spending my whole life gathering grain


Wherein theatre feels the strain

Finally home after a particularly lousy dress rehearsal.

Oh it was bad. Just bad, bad, bad. And that stress. That stress, that heat in your face, that drop in your stomach when the whole theatre is dark except the lights on YOUR SCENE and everything is silent and you know they’re waiting for you and you have NO WORDS.

The past couple years I’ve started getting the early signs of panic attacks when I get up on stage. Not all the time, but often enough that the fear of the attack is as dangerous to me as the fear of actually doing something wrong. Oh God. It just sucked. And I was so nervous. And that’s just not me. Not there. The stage is my safe space. It’s always been my safe space. But tonight I just felt panicky and scared and sick.

Oh and then, THEN!! we were told we were doing PHOTO CALL so please go get into costume. Yeah. No announcement beforehand, so there I am with no makeup on, my hair flat and static-y and full of weird bends from being in a ponytail all day… getting my picture taken for the publicity shots. WHY DIDN’T THEY TELL US BEFORE?! Unreal.

And then, of course, the cool shoulder for missing rehearsal last night due to impassable, snow-covered roads. There was no way I could’ve made it to the theatre in one piece, and I know the director totally gets that. But still: stink eye.

Dammit, dammit.

Wherein nature feels the strain

The muck before the storm.

The muck before the storm.

The roads coming home tonight were slushy and icy. It’s snowing and raining outside. I can’t stop in time. I’m afraid I’ll hit something. I can’t afford to hit something. I’m scared to get behind the wheel. I can’t breathe. And it’s so dark. Outside. Inside. In-inside. It’s just darker and darker all the time.

Sometimes I feel like I’m watching a movie of myself falling out of God’s favor, except that it’s on film, and there’s no projector, just my own hands speeding the frames in front of a light bulb as fast as I can trying to get to the end so it’s just over.

I don’t want to wish my life away. I don’t want to waste away, sleep away, idle away my youth, my life. But for the life of me I can’t find a reason why I should bother. It’s just dark. Dark everywhere. I don’t even want this any more. I don’t know what to do with it, and I don’t like it, and it’s collapsing with no hint of reconstruction, no glimmer of ‘maybe tomorrow will be better.’ Why would I want that? Because it’s called a gift? Why is so much of this gift so shitty? And why has it been that way for so long? Why are my parents suffering when they are so faithful? Why are the good moments so short, so fleeting? Why do I have to be thankful for my QUEST card instead of thankful for a job and a paycheck that enable me to buy my food my own damn self? What am I supposed to be learning out of this?

I feel like I’m whining. I feel like I have no right to be upset since I have all my limbs and my house the bank’s house is still standing. This is ridiculous. I feel guilty for acknowledging my own pain!

From "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" by Green and Levithan

“Will Grayson, Will Grayson” by Green & Levithan

Wherein God

DAMMIT GOD WHERE ARE YOU? I KNOW YOU HEAR ME. I’M TRYING TO HEAR YOU. BUT EVERYTHING IS SO RICKETY AND FALLING APART AND SHITTY THAT HEARING A “STILL SMALL VOICE” JUST ISN’T HAPPENING. You know this. All of this. There’s nothing I can say that you don’t know I’m thinking. Nothing I can feel that you aren’t feeling with me. I am crying into your heart. Weeping into you. You know the state my brain is in. You know my chemical levels. You see this depression. You feel it. You built me. You rebuilt me. And I just want to know how come trying and working hard are never, ever, ever enough? Please. Please! I don’t want to come to the conclusion that there is nothing more to this life than rationing my toilet paper and wearing holes through the thighs of all my jeans, all the while watching the friendlier, happier parts of my personality get chipped off and blown away by yet another contract that doesn’t get signed, by yet another bill that must go unpaid.

Wherein Me

I liked who I was. I miss who I was. I don’t even know what to do with who I am now. I just want to tuck her into bed and tell her I’ll wake her up when this is all over. Please, God. Please. In your righteousness, rescue me and deliver me; turn your ear to me and save me.

Wherein user error

God, you guys. I just feel so lied to about how this operates. The fact that I even think it “operates” any particular way is probably just another sign of how misled I’ve been. I feel like I’ve been cheated out of the family farm after spending my whole life gathering grain. Useless, useless grain, rotting under all this rain and snow.

I don’t want me to be over. But the alternative is so empty and stupid and sad and disappointing and full of lies and I can’t keep up with the pace and the weight of this bullshit piling up and piling up and piling up.

Wherein Mindy makes a promise

I’m not going to do something stupid. Don’t worry.

Actually I’m probably going to do something worse. I’m going to do nothing. Just… nothing

I count the day’s successes in blog stats, in Facebook game scores, in ferret yawns. I used to be so full of hope. What remains could fit in my shoe.

What a waste.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “spending my whole life gathering grain

  1. You are not a waste.

    And that shoe is still pretty cute.
    I know, I saw it at my wedding.

    I hurt for you.
    With you.

    You are the woman who makes me laugh,
    who makes me think,
    who knows exactly how to smack me out of whatever self-pitying bullshit I pull.
    And God, I love you for that.

    I wish this season was over.
    I don’t know why it’s going on and on and on.
    Above most other pleas,
    I wish God would show us “why”.

    I love you, Mindy-girl.

  2. Man, I hate it for you. I would love to spill the answers all over you but I don’t have them. I refuse to spout meme-worthy plastic platitudes to you hoping to bandage the gash. I will say He sees you. He hurts for you and He loves you. And, so do we.

    I won’t disrespect you by saying I understand. That’s just too broad and ambiguous. I have experienced the frightening fresh terror of unexpected panic issues though. It sucks. I didn’t used to deal with this now I do.

    And, I have spent some time over the last two years trying to untangle the “God where are you, I need you” question. Know we are praying for you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s