I know this was to be about Woyzeck's creation, but as you will read you can understand what happened. I'm going to repost this to my personal blog once I get things sorted out with it.
I have come to the realization that I hate blogging, not because I hate to talk about things, but because I am uncaring as to what to say. I feel the life I lead is only impactional to those that see me on a regular basis. Writing to the online ephemera is at time cathartic, but mostly pointless to me.
Yet here I am vomiting out words to a white screen.
Yeah I think I need help too. I just hope that when I'm done I'll feel better, and not done posting I'm not an idiot, but maybe I can make this a step in the right, no any, direction.
For months I've been a ball of raw nerves lashing out at people, trying to push people away since I need to feel empty inside. Funny about that I did something I hate, method directing, I felt compelled to take my pysche back to a time where I was a blight of a person. I hurt myself through, drugs, violence, and self-degradation, worse still I did the same to other, and enjoyed it. I felt I needed to be there to put the tormented show I was creating, and it was working.
Then I did the unthinkable, I hurt one of my safety nets. I doubt she even realized she was, but I hurt her, and she backed off, and I got mired in hate and malice. The worse thing about it, I'm not sure that I felt sorry at the time. I knew I had done it, worse still purposely, but I justified it by thinking that she could take it. Then I just couldn't stop hurting her, I made her an emotional punching bag, and for that I was wrong. At the end I was surprised she could still at me, let alone smile, but at my lowest, when I cracked apart like a broken mirror, she was there holding my hand and comforting me. I don't deserve a friend like her, but I have one and I will never abuse that friendship again.
Now about Woyzeck
I feel that is was an artistic success, I feel that my pain and malice was put on that stage. With that being said, I hope I never look at that show again. At least for now. The pain is to fresh, the reminders to close. for me to ever want to a part of it again. I look at some of the production stills, and I felt ill. There is a copy of the script in my car and I feel repulsed by it. I hope one day to be able to see it again, but not now not for a long while.
Out of the haze
So I look forward and I hope to find something for my tired soul to cling to. I piece of theatre that speaks to me as a way to communicate so other part of the human experience. Something that will change the world, because isn't that the real reason we create?
I've damaged friendships, made enemies, and twisted my psyche, all in the name of art. I hope that I can repair the damage, and become the stronger person.
