Dare

On tuesday early, early in the morning....6 am early-I checked my facebook. It may have been tuesday-I can't remember. And knew something was wrong. I had chills as I scrolled-looking at memorial posts for a friend of mine. I had just spoken to him-he was the first birthday wish I had. He checked in regularly-I knew something was wrong, and I texted him everyday. He always got back to me. Always, and fast. Until wednesday. I think....last wednesday...he never ever, complained. He told me about his neighborhood in NYC, his friends who were so close to him, much closer than his parents. He told me to get a passport because I was the kind've girl who needed one for my adventures, and knew I was afraid of flying-which he started to remedy by telling me about his duct taped adventures in Thailand. I was shocked, but it worked. If Anthony-aka Dare- was ok, well, wouldn't I be? He was so funny, went to Columbia, loved clothes. I started texting him pics of dresses I liked immediately, and he was like-"yes" or "no". So funny. I do that. No one's ever done it for me. He was proud.  He made sure that I knew he was a safe place to be, even if he was a big, fighter guy. We laughed about a satire on  "booty dancing" that was one of the dirtiest, funniest, non-pc threads I have ever loved. Both text and Facebook. It went on for an entire day-and was made even funnier because I was sitting, working, and looked up and "Save the Last Dance" was on...the scene where Julia Stiles is being taught to grind. I started cracking up-because he was so smart with his humor, so on target. I joked that he needed to teach me to dance. He was going to, I totally swear. He was going to meet me, I swear. Just, not today. He wasn't good company. "But are you ok?" So like him, I've since found out from his old friends, his childhood friends. Apparently, I was inducted into a very special club. A funny, big-hearted club. And -yes-a club of really beautiful women. I'm not joking. You should see them .You should all talk to them,too. Amazing. And looking- I realized-if these women and men in his life, who were so there, on it, couldn't save him-no one could. Here's what I knew, and thought Dare did. Whenever someone asked him about Bacon-they were saying "I love you." Whenever someone teased him about his email habits and work and coffee, they were say "I love you".  Every text, every message, every phone call. I looked at the threads written, and realized he had talked of every single person. My heart breaks a little more with every, single brutal detail that comes out. I can't read anymore. I can't. But if he saw how people treated Bacon, he would know how much he will be missed. Because he was Ant's. I can't think of him as a news article. He is just too full of life for that. 

Time

Time slowed when my mom died, slowed more when I was hit by the car, but stopped utterly the day I left N., my director. I had been trying to keep up with my group-and-I couldn't. I just couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what tricks I was doing, no matter what- I just couldn't keep up. The last day I saw N., I was in my private session with him. It had been rocky for a while, and my resentment was building....You see-it is the worst thing in the world when you're just trying to function, and you are literally being accused of not having willpower or some sort of control over yourself. In this case it was acting. N. was almost backhanded in his faith in my intelligence and ability. I wasn't terrible, you see. I was actually never as bad as my stories suggest. It was one of the true weirdnesses of the past few years-when I could remember before so well, and the after was just strange. N. could be cruel. There I said it. He was not a nice man. Manipulative,charming,brilliant. But not kind-although he had moments. On this particular day, I had my private session, which I usually had, followed by Banana Republic, and then back again-either for a rehearsal or group class. I was essentially spending all my time either at the doctors, physical therapy, or with him. I couldn't remember my lines. I didn't understand my character, I didn't bring work to him. In retrospect, I was protecting my own sense of self. You see, these things were about as unlike me as you could get. That day, I walked in, and he started screaming at me. And? It clicked in-somehow, someway, I didn't need to do this in order to work as an actor. I didn't need someone who clearly didn't understand or care about what was going on with me. I never made a secret of my injuries, except perhaps downplay them, because I wanted to work with him, however when he cast me as a dancer-I had to come clean. And yet? I still danced in every rehearsal. And as he screamed at me, I stood up, picked up my purse, and calmly said-"I'm done. We're finished. Thank you for everything, but I'm done." He thought I was kidding. I knew I wasn't, and would never be there again. Six years. In those six years, I never made a single friend. I thought of the actors being so close to me, so close, finding my secrets out, me finding out theirs. But that day, I left. And I never talked to anyone ever again. That day probably was the one that broke me. I had always had such faith in my ability. But I knew I couldn't stay. It's been two years. I have not set foot on a stage since. But every day, I write. I look at my plays. I go and watch people. I do all the things I've always done to be an actor. And now-time is moving again. I feel the clock ticking, but not in a bad way. In a "what next" kind've way. Because I am lucky enough to be ok. I can think, I can read, I can write, I can go out with my friends-and yesterday? I accidentally memorized a passage by just reading it. Here's what people who are whole don't realize. That every little movement forward, every new thing that can be done, any new person that you can let in your life? Walking outside with a cup of coffee along the waterfront? For some people that's victory. For me-that's victory. And I appreciate it. I made the decision that day to get well. And? Today, I realized, I've not had physical therapy for two months. And I don't care. For years, my life revolved around treatment. Then just maintaining. Now? It's just about seeking happiness. Nothing will ever make up for the time I lost, but I will not let keep me from seizing the time I have.

Pursuit of Happiness

Is this progress? I am still at Banana Republic. I don't hate my job. I like it most of the time. I dress men. That's right. I sell clothes to men and put outfits together for them. Which is relatively hilarious to me, because if you had asked me what I was going to be doing with my life at my age-it certainly wouldnt be "salesgirl".(Ok-Million Dollar Seller at the Men's store, but still....). Well. I do other things too. I go to the doctor. I write. I am Rebuilding-which is a time consuming job, in and of itself. But-I have spent several years at Banana Republic. And-I really feel that my time of character building is OVER. I saw the Black Swan the other day-and I realized that my time with my long term director made me feel a bit like Nina. And it's time to move on and become the person I was. I remember when I first got to NYC-the fear and anticipation and just JOY I felt just walking down the street. I want that back. Because now I am accepting the facts. That stuff happened to me and I will be living with it forever and nothing will ever change that. But it's different than the way I used to feel, too. But -confessional over for this Irish girl. I start a new marketing job and am off to find my bliss....everyone is entitled to the pursuit of happiness, right? Oh, and I have new headshots.