nothing will ever break me down like this again."

But that's not true. It's really quite the opposite.

I'm a piece of china that was broken, and has been repaired with glue in a shoddy manner. I'm weaker now. Every time I drop, I'm far more likely to break. And every time it's into smaller and smaller pieces, between the cracks from before.

Now, a person can do as much damage to me in a few hours as it took my chief abuser weeks to accomplish.

I'm not proud of that, but that's the way it is.

One of my classmates referred to me as "traumatized" by recent events.

At first I told him he was being dramatic, but now I'm not so sure.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm a target for this. Is it because I'm nice? Because I'm really nice? Because I'm TOO nice? Because people can take one look at me and know that I'm a doormat, made to be walked upon? Can they tell that I've been hurt before, and will do anything to have friends now? Do they know that I'm ready to bend over backwards? That I'll become whomever and whatever they need me to be?

I told someone down here that I'm like this. That I'm afraid sometimes of the level to which I'm willing to forget myself and say yes. That I know how pathetic I am.

And the person that I told is the person who now is most willing to abuse that power over me.

And I go with it. Because I'm weak. Or because I'm nice.

Because I want to feel needed and useful.

Or because it makes me feel like I have a friend.

Sometimes I joke that the best friend I have in the world is my computer (Lady MacBook), because we've been through so much together, and she's always there for me. But I suppose the real truth is that I have to be my own friend most of the time.

I have to support the girl who hyperventilates in fear while she drives to a party. I have to talk her into getting out of the car. I have to calm her down and turn her into a real person. And I know just how to do that for her. I can usually fix her well enough that no one would ever know.

I have to help the girl as she stares in the mirror in the bathroom on her ten-minute breaks between classes. I tell her not to be afraid. I tell her that she can do it. I tell her that it doesn't matter what the others have said to her; all that matters is what she believes.

And sometimes, I just have to stop her. Stop her from baking all night instead of writing a paper, limiting her to just a few batches of baked goods, and not worrying that she hasn't made anything for the vegan guy she knows or the girl on a diet. I have to stop her from giving her car, books, notebooks, and money to other people when she needs them, too. Stop her from taking personal responsibility over things she has no control over, like how contented her classmates are with the program that she loves so much.

Maybe next week I'll have time to take my car into the shop and get the radio fixed. But until then, I guess I'll just keep listening to her. And I'll keep trying to get her to let go.


May you calm down.

~A~

Grad School: Update #4

Ladies and gentlemen, congratulate me. I'm going to graduate school in Florida. And I couldn't be happier.

(That pretty much sums up the entry... You could really just stop reading now... Unless you WANT to read a long rambling account of exactly what I've been doing... But really, it's more for my own need to chronicle my life than it is for you... In any case, you've been forewarned.)

(By the way, is the word "forewarned" ever really necessary? I suppose you can always substitute "warned"... Sorry. Semantics.)

While I was there, I kept having moments in which I thought, "NOW I love this place" They happened so many times that I'm really not certain when I made the decision to attend.

I left my apartment at an unholy hour on Thursday morning (just hours after my last post, if I remember correctly), met my mother in Atlanta, and ended up in Sarasota in the afternoon (after two flights each). We were exhausted as we pulled into our hotel in a rental car, but not so out of it that the décor escaped my attention. There were two identical prints of an ugly house hanging on adjacent walls; the mark of a classy establishment.



To be perfectly honest, I don't think we did much of value that first day. We drove around to try to get our bearings. We got food at a chain restaurant (where we received repeated, adamant warnings from a hostess there not to venture into the BAD part of one of the suburbs). We looked at an apartment that was HUGE, but far too out of the way to be practical. I think I showed my mother my blog to ask her opinion on the plaid (and switched it to the diagonal... still not sure how I feel about it). Then we were both so exhausted that we went to bed. Exciting.

Friday morning, I met with my "student guide", Kirstin, who was about as delightful as a person can be. We went to a Starbucks and just discussed the program at length. Everything she said made it sound like a good fit for me.

As I met the rest of the students, I got a good feeling. As though I'd known them before. In a dream. Or in another life. Something like that. Or maybe they just remind me of people I already know. In any case, they seemed like friends more than strangers. I was put at ease, which is something that rarely happens to me when meeting new people (if you'll remember, I have social anxiety).

I attended a voice class with the first year students. If the average person saw it, they'd probably think the class was full of nutters. But not me. I found it fascinating. And it was thrilling to me to experience what it's like to be in a classroom of students who are so committed to their exercises, no matter how ridiculous they may look.

That's one thing that I think I missed out on in undergrad. There were always a couple of people who complained or put forth half-effort when they didn't understand the reasons for things. I always went for it, no matter how stupid I felt. And more than once, I felt alone in that. It's not like that in grad school. Or, at least, not at this one. No one holds back. They all go for it.

I went to lunch with a few students as well as another prospective student who is on the waiting list. They answered every question we had, and with every response I found myself falling a little more deeply in love.

At one point, I asked a third year if there was anything she wished she had known that might've prepared her better for the grad school experience. She replied that trying to explain it would be like trying to explain what pregnancy was like to a woman who had never been pregnant; you can describe it all you like, but she won't really understand it unless she experiences it. The other students then joined in with the analogy, saying that each year of school is like a trimester in pregnancy. You suffer through the morning sickness, and the swollen feet, and the back pain... but in the end, you have so much more than you started with.

I then attended an acting class with the second year students. They were doing Shakespeare scenes, so I was of course geeking out in the corner throughout the duration. And when they weren't acting, I loved how well-spoken they all seemed to be. They're clearly intelligent people on top of being gifted actors.

I wanted to get up and prove that I was one of them. Or that I could be. Eventually.

Strangely, I recognized one of the second year students from the first time I did grad school auditions two years ago. And another of the students recognized me. And I realized that, as this school called me back two years ago, I would've been in their class. There's something sort of funny in that.

I'm glad I wasn't in their class. I needed the last couple of years in order to figure myself out.

In the afternoon, I met with the top banana of the program. I told him I was excited about his school, and that I was about 95% certain that I would choose it (the truth is, I had already decided at that point, but I wanted to tell my parents before I told him). He replied with, "We want you to come here. What can we do to convince you to accept?"

I can't tell you how extraordinary it feels to be wanted by a program that you want.

That night, my mother and I attended a somewhat controversial production of a verse play that the second year students were performing. Several people walked out (many of them during a scene with sexual content). To be honest, I found it exciting that people walked out. They weren't indifferent. I think that's proof that the actors did their jobs. For the record, my mother and I both enjoyed the production.

I started telling the students after the show that I had made my decision and would be there in the fall. They seemed stoked. I think they like me. I know it sounds silly, but I honestly didn't see that coming... I guess it never occurred to me that I might make friends there. I had only thought about going to learn. And I sort of thought I'd have to dilute myself in order for everyone else to be able to handle me. But I'm not concerned about that anymore. It seems as though they'll take me as I am. What a lovely surprise!

We went out to a bar, and several of them got out on the dance floor with me. And then I felt... Man. It felt like home. It felt incredible. Like it was meant to be. On top of every other wonderful things about this school, it comes with people who will dance like fools in bars. Perfect. :)

On Saturday, I called the top banana to tell him that I was for sure coming in the fall. He was driving, and was so thrilled that he accidentally drove in the wrong direction.

My mother and I found some apartments that will work nicely for me (although there's a part of me that wants to just buy... I mean, I'm committed to Sarasota for three years anyway... And the market is terrible right now, which I think would work in my favor).

We went and saw two different productions put on by the repertory company (aka professional actors interlaced with third year students) that were both excellent. They served to increase my confidence in my decision and joy at the result.

It still hasn't hit me. I'm sure it won't until I'm actually down there attending class. But I'm so amped that it can't be put into words. I don't know if I've ever been more excited about anything. Ever. This might take the cake.


May you find somewhere that you fit.

~A~


P.S. Surprisingly, one of the students at my new grad school has already tracked down my blog. *waves to Ghafir*

P.P.S. Dude, am I really that easy to track down? Maybe I should take a cue from my friend at Big Time Fancy and use a pseudonym online... But then I'd have to switch the title of my blog. Drat. Oh well.

Chicago Blogger Meet-Up

I've been breaking my own rule and posting more than semi-weekly lately. Please forgive me.

I made some new friends last night. Lovely ones. I attended a meet-up of Chicago-based bloggers from 20-Something Bloggers.

They're neat people. You should check out their blogs.

- Big Time Fancy
- D-Blogged
- PB & Razz
- Places Never Planned
- SoMi
- To Kiss the Cook
- You are flawed if you are not free

It was a bit weird meeting people who already knew things about me (a few of them were familiar with my blog). And I've been attempting to read their blogs so that I'd be ready to meet them, although I just started and thus knew very little. It was interesting to attach faces, personalities, and psycho-physical rhythms to people who had previously only existed in my head by what was evoked through written word. A fascinating little social experience.

I uncomfortably shifted between acute social anxiety and story-mode all night. Sometimes I could talk, share, and laugh. I told stories. I discussed the positives and negatives of various blog platforms. I explained why I try to limit my posting to a couple of times a week (because I could write this much on a daily basis, but no one would read it). It was fun. And I felt like a part of the team.

Other times I had to tune everything out, close my eyes, stare into my lap, and learn how to breath again. I had the misfortune of sitting in the middle of the table... That awkward place where there's a conversation to your left, another to your right, and you're not sure how to be a part of either as you're listening to both. It's like there's too much input to properly sort out anything.

It's hard to explain social anxiety to people who have never experienced it. The best I can put it is that it's like claustrophobia. Like I'm going to drown in a sea of sights and sounds. Like I'm being suffocated by the breaths of others. Like the crowd is strangling me, wrapping around my body like a snake. I choke, my soul turns blue, and I worry I'm going to faint.

Luckily, no such thing happened. Once I had a couple of cherry cokes in my system, I started dancing. And that helped. I think they may have thought I was a lunatic (not that such a label is new to me), but I had to dance so that I could breath.

Sometimes I feel so alone in this city. It's nice to know that I can connect with people I don't know. It's good to know that we all have ways to relate to each other. That there are people out there who understand. At least a little.


Big Time Fancy, Free and Flawed (from "You are flawed if you are not free"), and D (from "D-Blogged").

PB & Razz, Nilsa (from "SoMi"), and To Kiss the Cook.

D and Places Not Planned.

Big Time Fancy, me, and Free and Flawed.

PB & Razz and To Kiss the Cook.

After the meet-up, I had a long conversation with Brian.

I don't want to talk about it. Yet.

Let's just say that it involved a lot of crying (me, not him), and I was up until close to 5:00am.

I don't cry very often. I don't know why Brian has a tendency to bring that out of me. Maybe he's the only person I care enough about to cry over.

Or maybe it's just February. And I'm dealing with S.A.D. or something like it. And maybe I just need to cry.


May you find lovely people and learn to connect.

~A~


P.S. The offers period for grad schools begins tomorrow. Please pray for me.

ETA: The bloggers I met with have also written about our meet-up.
- The Big Time Fancy version
- The D-Blogged version (and his pictures)
- The PB & Razz version
- The Places Never Planned version
- The SoMi version
- The To Kiss the Cook version
- The You are flawed if you are not free version: Part One; Part Two

Social Awareness

A friend of mine recently mentioned that she has two very close friends whom she met at different times in her life. They each know a completely different side of her, and yet, they both like her anyway. Would they still like her if they knew the other side?

I become a different form of myself depending on whom I’m around. I think everyone does it, to some extent. I think that part of why we alter our behavior based on the company we keep has to do with expectations from others. If you’re the “funny” one in the group, maybe you go out of your way to keep that title, as though you’ll somehow fail if you don’t live up to it. It's too much pressure trying to be "the sweet girl", "the funny girl", "the smart girl", "the cute girl", and "the quirky girl" simultaneously. I am different things to different people, and it is simply not possible for all of them to be visible at once. They're all a part of me, but I have to juggle them. Otherwise, I won't know who I am anymore.


Or if you have a label you dislike, such as the one who is undependable, maybe you fight against it with every thread of your consciousness.

I have, in the past, dealt with some labels I didn’t love. At one point, I was known as the one who was always late, which was a title I rightly deserved when it was assigned to me. I worked hard to become more punctual and reliable, but the label stuck. In fact, people continued to mention it because they found it amusing that I became irritated (I’ve already mentioned that I don’t react well to teasing).

I also had one stigma attached to me that I never really understood. For whatever reason, someone decided that I had a habit of exaggerating, and everyone else seemed to go along with it. I don’t believe that I exaggerate any more than anyone else does. Nonetheless, that was one label that I couldn’t shake. How can you prove that you’re not habitually embellishing things? People stopped taking anything I said seriously. I felt like Cassandra, the Greek prophetess of doom whose curse from the Gods was that no one ever believed her, no matter how adamant she was that what she said was the truth. It was an incredibly frustrating thing for me to deal with.

I was once brought into a group of people because I had one close friend in the bunch. One day, they were all discussing which character from the television show Friends each of them most closely resembled personality-wise. They determined that the person who was my link to the clique was their Chandler. And then I overheard one of them whisper that I must be Janice, because everyone hated me except Chandler (If you're not familiar with Friends, Janice was an extremely annoying and grating minor character, and the comparison is in no way flattering).

That was painful. I always want people to like me. I never wanted to be popular in high school, but I did want to be well-liked. I still do. I have this unfortunate need to make a good impression on people. Maybe that’s why I’m such a chameleon in social situations. I always want to be whatever it is that I think other people will like the most.

See, this is part of why I hate dealing with large groups of people. I never know how to handle myself. I’m not sure what behavior is most acceptable. It’s exponentially worse when people I barely know surround me. I end up silently sitting in the corner, sipping a cherry coke, and observing the group dynamic. I rarely participate in group discussions in general, unless I am extraordinarily comfortable with the people around me, and therefore certain of my role within that social setting.

My social anxiety used to be far more suffocating than it is now. In high school, I once was planning to see a movie with a friend. He invited another person, whom at the time I was having difficulty getting along with. To retaliate, I called up a person that my friend had occasional troubles with and invited him along. It should also be noted that our two guests abhorred each other. So there we were, going to see this movie as an incredibly awkward foursome that had to be seated in a strategic order so that everyone would be comfortable and able to avoid conflict. Here’s what I hadn’t foreseen: each of our guests invited guests so that they would feel more comfortable. And then these new tagalongs invited others as well. By the time I got to the movie complex, our twosome-turned-foursome had become a group of 23 people, unable to fit in the same row of the theater (and no, for the record, I am not exaggerating). Too many people. Too large of a group. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t handle it. I began to hyperventilate. I called my parents from a pay phone to ask them to pick me up and take me home. They didn’t answer. I felt trapped.

Later that year, I was invited to the first of what has now become an annual party known as Thanzgivin’. I was too afraid to go. My friend Annie showed up at my house and said that she was going to the party, and she wasn’t going without me. She and my parents spent about an hour convincing me that I wasn’t going to die. I spent part of that hour crying, I think. Somehow, they managed to talk me into it. Annie and I swung by Boston Market, and walked into the party incredibly late. But we made it. And I survived it. Since then, Annie and I have had a tradition of showing up to Thanzgivin’ together, and always fashionably late. (It just occurred to me that, as my parents now live in another state, I might not be able to attend Thanzgivin’ this year. Calamity! How sad I shall be. It’s sort of a reunion for me, now. A remembrance of the day I took control).

It’s difficult to explain social anxiety to people who have never felt it. In my experience, it’s similar to claustrophobia. I feel powerless, frightened, and dizzy. It feels a bit like the world might cave in at any moment. And there’s too much stimulation. It’s impossible to process the input from it. It makes me want to scream at people to shut up, but I’m too scared to do anything. Sometimes, it helps to sit down, close my eyes, put my hands over my ears, and breath deeply for a bit. But more than anything, it just makes me want to run.

I don’t get to that point nearly as much as I used to. I’m still freaked out by going to Mass in large churches, and by studying in large libraries. Sometimes I feel it when I go to bars or parties. I’m glad it’s mostly gone. I’m going to attend a party this evening, and I’m not terrified. Always a good sign.

I prefer to deal with people in one-on-one or small group situations. This is, in part, due to how overwhelmed I get in large groups. But also, I’m better one-on-one. I never try to impress people. I don’t become self-conscious. I turn into me. Of course, it might be a different me for one person than for another, but it’s still a more honest form of me than you’ll get among a sea of people.

I have one other way of dealing with gatherings of people that I haven’t yet mentioned. On occasion, I let the side of me take over that I enjoy the most: Story-Mode. I love Story-Mode. Usually I only break it out when I’m in a room filled with my parents’ friends, relatives, or some other form of adults. I begin to recount recent events in my life, acting them out, doing impressions of all the people involved. I become the center of attention (which I crave… I like to think that I’m a natural-born performer). I am the entertainment for the evening. Everything that I say is apparently hilarious. I can do no wrong. It’s my one-woman show, filled with improvisation and hysterics. I’ve been doing it since I was in elementary school. The adults always got a kick out of seeing little 5-year-old me dancing around a room and explaining what I was learning at school in great detail. I always thought I’d grow out of it. I assumed that one day, they wouldn’t find it quite as cute. I was wrong. They love it. I go into it at every family gathering even today.

Few of my friends have ever seen me in this rare form. I only go into it under very specific conditions, and I have to be in the right mood with a lot of spare energy (generally it helps if I’m not taking my medication, a la Robin Williams). It’s also difficult to get into it when you’re surrounded by theatre people, as everyone wants to be the center of attention, and you end up fighting to be seen and heard (I don’t like to fight that fight. I’m comfortable resigning myself to a corner, as I said before). The other reason I don’t break it out often is that I worry that my friends will hate it, as it’s a side of me that they’ve never been previously introduced to. Will it change their opinion of me for the worse?

Logically, I know that this is unlikely. If anything, the people who have seen me in Story-Mode seem to enjoy me even more after witnessing it first-hand. I like to think that it’s because I am at my most delightful. I’m completely comfortable. I stop worrying about what people think of me, and I put myself on the table, heart and soul. I stop having social anxiety and start being a social butterfly.

The only other time that I am this free is when I’m dancing. I turn off the critic in my brain, and I just go with it. Anyone who won’t do that while dancing is missing out. It’s an astonishingly joyous experience once you give yourself over to it. I highly recommend it. And I also recommend going out dancing with me. I have a way of rubbing off on people and getting them into the groove in spite of themselves.

Actually, I’ve just now remembered that I have had a couple of friends who knew me in Story-Mode better than they did in other modes. I used to hang out with them in college whenever they needed a study break. After awhile, I felt as though I was their entertainment and they didn’t actually know me as a person. When I tried to be more serious around them, they kept urging me to go back to Story-Mode. I became pretty distant with them after that realization. It’s one thing to make your friends laugh. It’s quite another thing to be used by people as though you were some sort of court jester. I have no desire to revisit that. It’s demeaning. And it reminds me of being in elementary school, mixing the food to get the other kids to like me more. I hate that. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you should really go back and read this blog from the beginning. It’s a very good place to start. And I’m terribly self-referential in my writing.)

Wow. Just now, as I am writing, I have started judging myself. I glanced over the last couple of paragraphs and decided that my writing is abominable. Is anyone still reading this? I actually deleted a whole paragraph because I deemed it too rotten to be shared (it was also on embarrassing subject matter, but that’s truly not why I deleted it. I think it should be plainly apparent by now that I am rather willing to share embarrassing details on the internet. Which is stupid of me. Anyone could be reading this. Well, let it be).

I sit in perpetual judgment of myself. I have the kind of writing that is probably only interesting to me (and not always, to be perfectly honest). I have the sort of body that looks better in clothes. I have the sort of face that needs makeup to seem balanced. I have the sort of thoughts that only make sense while they’re still in my head. I go through whole days when nothing I am seems quite good enough, and then I rinse and repeat. *sigh* Ah, well. I’m certainly not in Story-Mode now. I’m in Reflective-Mode. (I just made that one up on the spot, but it seems to apply… or perhaps Judgment-Mode?)

I wonder who I’ll be at the party tonight. Will I be the girl in the corner watching as life passes by? Will I be the dancer, ignoring everything but the music? Will I be the court jester, letting jokes and stories flow like water through a sieve? I hope I’m at least a little bit me.

May you live without fear, judgment, or labels.

Much love,

~A~