It takes more than medication to heal mental illness

CN: I discuss suicide, and depression. If you need someone to talk to about any of those issues, please don’t hesitate to PM me, or contact the excellent helplines available.

I’m not extremely good at talking about my feelings, or at least not in a way that I find productive. I have a tendency to find captive listeners (captive, not captivated) and repeatedly tell them the same stories. Maybe I have a need to return to the same things, rehash the same ideas, consider the issue from multiple angles, before I ever find ‘peace’ with it.

I’ve been diagnosed as Bipolar, and I think I really try to rationalise all the ways my mentally ill behaviour could actually just be my personality, so that I feel like a normal person. But I’m not. Though I do wonder what normal is, and how we can define mental illness without defining typical mental health. 

I am very critical of my own behaviour, to the point of self-abuse. I think a lot of people do this, but I genuinely and truly believe I deserve it. Except when I’m (hypo) manic and think that no one is as smart as me or as attractive or talented or whatever it is that I’ve fixated on as a measure of how ‘good’ a person is. Then when I inevitably realise that I’m actually just a person, not some insane savant celebrity rockstar, I hate myself for believing that I’m anything other than equal or less than everyone else. 

I live in my brain and the future, past, never present, constantly stressed about a prior wrong or future problem. I think people hate me, even when told I am loved, and I constantly wonder why their behaviour doesn’t match up with my perception. I feel alone in roomfuls of people, in relationships, in life, because I don’t trust that anyone understands how truly shit I am. This makes it easy for me to get into relationships that are very toxic for me, because I literally ask to be told I’m not a good person, believing myself not worthy of positive affection. I am desperately trying to fix this, to heal myself, to scramble around sewing up my open wounds and recover from a childhood which has truly wreaked havoc on the way I see the world.

There is, as they say, a statute of limitations on blaming your parents for your problems, and I don’t really, not anymore, but I think the subtext there probably needs to say more clearly that you also don’t need to transfer that blame to yourself once you’ve moved away. My problems (I try to tell myself) are never my fault, but the way I handle them and use them in relation to other people is something I need to constantly reevaluate. It has taken me awhile to admit to the things which have scarred me, to call them by name and attempt, by doing so, to limit the power they have over me. 

I will not discuss a lot of what I feel has happened to me here, but suffice to say that it is the way that I responded to these things and continue to respond I am most concerned with. I was taught as a child that what most people consider great was just what was expected. (Straight As: ‘Well that’s what you should be getting’, etc.) I saw my peers getting praise and felt very maligned, but became pathological in my need for demonstrable success. This ended up turning into a battle between perfectionism and coasting on as little effort as possible and seeing what I could get away with. Boasting, insinuation, outright lying- I’ve done it all in pursuit of appearing as accomplished as possible, and as sane. 

I regret a lot of that, because my unwillingness to dedicate myself to one area fully (for fear of failure, or lack of what I deem success) is a difficult habit to break. I have gone towards music, performance, academia, science, and turned my back when it got too hard or meant I would have to do more than the minimal effort. 

Lately I’ve been very contemplative about this, as I struggle yet again with medication and psychiatric care, and my theory on the holistic nature of mental illness. It seeps into all aspects of life, and rips away a sense that happiness can really ever be achieved. I tried to kill myself in January and found that desperate place wherein I think to myself that no matter how much work I do to erase the guilt for things I have done in my past, it will never get better.

It is hard when the narrative, so frequently, is that one bad action makes people ‘bad’ forever. Cheating, lying, stealing, even moments in relationships where you say something manipulative or abusive, if they happen once and then you grow and learn and apologise and forgive, they’re not a sentencing to forever being defined as ‘bad’. It’s far more subtle than the black and white good bad story we tell ourselves. Also, if one terrible action is enough to mark someone as bad forever, why is one great action not enough to mark someone as good forever? The discussion seems to be very negatively oriented in that regard.

But I have cheated. And I have lied. And I have been the toxic person in relationships. But I also received toxic and controlling behaviour in those relationships, and while I pour apologies and weep guilt and try to build myself a healthy foundation of love for the future, I do not expect or even believe that those who have maligned me much in the way that I have maligned them should have to apologise or feel badly. It’s partially lack of self-respect, certainly, but I also think it’s the fault of holding myself to an insanely high standard. I only wish the people in my past the best, and hope that the ways I have interacted with them do not create impermeable scars. I watch, hopeful, because if they are happy then hopefully the mistakes I have made were not truly so horrible that they could not move on from them. 

But that’s not helpful or healthy or productive either. I remember when I started cognitive behavioural therapy and started drawing up the charts about events, feelings, reactions, and the advice you would tell a friend, my psychologist told a little story. He said if you’re walking along the street and you step in dog shit, there are different ways people respond. You might get angry, furious that someone would let their dog shit in the street and wanting to find the owner and hit them. You might be self-abusive, telling yourself how stupid you were for stepping in shit because you should have looked where you were going. Or, he said, you might say, at least I was wearing shoes! Events and how you feel about them or react to them shape your cognitive response, and the more often you think about an event and thrust yourself into feelings of guilt and sadness, the more easily it comes every time. And I might have taken the shit in someone’s path once or twice in my life, (and I apologised, unlike most dogs) but I can also choose to accept that shit happens (sorry, I couldn’t resist). I don’t have to keep thinking about the times I’ve been awful and trying to analyse the behaviour of others to interpret how they felt or how they are feeling, because it’s not really helping me grow. The first 30 times, maybe, but after that it’s just to diminish my own self-worth.

I do it with small stuff too, and I still struggle to accept that I am allowed to not be a perfect person 100% of the time. I have, however, learned that I don’t need to seek out attention from people who are poorly equipped to give it to me, and that I do not need to stay with people because they want me to, and I do not owe anyone my time or affection unless I want them to have it. I make mistakes. I try to tell myself it is fine.

This stuff hurts. It hurts tremendously when someone has to cut you out of their life. It hurts to not be seen as hurting. It hurts to ache for the love I could have given or received. It hurts to be so vulnerable. It hurts to need so much attention. It hurts to realise how little self-regard I have. It hurts to know I cannot control my mental illness all the time. It hurts to know I control it so well that my struggles are ignored by my partners and friends. It hurts that I don’t let people in. It hurts that I let people in who are not the right people to confide in. It hurts that I want so badly to treat everyone with dignity and respect and affection and I can’t. It hurts that I don’t know what’s best for myself. It hurts that I have to learn to be strong. It hurts to cry so often. It hurts. It hurts. It always hurts. It hurts to have to take medication just for being a little bit different. It hurts that it doesn’t help erase years of conditioning. It hurts that I still don’t believe I have a mental illness. It hurts. It always, always hurts. It hurts to know that there is so much hurt that is so much more serious than mine. Not because I want mine to be the worst, but because I want no one to suffer. It hurts that I suffer. It hurts that I made people suffer. It hurts that I have been made to suffer. It always hurts. 

I am struggling. I have been struggling for a long time, but most recently since September. I have had struggles with my depressive side, sinking into a deep sadness which has not really lifted other than brief respites, plunging down and up and mainly staying just below the surface. I have struggled to feel like I belong in my MA course, because I still feel like an imposter in my degree, since I wasn’t interested in it until later on in life and even now it’s not particularly my greatest passion. I have struggled to accept that I cannot have expectations for myself in the degree because I find it too stressful, even though my normal effort is actually significant. I have struggled to make clear how much I downplay the time and effort I put in. I have struggled to do work, but I have struggled to not. I do not know how to feel like I am recognised, valuable, important. I cry whenever someone is told how significant they are, how much effort or work they are doing, because I long for someone to recognise how much energy and time I put into everything that I do because of how much I struggle and how much I hurt. 

But I don’t want to tell anyone. Because telling someone how much I do feels like I’m giving up on pretending I am capable, confident, happy, and fine. It’s easy to pretend, safe. Hiding behind a shield of capability is easy. But it’s also incredibly hard. And I don’t want to have my efforts go unnoticed. Not anymore.

Everyone deserves the right to be heard, and not just heard, but listened to. And I have felt very alone because I don’t let myself be heard or listened to, and I hate it. 

I am crying now, and hoping that someone will read this and maybe understand a little bit of what I carry with me. 

'You and Me and the Devil Makes Three': A Review

It struck me, as I entered slightly late into the London Theatre (where I saw 'You and Me and the Devil Makes Three' before it makes its move tonight to the Bread & Roses Theatre in Clapham) that this tiny space, which the venue proudly states is the smallest purpose built theatre in the UK, was not very full. It is my belief that new writing needs audiences to really develop, so that new pieces of theatre can be created and appreciated. 'You and Me and the Devil Makes Three' should be seen.

The Peasant's Club's 'You and Me and the Devil Makes Three', written by Chesper Harland and Charlie Wolf, focuses on the relationships between Tig, Chris, and Roo. Chris and Roo's relationship struggles following the birth of an unplanned child, while Tig, an old friend who has been forced by his circumstance to live in their flat, serves as intermediary. Another old friend of Roo's, Lottie, has a long standing crush on Tig, but he brings a new partner into the flat, the mysterious Maria, whose appearance sparks the action of the play.  The struggles and secrets revealed while Maria toys with Chris, Roo, and Lottie, brings the tension bubbling between these characters to boiling point.

The show's writing, which makes promising inroads to the ambitious and varied political topics of mental health, gender expression, parenting, relationships, domestic violence, and even housing, is unfortunately the weakest element of what was ultimately an engaging and enjoyable piece of performance. For what was only an hour long piece of theatre the focus was muddled by the preponderance of topics, and the abrupt ending came at the expense of truly exploring the depths of the characters and their relationships, and also led to some inconsistency in character development. The use of bigotry against the Roma people as comic relief also felt hackneyed, though it did produce a lot of laughs for the rest of the audience. There was a huge amount of promise in the exploration of Chris' character, and a show which focused solely on him might ultimately be the better one.

The acting on a whole was excellent, with a compelling performance (and excellent singing) by David Walker as Chris centring the show, alongside the strong and nuanced performance by Amy Melley as Roo. Ruari Cannon also had great commitment as Tig, including a good sense of timing, and the ensemble was well rounded out by the comedic portrayal of Lottie by Mai Elphinstone and the imperviousness of Maria was presented well by Alexis Han-Holdren. The ensemble as a whole made the show.

Considering the small budget, the squalid flat setting designed by Alys Woodhead felt believable and enhanced the sense of claustrophobia present in these characters' lives, and the direction of Phil Bartlett clearly gave great space for the performances of the actors to develop.

While 'You and Me and the Devil Makes Three' might be let down by its somewhat convoluted writing, it is an engaging piece of theatre and worth seeing, and worth further development.

***

'You and Me and The Devil Makes Three' is at The Bread & Roses Theatre from 24.11.15-28.11.15 at 7:30pm. Running Time is 75 minutes. Tickets £10, £8 concession. It is produced by MSP.

Fun Home, or why this musical made me cry before I have had a chance to see it

Fun Home, merely by virtue of its presence in the mainstream, means so much more to me than people might think.

I have always been a tomboy, and for a lot of my life that fit in with the activities I pursued (sports, being 'obviously a lesbian' according to society's odd ideas of sexuality), but it definitely never fit in with my love of performing musical theatre. For a while when I thought I wanted to be an actress, I grew out my hair and started to lose weight. I also wore very feminine outfits to auditions. This was entirely unquestioned by a lot of the people in the theatre industry whom I encountered, and in some ways encouraged. I don't blame them for this, because the message from all sides is that the only roles for women in musical theatre (and really, theatre in general) are for women who fit a very limiting aesthetic. It felt like the choice I had was to either give up who I loved being to do what I loved or give up doing what I loved in order to be who I loved being. I chose the latter, and I don't necessarily regret it. I certainly enjoy my academic pursuits and have even started writing my own musicals.

But that joy, 'the thrill of the greasepaint', felt entirely out of my reach just by virtue of preserving my sanctity of self. The discussions that actors and actresses have, asking each other what their dream roles are, were full of tension for me, who felt more comfortable with male characters and male clothing than the female characters whom I was limited to playing. There was no room for me or women who looked like me onstage. It hurt, when I had so much love for the musical, for singing, for acting, to feel ostracised. Unwelcome, uninvited. I know there are other actors and actresses who bravely and boldly continue on, even knowing they either have to obfuscate who they are or hope that certain roles will come up. I am not that brave, or patient. Maybe I didn't 'want' it enough.

I have since discovered that there are many other places and ways that the alternative body can make its way into the performance lexicon, but it's not immediately obvious, and in any case, there shouldn't need to be specialist study done in order to discover that theatre has room for all.

And once I had settled into realising I could put or write butch characters, alternative characters, characters for anyone at all to play, into the work I was writing (including a musical which I cast completely gender, and its range of expression, blind), there came Fun Home. I read Alison Bechdel's graphic novel in the first year of my degree in drama, almost two and a half years ago. It was a gift and I cherish it. When the musical first started making waves (I first read about it on the Slate article that Jill Dolan mentions in her more insightful blog entry) I was shocked.

It was the first time I thought, 'Wow, that's a role I could play'. I had never seen 'me' onstage before. I went from have no genuine dream roles to two (Medium Alison and Alison) even before I'd heard the music, and hearing the music made me cry deep, heavy tears about what that representation meant to me. To quote 'Changing My Major', "Overnight, everything changed. I am not prepared. I'm dizzy. I'm nauseous. I'm shaking. I'm scared. Am I falling into nothingness or flying into something so sublime?"

That Jeanine Tesori and Lisa Kron have won Tonys, and that Fun Home has won best musical, seems to have answered Slate's question: 'Is America ready for a Musical about a Butch Lesbian?' with a resounding yes.

I didn't even know how to think or what to feel, but my answer was yes, too. Yes to feeling represented, yes to feeling hope, and yes to participating in a musical theatre that has proven it won't be impossible to write dream roles for everyone to play.

On Accepting Weakness.

So I haven't posted in what, over a year? And there have been many, many things that have happened, both personally and politically, that I could have blogged about during that time, but I kind of abandoned it.

There are of course compelling things occurring all over the world that need discussion and examination, but right now I feel like being more introspective and personal.

One of the things which I tend not to do is either a) admit my faults, or b) share them. I spend a lot of time examining my actions, and like most people with self-esteem issues I tell myself how awful it was for me to do such things and how I could have or should have done something different. Some of the time I am right, and it leads to productive change, but other times I am wrong and it just leads to self-abuse.

There are a few faults that I would like to discuss in this post, and the first is my tendency to emotionally detach from most people. More specifically, my tendency to hold everyone at arms length unless I decide they are the privileged few who get to see me at my weakest. I don't frequently let people through that barrier and when I do I often push them back out and throw it up again. This prevents me from dealing with my issues in a lot of ways, because erasing one's own support system is not exactly the wisest choice when you're struggling with emotional issues.

The specific story I'm dancing around here is that I was in what was a very powerful relationship for me two years ago which shook me up and spat me out and left me behaving in a pattern I can only call 'crazy ex'. I don't really support calling people crazy so for the purposes of this blog I'll stick with intrusive and inconsiderate, because I see quite clearly the negative results of my behaviours. I don't know if we all go through this at some point, but I was somewhere in a rabbit hole, so desperately in love and unwilling to admit my hurt that I basically steamrolled over a lot of people in attempts to pretend that I was fine and had closure. It was not pretty. I lied, I used people, I purposely tried to stir up trouble, and I ended up doing what I had so often judged people for in the past- I rebounded.

I rebounded so hard that I'm still surprised the WNBA hasn't offered me a contract (Excuse me, I have to use my bad sense of humour to diffuse this).

And in the process I hurt someone whom I had no right to hurt. She had no way of knowing the depths of my attachment, and though she ignored some major hints, it was absolutely my fault for lying through my teeth about how I felt about my recently ended relationship, and the level of contact I continued to have with that person.

There is a chance that if I had not been holding most all of my friends, who are lovely, caring people, at arm's length, that I would not have maligned someone in attempts to soothe my emotional wounds.

As a side note I should say the reason I'm telling this publicly is that I think very often we tend to assume people who are generally 'good' cannot also behave poorly. And that we assume, quite often, that the reverse is also true; that people who have made mistakes and behaved in a reprehensible way in one aspect of their lives must therefor be reprehensible in all aspects of their lives.

Part of the reason I've struggled with this is because of my tendency to assume the latter, in fact, and I have wondered quite a lot if I still have the right to call myself a good person, but I think part of the process of being good is reflecting on what we have done that is not 'good' so that we may learn from it.

Part of the reason I think it was so hard for me to understand that what I was doing was so unquestionably bad is because of this theory of absolutism. I'm a generally good person. Sure, I talk about myself an awful lot, but if I get extra change I give it back, if I find someone's lost property I will find a way to return it to them, I speak up about injustices when I see them happening around me, and I make a concerted effort to respect most people.

But there I was, disrespecting someone. Someone who saw me doing good things, being kind, listening, caring, but being very, very selfish. The juxtaposition was not a good one. I waited a week between being broken up with by someone I was very much in love with and then going on a first date with someone who I did end up loving, albeit badly. That alone speaks volumes.

I'm not sure now how I thought that would go, or how I was so far in denial that I assumed I was fine to start dating, but it happened. And throughout this new relationship I would converse with my prior partner and make unfavourable comparisons in my head. I spent a long time googling what rebound relationships looked like in order to irrationally rationalise my way out of being in one. When I started actually realising what was going on and caring about what I was doing, I tried to end things (multiple times) but I did it in a terrible way. I tried to make her responsible, rather than admitting to myself just what my culpability in the situation was. I would break up with her, then feel that sweeping sense of loneliness, and desperately ask for her back again. I used her as a life raft.

This is not to say that there weren't some parts of the relationship that were enjoyable, or that under better conditions we still wouldn't have been in a relationship, but rather that under the conditions I was experiencing, I created a relationship that had no choice but to become toxic. How does one go about apologising for instating an emotional reign of terror? It's not really like you can find someone you dragged through your emotional crap for a year and say 'gee whiz, I hope you can forgive me', because they don't have to and you don't really deserve their forgiveness.

On the other hand, you do have to forgive yourself. Self-forgiveness, however, doesn't mean you tell yourself you were justified in your behaviour or that what you did was totally a-ok. It means you recognise your behaviour was bad but rather than dwell on the past choose to use the lessons you learned to become a better person in the future. Self-forgiveness is what allows us to be productive. If I incessantly beat myself up into shreds over my actions I would become a much worse and more warped person. Letting go of that indulgent feeling of guilt means I can spend more time improving myself and preventing these sorts of things from happening again. It also stops making what happen about myself. Guilt, in a way, is very selfish. You do something bad and hurt people, and guilt (which I define differently than remorse) is a way of saying 'my pain at doing this is worth more of my mental effort than addressing what pain they feel'. You can feel remorse for doing something without allowing it to become the centre of your focus.

And because I allowed my own feelings of guilt to take over my emotional landscape, I lashed out and made negative choices with both of those people, amongst others. I alienated people I cared deeply about because I was being so incredibly selfish by not forgiving myself, and by not seeking support from the correct sources. When you focus on yourself, you cannot open yourself up to the other person, and you cannot see what they need from you.

This is why I think it's critically important to accept your own weaknesses, because you better yourself and your relationships with others when you deal with what makes you vulnerable. My learning curve on this has been incredibly slow, and continues to be slow, but I am learning, finally.

I can see that these people I have hurt have incredibly complex lives which my guilt erased. When you assume that your actions are the worst things happening to them, when you indulge your guilt by thinking how you must have ruined their lives and shattered them and how awful you are, you're forgetting that most likely they have other things going on. When you forgive yourself you become able to care about them wholly rather than as how they relate to you. And that is the basis of real apologies, when you put what matters to someone else first, rather than what matters to you.

Which is why, painfully, I cannot simply say sorry- because in certain situations you're just inserting yourself where you don't belong, and the best 'apology' is putting the other person first.

The Gossip on Gender Roles in the Metro

So I'm not always the type to quibble about small things, but I was reading today's Metro (a free morning newspaper in London), and one of the 'Guilty Pleasures' articles was about Beth Ditto's recent marriage to Karen Ogata.

Of course, I am always grateful when marriages between women are covered in news outlets without being mentioned as blasphemous, but there is a major misconception within the article about the nature of woman-and-woman relationships.

While talking first about Ditto's Jean Paul Gaultier dress, the author then decided to also include a bit about what her bride was wearing. I don't know if the intent was offensive, but certainly the effect is.

'Hawaiian native Ogata proved she wears the pants in the relationship, opting for a white tuxedo jacket and shorts combo.'

This is a British paper, so I'm wondering if they know something about what lingerie Ditto was wearing (or not?) that I'm missing. Ogata was wearing shorts, so neither of them were wearing trousers. So why this talk about pants? I'm sure the question that everyone really wants to know is who wears the socks in the relationship. It's very important and so frequently overlooked!

Alright, enough of the snark. I just find it frustrating that people think it's alright to decide what the roles of women are within a private relationship, especially one that is predicated upon its lack of a 'man'.  Hate to burst your bubble, but some partners can function without a power imbalance.

Now, I'll spare you the lecture on how same sex couples operate very differently in their relationships and just kindly ask you to read this fascinating article.

I'm going to attempt to filter down Tiffany Wayne's message even more and point out that not only do same-sex couples prove women and men can function in any role in a relationship, the gender display of the couples has nothing to do with what roles they fill.

I am somewhat 'butch', perhaps, in my physical manifestation of gender, what with my short hair, tendency to wear men's clothing, and somewhat blocky stride, and yes, my partner is somewhat 'femme', but I don't presume to hold any power over her in the sense that 'wearing the pants' would imply. Now, to be fair, the phrase was developed to address women who had somehow taken on the dominant role of a man in a heterosexual relationship, but that would further mean it has very little relevance in discussions of homosexual marriages.

Really, though, this issue boils down to the belief that most people seem to have of the homosexual community sticking to traditional gender roles. Newsflash: we don't. We may have in the past, and perhaps a select few of us still do, but for the majority of couples wandering around with matching gender identities and mismatched clothes (or even matching clothes, which seems to really give people a whirl), gender roles aren't given a second thought.

I think what's most offensive about this is the implication that people somehow know the dynamics of the given couple's sexual and emotional relationship by appearance. They can't, and frequently don't.

Again, I will reiterate, I look masculine, but I'm probably the more submissive partner in most areas other than planning dates. That being said, she and I usually split the bill or take turns treating the other, so even that doesn't end up being an expression of dominance. We consider each other equals, and we deliberate appropriately.

Also important to mention is that these roles are potentially damaging. Men and women should be able to feel free to express themselves in dress and personality no matter what 'gender' they belonged to originally. Men deserve to express love and sensitivity, and women deserve to express dominance and sexual desire, even though it's not 'traditional'.

Perhaps Ditto and Ogata both wear the pants, perhaps neither of them do. I am, however, positive, that assuming someone has a certain role in a relationship by what they wear is patently incorrect and obtrusive.

Maybe next time the Metro could say something like 'Ogata chose to wear shorts, which was a bold change from the more traditional tuxedo jacket pairing of trousers, but appropriate for the weather of her native Hawaii.'

A Eulogy, of sorts.

I started going to Cazadero Music Camp when I was 13, awkward in my pubescence and somewhat concerned with what was coming next. I'm still awkward, though that is no longer due to the horrors of puberty, and I'm still concerned with what's coming next, but high school was a lot different than I thought it would be, so I suppose it's kind of silly to worry about the future because it never really turns out how you'd expect. This post isn't about the future, though, or even the present, regrettably, but about the past.

There was always something special about being in the redwoods each summer, whether it be the magic of the sunlight filtering down hazily through the green branches or music echoing raucously through the canyon; sweet strains of march melodies and some big romantic classical piece being performed far more beautifully than most people would ever expect out of a group of young children. The environment of camp is obviously a fantastic one, what with the bucolic setting and passion of the participants, but the employees also make it unique.

A group of individuals collected by audition and interview to work for one of the most grand summer experiences in California by definition must bring something to the table, and they do. Never have I met a more vivacious, outgoing, caring, and utterly talented group of people who share in the joy of bringing music and fun to children. Impressively, the staff who do not work directly with the kids are also hard-working, industrious, friendly, and eager to help, throwing themselves into jobs that might not be glamorous but certainly are required to make the camp run.

Aside from all that, though, what every camp truly needs are the personal touches. Memories and ideas and little friendly details that create a setting that cannot be forgotten. One of those things, for me, was this little black and white dog, Jazz, who belonged to the Camp Director, Jim, and his wife, Anita, the Head Chef.

My first summer I remember trying to pet Jazz, along with the rest of the campers, but also finding her collar on the rec field with a couple of my friends. We eagerly collected our prize of a few 'Mazz Bucks' each, but I kept mine instead of using them to buy candy. I still have one, tucked away in a corner of my room at home, and I'm glad I held on to it. She was always loyally following Mazz around on his journeys surveying the camp, and often could be found lingering in front of the Dining Hall, waiting patiently for someone to drop something or Anita to emerge.

When I started working in the kitchen, I found out one of her favourite places to relax was on the steps leading to the storage room. She had a view into the cooking area, and could watch Anita as she worked. Eventually, Jazz and I developed a rapport, probably because I was willing to scratch her behind the ear for hours at a time. Okay, not hours, but at least 20 minutes. In any case, I was enough of a sucker that if she rested her head on my knee and looked at me expectantly, I'd begin again, if ever I had the audacity to stop.

I suppose it was sort of naive to believe she'd always be there, resting her head on my knee or trotting around the grounds like she owned the place; which she did, in case you had any doubts, but considering I haven't been 13 for a while I might have seen this sad day coming. Jazz recently left to get scraps from the spectral Cazadero, but she will be sorely missed when camp commences again this summer.

I don't know if I can imagine a camp without her little half-cocked ears or wet black nose, but I will live with the memories, fondly. Thank you, Jazz, for bringing joy to so many of us.

Fairy Tale

In another daring escapade,
The princess claims the prince,
And he is hers.

Not unlike when she saved
Him from the vision of
Normalcy that resides
Amongst this (society).

The princess needs no
Prince.

He doesn't pursue, he is
Pursued.

The moral is not to assume
I guess, but in the end,
The girl got the boy.

Not
The other way
Around.


Maybe it's easier to write a poem about expectations and roles when it comes to relationships and 'ownership', but I think the whole idea of 'gender-swapping the patriarchy' is really fascinating when it comes to art. Perhaps it could even be vital for the creation of theatre and literature, because if characters couldn't swap genders without seeming strange, then they haven't been fully created so much as copied.

I also have spent a lot of time recently thinking about this idea of 'the guy gets the girl', as if she is an object to be won and thus incapable of 'getting the guy'. Even movies and books that center around a female protagonist have a tendency to put the male character as the 'owner' of the relationship.

Maybe it's because women (in the eyes of current and previous societies) have no claim to their bodies. They are merely there to be consumed by men and are sexualised as commodities rather than treated as individuals. I know a lot of men don't think like that about women, but some do, and it's incredibly negative and reductive for everyone.

I guess the point of what I'm trying to say is that it's important to determine if the things you say could hold up regardless of the receiving party's gender (and wherever they fit on the spectrum). It's also important to consider whether what has been said is reductive in its treatment of gender, because creating and following patriarchal conventions by continuing their use is negative to the cause of equality.

The Over-thinker's Lament

Cerebral silence
Emerging from the din
Finally free from the
Depths of my fragmented

Thoughts

The mad rush, sweet
Hectic confusion,
Full and all at once
Empty.

Free from the chains of
Neurons and myelin,
The gossamer threads of
Sanity weave into
My subconscious.

When will permanence
And solidarity reign?
Flighty whim and
Avarice are at play,

But I do not
Invite them in.

Overstimulated and Under-Appreciated

I think loneliness is something that afflicts all of us, at some time or another, and it's especially acute in winter, around the holidays. It's that cheesy time of year when we're supposed to stuff our faces full of food and acknowledge how grateful we are for family and friends, which can be harder than it sounds. Thanksgiving was yesterday, and I kept reading articles that talked about the 'loneliness' of the holidays and how helplines are more busy.

I cannot claim that I understand human psychology at an intense level, but I know a thing or two about my own experience, and at a time of year when the weather is bleaker and there are high expectations of 'togetherness' and family, being lonely can feel like a curse.

There is also the strange factor of social media, which connects us to all of our friends, coworkers, acquaintances, and random strangers we met once at a party and added on our smartphones, surrounding us with methods of communication. As I sit here on my computer, however, with Skype open, my phone sitting silently, a Facebook tab on my browser, and somewhat quiet Tumblr and Twitter accounts, I don't feel any more likely to have a meaningful conversation. In fact, it seems that the only thing my internet presence has accomplished is to make me feel less able to truly connect with someone, and more alone when no one messages me over any forum.

Plus I'm blogging, which can seem kind of like a plea for attention from anonymous and friendly readers, when looked at very basely.

I don't mean to dis social media, or the internet, because you can obviously create really interesting and close friendships online, as well as rediscover old friends with whom you'd lost touch, but it's a weird tool when it comes to the feeling of being alone.

It's somewhat like being in a huge city, I guess. I read an article on BBC news that suggests while a majority of Londoners have someone to call and connect with, 27% feel alone or lonely, and I think it's because being surrounded by people who have no idea who you are can feel very isolating. It's similar with social media, except we are supposed to be surrounded by people who know who you are and care about what you think and feel, but the pace of information and lack of tone available in 140 characters or less acts as a kind of barrier from truly realising how someone feels.

There is also stigma associated with posting 'vaguebook' statuses that imply that you are either lonely or upset about something, but the reason why people write those sorts of things online is because they probably don't want to have to inform their friends that they are upset, but want them to notice and care. It's kind of a negative feedback loop. It can be very, very difficult to ask people individually to care about your specific problems, and there's a dangerous myth floating around that friends have a mysterious sixth sense and can always tell when you're upset. When they don't, people get more upset because it makes them feel like their friends don't notice, but they forget that social media is not the same thing as calling or asking someone in person if they will listen to you talk at them for a bit.

I don't think we should punish the people who want attention, because if we didn't all want attention, social media would not exist. Instead, we should remind them, and remind ourselves, that there is no replacement for spending time with people face-to-face, and no, video-chatting doesn't count.

This loneliness can also be a symptom of depression, isolation, or neglect, and thus stigmatising an attempt at connection could potentially be harmful. Perhaps this time of year, when many face the challenge of either being alone or separated from their families, for whatever reason, be it physical or emotional distance (and constantly reminded by the media how close and happy they should be) is the time of year to ask your friends how they're feeling, and not take 'fine' for an answer.

Reach out. It's rewarding! You can make new friends, rekindle old friendships, and maybe, just maybe, feel a little less grumpy about the fact that the notification globe's red flag is always for those group notifications you forgot to unsubscribe from.

And to all of my friends who read this, know that I will always listen, chat, doodle, write letters, make jokes, and catch up, regardless of how long it's been since we last made any form of intelligible communication. All you have to do is just let me know.

Am I Butch?

It turns out wikiHow has a seven-step guide on how to be a butch lesbian. So I thought I'd see what it was all about. I also have decided to be unrelenting snarky about a how-to guide for being butch.

How to be a Butch Lesbian

Have you ever felt that you were a Butch Lesbian? Butches can be very attractive, handy, and even sweet. The challenge is balancing the style so it looks good.

Step One: Ask yourself a few questions.

Well, first off, why does a wikiHow for being butch exist? That will puzzle me for DAYS. Enough procrastination. I will now answer the questions.

Why do you want to be butch?

I look so amazing in dresses that women everywhere would immediately become lesbian, leaving the world's men lonely and the birth rate zero, so I think it's my social responsibility to tone my appearance down to charmingly handsome.

Do you feel attractive and natural in this look?

Well, you haven't explained what "this" look is, but sure, I feel like I'm naturally attractive, handy, and sweet. And considering in the past 24 hours I've been in flannel, a cut-off t-shirt, jeans, a men's dress shirt, and a tie, I guess it's my natural state.

...Or is this just a cheap scheme to get women's attention?

If I could just take a moment to wonder why this would be a stunningly important issue? Also ouch. And judgement is just reeking from that statement in waves. To answer, however, I would say no, not in the slightest. I am butch because of the way I dress. I attract women because of my personality, I hope, and I'd like to think that getting the attention of women is a much more complex equation than simply being masculine and a lady.

Can you handle people knowing about your sexuality?

I think the bigger question is can they handle knowing about my sexuality, but yes. I enjoy being visible because it allows me to find out who I'd rather not spend time with, and also who I can at least feel accepted by.

How will others react?

Well, women will apparently be giving me more attention, since it was a cheap scheme to get it in the first place. Honestly, though, most people just appreciate how comfortable I am with being a walking lesbian stereotype. (I'm sitting here in flannel and men's jeans. I also have my freshly done alternative lifestyle haircut, short fingernails, no makeup, and sized ears.)

Step Two: Develop more masculine mannerisms.

Are we conflating being a butch with being a man? I hope not.

Walk with more confidence and stride.

Apparently only masculine people are confident. Note to self: I must become more masculine, my confidence could use a boost. Second- walk with more stride? So just take bigger steps? Must be all that masculine confidence; it needs more space to fully take effect.

Don't slouch or sit with your legs together.

Shit. I'm slouching right now. -5 on my Butch report card, I'm sure. My legs aren't together, though, so at least I'm not a total failure. Oh. I just readjusted to get more comfortable, and now not only are my legs together, they're crossed. Also I had no idea femmes were all slouching all the time. Must be that lowered self-confidence that comes with being feminine.

Watch the way men move and move like them. Try to only copy more of the popular guys, when observing them think, is this guy cool?

This nicely demonstrates how important a correctly placed comma can be to the meaning of a sentence. I apparently should be observing popular guys thinking in the third person about their own coolness, rather than thinking 'Is this guy cool?' when observing popular guys as an outsider. A lesbian spy, if you will.

If there's one thing I've learned in my years of being butch it is that popularity and 'cool' factor are nothing to emulate. You could end up going to frat parties and demanding women dump water on their white shirts while drinking terrible beer.

Does he seem attractive to girls? If yes, he is a good example since you do not want to move awkwardly.

But staring at a guy and memorizing his mannerisms and physicality is totally normal, healthy behavior, right? Also, he probably seems attractive to straight girls, and we all know that straight girls are exactly the same in their tastes as lesbians, which is why they date men.

Step Three: Get some masculine clothing.

Done. So there, yesterday. Or maybe a couple of years ago. It's hard to trace the beginnings of my descent into butchism. (I originally put 'butchery' and then tried to make a cleavage pun, but butchism has that nice belief-system connotation.)

You can buy men's clothing, or, buy women's clothing that is boyish.

Check. My undergarments are 'boyish' women's clothing. Everything else basically comes from the men's section. The snarky comment for this section will be 'You could also buy whatever clothing you want in whatever style you want and feel butch because it is your identity rather than your fashion, but that may be too progressive.'

Some good things to get: A few polo shirts. Tshirts with cool designs on them. Try not go with big logos or dorky souvenir shirts. Loose-fitting jeans. Not too baggy, not to loose. You can go with men's jeans or women's boy-cut jeans since those are made for a female frame. Dress clothes. Pants suits, shirts with ties and nice shoes are great for special occasions. Do learn to tie a tie, as clip ons are tacky. Accessories. Get a few belts and a nice watch (go for a neutral color). A chain to wear around your neck can look handsome. Shoes. You really only need 3 pairs: comfy shoes, dress shoes and boots. Binder. Some butches dislike having large breasts and may wish to bind them down. Boxers- no butch should wear girly undies. Go for comfort. Plaid, solid or simple patterns are best. For the most part, you will be the only one that sees them; keep in mind that your girlfriend will see them so they need to look good. Messenger bag or backpack. Purses are to be avoided.

I figured I would take this all in at once, though now I'm just overwhelmed. I own no polo shirts, and none of my current tshirts have designs. My jeans, while loose compared to jeggings, are slim-fit or skinny (all men's). I have no pants suits. I have suits. I also wear shirts with ties and THANK YOU, CLIP-ONS ARE AWFUL. Part of the fun of a tie is being able to retie the knot to suit the shirt collar and your jawline. I have a few belts, and a nice watch I never wear. No neck chain, either, regardless of how handsome being forever in the 90s may make me.

...

Sorry, I was momentarily stunned by how depressing it would be to have only three pairs of shoes. And how impractical. Gym shoes, casual shoes, at least two pairs of dress shoes- black and brown, and boots would be the minimum. Granted, that's only five pairs, but come on. I have at least 15 pairs of shoes, and they all make different statements when paired with different outfits. I guess if all of ones' dress clothes were in complementary colors and you either had rejected the idea of gyms or ever wearing any shoes besides your dress shoes in public, then three pairs could work. But...just... sad.

See, and everyone thought Romney was wrong to say he kept women in binders. Clearly they were all just large breasted butch lesbians. Binders full of women, indeed. Strong, well-endowed lesbians with a penchant for smooth profiles.

I also don't wear boxers. I wear the least girly women's underwear I've ever seen. Contrast waistband, boxer-brief style panelling, but no keyhole and no 'extra space', as it were. I think there should be no hard and fast rules about what butches should and shouldn't be doing, especially since I would never let someone see my underwear if they thought all people who identify a certain way had to dress a certain way to match.

I see 'purses are to be avoided' and just think of thousands of butch lesbians running hurriedly away from coach stores and women carrying purses as they try to hold on to their much less scary backpacks and messenger bags.

Step Four: Skip the makeup

Okay, next step. Oh wait, no...

Concealer for blemishes and pimples is fine. Eyeliner is okay in small amounts and also make absolutely sure that you always brush your teeth.

Okay, so basically natural, that's cool. And eyeliner says rockstar, and we know all butch lesbians are rockstars. Coincidentally, the only wild butches ever seen by the straight community have been k.d.lang and Melissa Etheridge. We're not sure what they think about Ellen, though. She may have tricked them.

Wait. What? I must have skipped a step in the Butch handbook. We have to brush our teeth? Here I was, thinking that was just basic hygiene and maintenance, but no, it's butch! Tell that to all those lipstick femmes. On second thought, please don't. I'd like them to continue brushing their teeth as if it's a normal behavior for everyone.

Step five: Get a short hair cut.

You can't be butch and have long hair. That breaks the rules! When my hair was shoulder length my butch card got revoked until I cut it again. It was a hard time for me.

Look at both women and men for inspiration. To find a look that will look good on you, ask the hair dresser what will match your face shape.

What if they say long layers? Should you turn to them and declare, "I AM A BUTCH. SHORT HAIR ONLY!"?

At least now we get to look at women! It's finally something I have experience doing.

Step six: Be active.

Like sexually? Or mentally? I mean, I feel like we've gone over appearance, right?

Try to get into a sport or just work out.

Sorry, I don't have the shoes for that. Also, I don't know why you have to work out or play sports to be butch.

Be proud of your body and its strengths.

Finally something I agree with.

Looking attractive and gaining muscle can also be a benefit.

And now I don't agree with it anymore. Okay, so I should be proud of my body, but I will only look attractive if I'm working out or playing sports? Great. That makes sense. I should definitely subscribe to the belief that working out will make me more attractive, because obviously if I was proud of my body it would be better if I tried to change it instead. 'In-shape' does not equal 'looking attractive'. Less looks based judgement would be nice.

Step Seven: Act the part.

Fake it 'til you make it!

Be confident and masculine. 

Why not be your version of feminine? Most butch lesbians are, in fact, females.

Be chivalrous and gentleman-like.

Let me reinforce the patriarchy for you lovely ladies. I'm sure just being polite would not be enough.

Try your best to stay calm and in control of  your emotions in public.

I knew throwing temper-tantrums wasn't working, but I couldn't figure out why. Not butch enough! I think this is suggesting, however, that feminine lesbians are not calm and able to control their emotions, and I think that's kind of pathetic. Most people try to stay calm and in control of their emotions in public. Feminine DOES NOT equal 'hormonal', nor does masculine equal 'emotionless'.

Confidence is key, so be sure to take charge and be assertive.

Does that mean I'm not butch because I'm laid-back? Perhaps I should be more controlling. Clearly that's what being masculine is all about.

Most of all, be yourself.

So what you're saying is that even though I should change what I wear, how I act, what I think, and how I recreate, I should stay the same. Sounds totally reasonable.

That being said, yes. That is really the only step necessary at all. Truth be told, it's hard to find the lesbian community, and also hard to determine what to wear and how to act, but I think we are far better served by creating our own paths than trying to pick a label and conform to it. If you truly want to be butch, you probably also know what you want yourself to look like, act like, etc. Just embrace that.

This is a confession...

So here it goes. I'm about to admit something that perhaps a few of you have picked up on (or have not, because for various reasons I don't always show it openly), and that is, of course, that I adore men's fashion.

Now, I can't say that I find this an easy burden to bear, because there's a lot of weird grey area in identity and fashion, but what I will say is that I think dressing well (at any size, shape, gender, identity) is charming.

I have to apologize for my love of designer clothing, because I think in most ways fashion is very isolating and exclusionist, but there are ways to circumvent the 'authority' of image and still remain fashionable. I'm also a student, so as much as I may love the way a certain fabric feels or certain shoes look, I'm interested in the ways in which bargains can be had. Obviously at a point some people can identify labels (and I mean clothing labels), but thrifting and unlabeled items confuse, as long as the item fits well and looks good.

Outlets and sales are also some of my dearest friends, and while I try to avoid wearing too much clothing which originates from unsavory origins, sometimes the "affordable" fashion stores lure me in. I implied I was somewhat ashamed of this fashion problem, yes?

I think also for women who are more on the masculine spectrum of displayed dress, there are a lot of challenges inherent in being fashionably clothed. Clothing designed for male bodies really doesn't fit most women well off-the-rack, and tailoring is quite pricy (though scoring a piece through thrifting for $5 or £3 and then having it fitted for $25 or £15 is generally still fairly cheap).

There are also fewer rules, guides, and icons to emulate and adapt from. There is also more judgement and less help available from shopkeepers and tailors who may be uncomfortable dealing with female clientele in the 'men's' section.

The last time I purchased a men's dress shirt, the lady assisting me asked if I was buying the shirt for work as a waitress. I didn't really feel up to explaining that I just like wearing men's clothing, because she wasn't being judgmental, but the assumptions can be off-putting. It was probably also because it was a plain white shirt that I specified as having a spread collar and French cuffs, though I ended up getting single button notch cuffs because I found a slimmer fit with that style. Compromises. Also I feel like I've rarely seen wait-staff wearing French cuffs, though I haven't been dining at exceptionally formal restaurants lately (see: student). I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that it can be hard to want to go out shopping as a butch (ish) identified lesbian because of the frequent questions and general lack of understanding.

I don't know if perhaps it's at all worth it, but I enjoy dressing well and receiving compliments on my outfits, shoes, and style, judgment be damned.

After all, closets are for clothes. Stylish, fabulous clothes.

Perhaps if the mood takes me I will include some of my favorite outfits and the budget required to achieve them (hint: not much).

An Open Letter to my (Republican) Father

I will start by saying that I do not believe in political coercion. I know there will always be people who do not have the same politics as I do, but I can't continue pretending that this issue doesn't matter to me.

Dad,

I love you, and I respect your right to your own political beliefs. I get that you are, for the most part, a fiscal conservative and socially liberal, and I think that is fine. I even agree with you on some things, though admittedly most political policies are not those things. The problem that I have is that I am a lesbian. A young lesbian woman with a long, hopefully happy life in front of her, which you have graciously and willingly provided.

Let me tell you a few things about the candidate I'm pretty sure you're voting for. Perhaps you know these things already, but I think it can be easy to write off his conservatism because he was governor of Massachusetts.

He doesn't think employers should be held accountable for firing me solely on the basis of my sexuality, which I would hope you find a little uncomfortable, since you'd like me to have a job and support myself. When he was governor of the "liberal gay paradise", Massachusetts, he supported an amendment to their constitution that would ban gay marriage, which deeply troubles me. He also supported the Federal Marriage amendment, which would have defined marriage federally as between one man and one woman.

Now, I don't frequently discuss such things with you, but I'd like to get married one day. I know I don't seem like that type of little girl, prancing around, imagining her perfect wedding, but considering my options right now, I can only imagine moving abroad or having a destination wedding. If Romney were in charge of the LGBT issues (and you would like him to have at least four years to change my life), perhaps my only option would be to reside in a foreign country, so that I would know my partner could visit me in the hospital, I could be covered under her insurance (because let's face it, I want a career in the arts, the only way I could afford health insurance would be if she had it), and I could easily start a family, knowing even if she is the biological mother, I would still have the same access to my children in the case of her death, or the dissolution of our marriage. Domestic partnership isn't the same. I hope you wouldn't try to tell me that.

Speaking of children, if I were to have any, I'd be lucky to be able to adopt or even have my name put on my child's birth certificate, if my partner was the biological parent, because Romney doesn't think gay people make suitable parents. Could you imagine not being able to legally acknowledge me as your child? Perhaps right now you'd like to, but in all seriousness, in a critical situation, or even a less than critical situation, it's necessary to have the legal documentation of parenthood.

Really, what this all comes down to is that Romney doesn't see me as a human being. To him, I must be something less, because I wouldn't be legally equal to you, to Mom, or to any heterosexual. Ryan is much of the same, if not worse. The ticket is blatant in its homophobia.

Honestly, I try not to think this way, but it seems like by voting for Romney you're telling me my relationships will never mean as much as yours, that I shouldn't have children, and that I don't deserve protection from discrimination.

You will bring up that there are other issues worth considering, like the GDP and revenues, simplifying the tax code, domestic and foreign policy.

This is why I wonder. Shouldn't your family be more important to you? If I had a chance to possibly (note that this is not a sure thing) change the country's economy for the better, but it came at the cost of your, as a person, right to vote, surely you would expect me to value your civil liberties more? Yes, four years can change a lot about the economy, but it can change an awful lot more about the way I could be allowed to lead my life. Two Supreme Court justices are probably going to change, soon, and it so happens that the Prop. 8 case, which you proudly informed me you voted no on, will be heard soon. Imagine two conservative justices then deciding that my future marriage was unconstitutional. That's not unlikely, it's frightening.

The reason that the legal discrimination against homosexuality continues is at least in some part due to the fact that people like you do not consider it a 'voting' issue. Yes, you aren't against gay marriage, but if a candidate says that they are, it doesn't affect you enough to change your vote.

Shouldn't it, though? It does affect you, directly. I am your child. Voting for someone who would gladly relegate me to second class citizenship is something I can no longer brush aside. You could send a message to your party that they are on the wrong side of this issue. You don't have to vote Democrat. Just don't vote for a party whose platform includes this. It sickens me, and it should sicken you.

Preserving and Protecting Traditional Marriage  (Top)

The institution of marriage is the foundation of civil society. Its success as an institution will determine our success as a nation. It has been proven by both experience and endless social science studies that traditional marriage is best for children. Children raised in intact married families are more likely to attend college, are physically and emotionally healthier, are less likely to use drugs or alcohol, engage in crime, or get pregnant outside of marriage. The success of marriage directly impacts the economic well-being of individuals. Furthermore, the future of marriage affects freedom. The lack of family formation not only leads to more government costs, but also to more government control over the lives of its citizens in all aspects. We recognize and honor the courageous efforts of those who bear the many burdens of parenting alone, even as we believe that marriage, the union of one man and one woman must be upheld as the national standard, a goal to stand for, encourage, and promote through laws governing marriage. We embrace the principle that all Americans should be treated with respect and dignity.

I hope you don't think I will feel like I have been treated with 'respect and dignity' if you let the Republican Party continue to eschew discrimination against me. I hope you think I am just as capable of raising children, of having a family, of loving others.

I hope you also know that I do not intend to inflict guilt. I merely have been reflecting on this troubling issue for a long time, and it truly bothers me that you cannot see how important this is.

With the added knowledge that as a resident of California, your vote for Romney is hardly counted anyway, why vote for someone, and someone's party, who would try so hard to take away so much from me?

Change is one person at a time.

I love you,

Your (more than just a lesbian) daughter.

Tattoos

I often get asked why I got my tattoos, whether it be to inquire as to what my tattoos mean or to determine why I would permanently mark my flesh, and I sometimes wonder if I really need to justify myself.

Very few things in life are 'sure', and certainly most are impermanent. The one thing that you really have with you as long as you live is you. Maybe I want more things that I get to carry with me forever.

Really, though, memories are fleeting, but I find some of them important enough to cherish forever. I guess some people would be satisfied by writing it down, but there's something kind of cathartic about having an hour, or a few hours, of numb tingling as you really reflect on why you chose that particular thing to live with you. My first tattoo commemorates my grandmother, but in a way that most people would not get. It's a memory I have, of her pointing out birds to me. For whatever reason, her identifying a red-winged blackbird to me stayed in the back of my head for years, but the idea of losing the memory was much more frightening than attaching it to me 'permanently'.

People talk about your body being 'your temple', but I think if you had a temple without any personal touches it would be kind of vacant. I don't necessarily encourage anyone to get any tattoo, because yes, your body is precious, and regrettably, people will judge you, but if what you want to get feels important, interesting, or just worth the money, why not?

Is it necessary to really care what it's going to look like when you're 70? I can't imagine most of my skin is going to look that great, so why would one patch having blurred color upset me any more than having signs of age? Memories blur and distort over time as well.

Some people also argue that because our preferences change over time, a tattoo you might initially like will become a reminder of your terrible taste as a teenager or young adult. I see it differently, however, because I think if you choose your tattoo carefully, or even poorly, you could look at it instead as a reminder of a different time in your life, a celebration of youthful joy.

Clearly this can't really apply to 'gang' tattoos, but if you grow to regret them (which may be a good thing), it could teach you to be more careful and perhaps consider the choices you make in the future.

As it is, I don't imagine ever being sad or regretting my tattoos, because they have become a part of me, and have taught me to cherish my memories and commemorate their importance permanently. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

Bite-Size Show Reviews

Since arriving in London, I have seen seven shows, five of which were straight plays, one was a musical, and one was comedy, and I have yet to really write about any of them. Regrettably some of these won't be useful, because the shows have already closed, but I'll talk about them anyway, but only two at a time. I'm lazy like that.

The first two:


Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, starring Imelda Staunton and Michael Ball.
(This show closed September 22nd)

One of the more popular works of Sondheim's oeuvre gets a nice facelift in Jonathan Kent's version of the chilling stage musical, complete with a new set design by Anthony Ward. Set in 1920's London, and featuring an onstage "overseer", if you will, the production felt very much inspired by the original Harold Prince incarnation, but the slightly industrial feel lent an air of scientific observation to the show that felt very appropriate. The new set also abandoned the rotating box in favor of different platforms that wheeled in and out, which felt effective, though very large scale. Imelda Staunton tripped up in the beginning, vocally, but quickly recovered to a fantastic performance through the rest of the show. Michael Ball's tenor was somewhat disappointingly thin, but his sneer and impeccable acting choices made up for it. Performances from the rest of the cast were solid, though I was unhappy with James McConville's Toby, both in acting and in song, as he remained off-pitch most of the night. Overall, however, a fantastic show, which left most of what worked in the original alone, and added some interesting new choices. 4.5 stars out of 5.

Our Boys, A Play by Jonathan Lewis, with Arthur Darvill, Laurence Fox, and Matthew Lewis.
(Tickets available until December 15th)

The West End debut of Our Boys is rather star-studded, but Jonathan Lewis' play is clearly shines in this production, which brings out touching performances from all its actors. I was particularly impressed by the work of Cian Barry and Lewis Reeves, who presented solid character and excellent emotional range. David Grindley directed a funny, occasionally touching, and altogether very firm production. It's certainly pleasant to watch, and I imagine it will attract many fans of Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and Lewis, who will probably go away pleased. 3 stars out of 5.


Other than seeing lots of theatre, I've also been exploring the fun of cooking for myself (not sarcasm, I swear), which includes making curries, oven roasting pears, fajitas, homemade guacamole, and stir-frying like it's my job. Every now and then I also go to class and do homework, as well, but hey, life of a student.

Fiction: Music

      Finger after finger danced along the white and black, pounding a staccato melody that haunted the room. There was a small bead of sweat gathering at her right temple, slowly beginning its descent along the line of her jaw. Teeth clenched in anticipation of a passage and then relaxed as it flew past, drifting on the waves of sound into the rafters. Lights were shining along the gleaming, angular sides of black and reflecting colors not unlike the mood of the piece. Time crept through as if burdened by some remembered dream. Slamming through the fog of her trance-like expression came the final chords, hammering the end. The hall was caressed by the echoing notes until silence settled over the seats. Her foot slowly lifted in sync with her fingers, until there was no contact left. A single tear welled, and was quickly wiped away.

Regrets

One thing I was reflecting on earlier is that I have a tendency to replay moments and scenarios in my head and imagine how I would do them differently. This is sometimes helpful, as it helps me see who I wish to become and how I want to interact with the world, but it can also just serve to point out things I regret.

Regret is very interesting to me, because I think it implies a lack of satisfaction for where we currently are. Before I start the process of guilt and remorse, or just a bit of kicking myself, I try to remember that I wouldn't be the person I am today without making the choices I'd made in the past.

To interject a bit of why I shouldn't regret the choices I've made, I have a pretty awesome life right now. I have friends, and an active social life, I live in London, I study drama at one of the best schools for drama in the world, and I'm able to think critically about social and political issues. The regrets, however, still persist, but the ache is dulled quite a bit.

I think one of the things I regret the most is how I tend to disrespect myself and my feelings. Far from finding this to be depressing, I think of it instead as a tool to engage in changing the things about my psyche that lead to making that kind of behavior standard. Perhaps regret really is just another way to create positivity and foster important reevaluations of our position in life, and we should be grateful that we regret.

In the spirit of proving regret is useful, I will publish some poetry, because one of the things I wish I had done is produce creative writing more regularly.

The whisper of you is like a shadow
On the memories of my future
Crawling slowly over the terrain
Giving relief to the bright blindness of inexperience

I wonder how I could have changed
Created something beyond the petty quarrels
Broken promises
Missed opportunities
But I think they might have been right to say
If it was meant to be there would be no obstacles

Nothing is nothing, in that way, but nothing
Can be something beyond
Past our misjudged comments and
Empty words and accidents

A small green shoot spreads leaves upward
Basks in the sunlight of a grin
Flourishes as it expands and
Bursts into being

Only the choice gives hint at reality,
I am not my mind's tenant, forced to remember
The soft caress of recollected wrongs
Slips away on the peace of being free

Success

As a highly motivated person, I think the true secret to success is dedication. I'm sitting here not wanting to write any of this because I'm not dedicated to my own thoughts. It's a frequent struggle for me, being so driven, to watch many of my projects slip by the wayside because I'm just not willing to struggle with them for long enough to see them succeed.

I think in giving up one is technically failing to a much greater extent than if they give a full effort and do not achieve what they set out to. Perhaps this is why success is so difficult, at least at a finite level. In order to succeed you have to be willing to fail at full effort, which makes you incredibly vulnerable.

I'm not good at vulnerability. I protect myself in a plethora of ways, and it's not the best. I think that Brene Brown has the right idea:



So maybe it's the case that in order to be successful and willing to try, you really have to be willing to fail, in whatever way that means to you.

I think for me, failing would be to give up on expressing myself merely because only a few people will ever read what I have to say. Perhaps it's fear of the unknown, of loneliness, of change, even, that can make us so unwilling to expose ourselves to others, but if it was easy to bare everything and open up to others, it would no longer be as unique, special, or powerful when it does happen.

Maybe my previous definition of success needs to be revised. I think now I would say that success is to do what you love and what you desire to do, learning to embrace fear and worry as just another piece of the puzzle.

Scriptacular

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