Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Character Arc

Am I Allison in The Breakfast Club? The Observer, but hiding behind my bangs?
Am I Ally McBeal with an over active imagination and high expectations that can't be met?
Am I the boy that sees Beauty in a plastic bag blowing in the wind? 
I'm not a Heather...or a Veronica. I am more Martha Dump Truck.

I go between feeling like Sarah crying in the shower to Sarah dancing in the kitchen. 
But I always liked Nick and would've been attracted to him--minus the drugs.

I wanted to be Lelaina Pierce...maybe I just wanted Troy Dyer...
or maybe I just wanted Ethan Hawk and maybe I just wanted to be Winona Ryder.

I wanted to be Carrie in SATC. Or maybe I just wanted to look that way in clothes and live in NYC...and write.
I just wanted to be surrounded my my friends who loved me, who I could laugh with, who I could experience life with and 
then meet for breakfast and talk about it all. I'd binge watch the episodes and revel in the girl talk to feel less alone.

Of course, I always wanted to have the temperament of Felicity. I loved her voice, so calming and quiet. Her fingers so delicate.
I wanted the New York experience (there's NYC again) I wanted that college experience.
She was confused a lot, but she seemed to always hold it together. However, I would chosen Noel.
Especially after the summer before Senior year...

I'm not Susan Sarandon in any movie. Her big eyes full of fury and confidence.

I've always looked like Martha Plimpton in The Goonies...though I always wanted to look like Kerry Green.
But, as an adult, I'd rather be Martha. Fearless, talented, a force.

I don't want to be Meryl in Prada...or Meryl in Kramer. I couldn't make Sophie's Choice. 
I'd want to be Karen in Africa. Or maybe I just wanted to have a love affair in Africa with Robert Redford.
Or, did I just want to be able to have the ability to tell a story that intrigued and captivated.

Story telling also caught my attention of Katherine Clifton...as she told her story around the campfire...
Her love affair with Almásy would begin only a few cuts later. The English Patient is my favorite movie.
I love the language in it and I love the strong women. Both love, fall prey to it, but never lose who they are.

I want to be Sigourney as Ripley. She was the first woman on film who kicked ass. 
I studied the Alien movies as having the first action heroine. 

I want to be Sally in Places in the Heart.
I saw Places in the movie theatre and was in awe of it. She was scared, but came out fighting.
It was watching how strength could come from fear and loss. 
Sadly, I wallowed in fear and loss for years before my strength finally came. 
I should've been under a 2 hour time constraint.

I identified with Jane Fonda wanting to show her (film/real life) dad she COULD do a backflip
in On Golden Pond...always wanting him to like her. 
Wanting him to be proud of her.  
She confronted him in the movie, which she was never able to do in real life.
I get it. I want to be liked. Too much.

It's that feeling that I wanted to change. I wanted to be tougher and less vulnerable.
I wanted to create a self that was interesting and couldn't be hurt as easily.
I wanted to not care...and just be who I am with no excuses.
I sat in front of a screen and tried to put myself together as a puzzle.
Forcing pieces that seemed to fit only to find out, they didn't line up.
I always ended up with me.

I tried to find someone to identify with--
If someone wrote it, then they at least understood it, or had seen it.
To be authentic. How do you do that? To not play a part? 

I am empathetic, to a fault, my therapist says.
I am kind. I am an over-sharer, which makes many uncomfortable. (I've worked on that one)
I get anxiety when I'm not on the aisle...on a plane or in a movie theatre.
I get anxiety when I'm not in control...in a car, of my life, of my emotions.
I get anxiety if my house is a mess
I feel it reflects upon me.
And I know everyone in it needs order.
And I know I'm the one who mostly has to clean it up.
And that's not what I want to be doing.

I get anxiety when I am not writing.
Especially if I'm spending my time cleaning the house.

I get anxiety about having anxiety.
Because it's hard to explain to anyone who doesn't have it.
And those people don't wear signs, so you keep it inside.

The love I have for people over takes me.
For friends, for lovers (past), for my girls...
It terrifies me and clogs my brain with what ifs.

I think about my friends more than they think about me.
Rather, I worry they don't think I'm thinking about them if I'm 
not in constant contact. And if I'm not...then we will lose touch,
grow further apart and I will lose them. 
It's as if they are babies and if I go behind the couch, they think I am really gone.

I think about the deaths of my friends and my loved ones...all the time.
Because they die and have died and they have loved ones that die and have died.
And I know how difficult it is...and I never want them to feel alone.
I don't heal and I don't expect others to heal, either. Not completely.

I want to be loved and I don't want have others afraid of how I love.
I want to connect...to hold on and not float away. 
Because I've become a satellite to my family. 
In space, far away from them, orbiting, but not really connected.

And when I feel disconnected, alone, misunderstood, insecure, scared or my anxiety secret is too much for me...
I return to film and try to find strength in a character that I can adopt or find comfort in.
A world I can escape to. A place that doesn't exist, but one that I can almost make real. 
Finding a good person that is a complete mess. Not a doormat, not a wilting flower, but is able to collapse
after the exhausting collisions of the day. Colliding with people. Colliding with expectations. Colliding with disappointments.
But they learn, they change, they grow, they get stronger and it reminds me that I can, too.

Because that is how the character arc works. 

1.23.17 on being vulerable

I am only vulnerable to very few. Afraid I will be turned away.
My insides are confusing and my non-stop nervous chatter gives me away.
I am 41 and filled with the insecurities of a 13 year old. 
Will they like me? 
Will they understand my ramblings?
Are they lost? Did I jump from one subject to the next too quickly?
Are they wondering if I'm too much to be around?
I have days where I still want to cry and rock in a chair with someone safe.
These days, it's my girls. They love me. No matter what. 
I have to feel loved. I have to feel accepted and understood.
I have to feel as if I can say anything that comes to my mind.
And most can't follow my jumps--the explaining makes me feel awkward.
Not talking makes me feel awkward.
Talking too much does, too.
I leave most conversations analyzing them.
Did I ask them about them enough?
Did I seem to over-share?
Did I come across as too uncomfortable in my skin?
Did I come across as jumpy? Weird? Too hyper?
I want to crawl into a hole. I want to disappear. 
I want to be someone else. 
I started that long ago...
But, even finding that person was a struggle.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Aging Daily...hourly...damn.

So, I haven't written a poem in a very long time. So, I'm nervous and critical...feeling insecure...and yeah, basically everything I normally feel every day. So I thought I'd write this to address it. Of course, I still don't tell people...because of the way I felt when the doctor told me I have it. Ashamed. 

Anger destroyed her day.
It makes her agitated and frustrated.
Anxiety doesn't have deadlines...
It comes and goes. It can stay for days
Absolutely deny having difficulties!
They will look at you differently.
All days have darkness.

-Life is hard, just deal!"
Always dealing...hours, days!

Temper flares, the tears roll
Acquire meds, Hide meds.  (changed that from drugs...it didn't sound right.)
Because they will think you are faking.

-It's not real.
-You didn't have it as a kid.
-It's over-diagnosed.
-Too much t.v., huh?

Anxiety, dear....HURRY DEPART!
-It'll go away, just meditate.

Anger, darling... happy dance!
It's not working.

Absolute despair happens daily.
-Oh come on, really? It can't be that bad.

Argue. Defend. Help debunk...
But I am tired of keeping it a secret...
and taking meds in secret, so no one can see me.

-Why do you need so many?
-How can you have anxiety ALL day?
-Why can't you remember your coffee?
-Why are you taking everything so personally?

Act. Deceive. 
Heartbroken. Defeated.
Actively detaching...hourly, daily.
Aimless, directionless, helpless, delirious.

Thoughts darting here and there. 
The mind multi-tasking without pause.
We can doubt and over-share
Feeling anxious without cause.

Attention. Deficit. Hyper-activity. Disorder.
Educate yourself. Give us a safe place to land.
The only things we make up...
are excuses as to why you don't understand.