I got back on my meds, for the time being. I don’t know if I had bucked off the intense backlash that came from being off of them, or if they have evened me back out, but I feel a little closer to normal. I am still far too overbooked, which makes me a little scared, but I do a little every day, climb one more stone of the well’s belly, and reach for the light.

It’s sad how metaphor sounds sentimental. I let it slide, but only the ugly satisfies the literary mind. I find peace in Eliot, Dickinson, Bukowski, Waits, while I push away Yeats, Keats… others.

Describing the warmth of the fight family borders on impossible. I relish contact with them, despite that I haven’t been able to spend much time with them, and seem to have less and less in common with them.

Similarly, being around the team for Bug in a Rug lightens my heart and pushes back the darkness considerably. I had a lovely afternoon running lines with Merkin, among the first times that theatre has made me like my fellows, rather than stealing joy and empathy. The right people, I suppose.

Additionally, the new Theater RED show started with a bang and not a whimper. Surprising, considering I am only overseeing. I might be good as a producer, after all, if I can clear my schedule to work on one creative project at a time.

It seems like I might actually have simply been a slave to brain chemistry, after all. My SSRI prescription ran out just before Winter Wonderland, and I spent a good deal of my day weeping, after a day of coding problems, and a night of less-than-stellar mass battle choreography.

I nearly lost it on a kid who tried to “help” me by writing things for himself, and whom the high school teacher / director insists is “so good.”

“Of the two of us,” I said, “which has 23 years of experience.” He demurred, but actually less than humbly. I railed at the traffic. I sniped at my wife. I slept poorly.

Back for more tonight. Maybe I can sleep tomorrow.

I taught:

Tesla’s Needle
Kicks Korea
Single Sword Speed Date
Closing in for the Kill
Dialogue, Danger, Death

I learned:

I can put together a reasonable class — on concept, not just on technique — on short notice and engage students of many different levels at once. I can be in awkward situations without collapsing, succumbing, or losing grasp of my polite nature. My fight family is part of my “soul’s code” for lack of a less new age term. Without more attention paid to my health, I am no longer immune to the sapping of creative energy and patience caused by lack of proper sleep and nutrition.

I learned mostly to like myself a little more.

In May, I finally get to fight on stage in a major production at the Skylight. It’s been a long time since I have been allowed to use these skills as an actor, rather than a teacher or fight director. I hope I can impress. My skills are not flashy as a fighter, but I have honed them to be effective storytelling devices. I wonder frequently whether that matters in a world increasingly interested in the superhuman.

To that end, I am auditioning tonight for Cyrano de Bergerac. Of the people in the city at this level, I feel uniquely suited to the task, but I can only imagine that they have someone else in mind. I don’t thin you start attempting Cyrano without a lead in mind. Still, my wife has been kind in her talk of pride in me for simply making the attempt. Following the dream and whatnot. That great confidence I once had in myself would certainly come in handy here, but I have difficulty recapturing it. I audition well with cold readings, though, so I guess we’ll see whether I have enough talent to overcome my typecasting.

Most of my day consists of solving problems for others and of attempting to carve out time “for myself.” In reality, I stave off depression with a strict schedule of exercise, meditation, journaling, and chores. At least — I tell myself — I complete tasks. At least I contribute that much.

I fall off the wagon quickly when I’m given the advice to follow my bliss. I don’t actually want to be a fat character actor, but that seems to be where my bliss wants to lead me. I think the SSRI I have been given to ease my depression has led to a decrease in discipline. After all, if the few things that induce seratonin production in my body are sugary, fatty foods and video games, why wouldn’t my bliss be saying “Do this ALL the time, even if it kills you, and it definitely will.”

So, I have been. I also work on my art as often as possible. I try to complete at least five things a day on my task list, and all of my daily “quests”: meditate, exercise, journal, chores. That leaves very little time in the day. They say everyone has exactly the same amount of time in a day, but not everyone is called on to perform for 90% of it. If I were working only on my own projects, that would be different. The most recent recipient of that phrase I hear is Lin-Manuel Miranda, but when he wrote Hamilton, he had already created a very successful musical with In the Heights, so odds are, his hustling had slowed down a bit, whether he will admit that or not.

My hustling is at a peak right now, working to get name recognition across the country for my new CT status, and cementing in the theaters here in Milwaukee their need for my services. I’m teaching a lot, directing some, acting some, and sound designing and set designing and building. I’m also running the game of trying to keep my coding and poster design skills up so that I could take a real person’s job soon and clamp down on student loans and other outstanding debts.

Take time for yourself. MAKE time for yourself. This is that. I unwind with video games and exercise when I can, but honestly, my bliss needs to reveal itself in different ways. I eschew social situations too often because my brain bucks at the need everyone seems to cling to where we never talk about anything important. Bitch sessions do little for me, and reminiscing makes me fear whether my past will always be the best part of me. How sad that would be.

I take no solace in ranking myself as a good person. Call it ambition, or the heavy hand of American societal pressure to succeed as an individual, but I need more than the comfort of “good guy” status. I will have my life stand for more than a brief moment of silence. My eulogy need never be written, as my work will be worth more than anyone’s fond memories. Immortality lies there. Jim Henson, Fred Rogers, these sort of kindnesses can live indefinitely, in words or pictures. One can be grand and still be human. Don’t tell me they were not ambitious or idealistic. And they would be the first to tell me they were only men, and that I could stand beside them so long as I stand for what’s right.

My cousin Matthew is making a video for my grandmother for Christmas. The concept is that we each spend 30 seconds or so talking about what Christmas means to us. It’s our first year without Grandpa, but I don’t know how many of us want or need a reminder of that. Still, I won’t deny the kindness of the thought for Grandma.

Lately, I have tried to count my allies, people who support me in times of need. After all, I couldn’t find thirty seconds to record something for Matthew’s video, and my grandmother remains the most influential person in my life. I vacillated each time I began, tied up in my own misgivings and need to create art instead of sentiment. That attitude serves no one here, but I let it win.

So, who for me, would spend that thirty seconds? Probably more people than I could count, because I hold too low opinion of the people whom I call friend. Since I can’t forgive my own behavior, I assume they can’t. Many learning videos have popped up around me detailing impostor syndrome and the detrimental effects of social media. I have tried to maintain an awareness of them. I continue to drive myself to exercise and meditate.

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. – Hamlet, II.ii

All of my dreams involve my trying to do the best for everyone and finding everyone abandoning me. Leadership comes easily to me, and I enjoy it to some extent, but to have people question me when they simply want attention, I … well, in the dream, I flip tables. I tear my certification in front of them. I know they want me to compete. They want to show me how weak I am because I look out for them and will not fight. If they only knew the violence that I keep inside, the way I want to live differently than what my baser nature would dictate.

Do I have anyone’s respect? Have I earned it? They say you only need to please yourself, since you can never truly please others, but that way Trumpness lies. Balance? Sure, but internal balance cannot thrive in a world where man is in every way a social creature. Banish those from you who do not enhance you; but, how then to maintain empathy and to keep yourself from one-sided argument.

Were I born in a different time, a time of men like Washington, or Da Vinci, or Charlemagne, would I have made myself a tyrant? Did kindness become a rationalizing word for cowardice?

I would be a Viking, and shout “Fear profit a man nothing!” into the raging storms, but the world convinces me even that lacks honor. How can I find joy when all that I do is under scrutiny, from my wife, from the world, from myself? Embracing punk rebellion is childish, succumbing to authority, moreso. Then what?

I know it sounds absurd… please tell me who I am.

I think they should take away my geek card. I don’t give a shit about Hamilton or the new Star Wars except for their cultural significance (Oh my God! HowEVER did they make hip-hop relevant and accessible?). I don’t care about the new Fallout game or the new anything game for that matter. Even the games that made me rock hard in the past (Mass Effect, Dragon Age, etc.) have done almost nothing for me in the last few iterations, or by the “leaking” of information and footage from them.

I don’t care about Trump or Sanders or Cruz or Clinton any more. I’m too tired. Trump is a distraction, Hillary is too egotistical to get in line behind the man who would be best for the country, and feminists don’t always see that what’s best is what’s best and maybe now is not the time for that particular fight. He’d be the first Jew, that’s real change. But I don’t argue.

I’m supposed to be writing three things a day that i’m grateful for, but today, I’m only grateful that I don’t like guns and thus don’t have one, because tonight I would have ended my life. Possibly. I’m too much of a coward, in all likelihood. But any other method takes too much effort.

Why? No reason except reason. Any reasonable person who’s attempting to remove ego would see the logic behind it. I’m miserable, I make other people miserable, I contribute nothing to the greater good… death is the obvious solution to an exceedingly simple problem.

Instead, I canceled my plans to go out and shop (it’s the worst weekend to do so, and would only make me furious), somehwat forgave myself for not completing my daily missions on Habitica, ordered a pizza, and will watch an Adam Sandler movie. That’s right. While others are watching Star Wars or the Packer game, I will enjoy something I hate.

What is to become of me? How does a person of intelligence and self-examination survive the pulling back of the veil? I’m not sure I will.

All I see are people who love things, who at least express some excitement about their hobbies. I can barely get myself to leave the house unless there is some motive. Feeling useful, getting paid, or hidden titillation of some kind. I can’t enjoy social situations because of the pressures to be something bigger than myself. I can’t enjoy friends because I can see that they don’t enjoy my presence unless I’m “on.” If I had the larger goals of fame, renown, success… would it be easier to reconcile? At least then I’d have a reason to be “on,” a reason to go on.

Right now, I’m being told to keep doing what feels good. Except not what actually feels good, because eating bad food is making it worse. Not having a job that makes any money is making it worse. Attempting to find connections in a world full of the false is make it feel worse. What is this hedonism that I’m supposed to find? What is fulfillment? I don’t even know what joy means, much less how to find it.

Pizza has arrived. Back to escapism.

I use a little tool / game called Habitica to keep all of my tasks and to encourage me away from my bad habits and towards better ones. I would endorse it highly, and recently I have enlisted my friend DC to play it, as well. If you’re going to have a to-do list, why not gain rewards, even if they are nothing more than bit-wise vapor? The best rewards are ephemeral are they not?

Although most of my friends have succumbed to Star Wars fever, I have dedicated most of my creative headspace to solving problems for small theatre companies recently. It gratifies me to hear of their success, though I still take only small comfort when I hear thanks or accolades. I wonder if my ego drives that; that is, do I consider myself so superior that thanks do not serve the ego, since I already know I am so great? It’s a difficult condition to describe. Learn to be gracious in “thank yous.” I had conquered that hurdle once.

It sounds like I may get to see the new Krampus movie with my best friend. I don’t really look forward to movies, but this one caught my eye, and received an outstanding review from Red Letter Media, the only reviewer of movies with whom I align myself. Seeing these kinds of movies with Mike always cheers me up. We get to be stupid. I think he gets that feeling from most movie-going experiences. Sometimes, I feel critical thinking is a curse on me.

I’m enjoying having a laptop and a bigger machine. Technology is finally to the point where I can hoard my data and still have access to it from anywhere. I wonder sometimes whether it has made my mind clearer, the way that I justify that it does.

Theater RED is now being invited to events like the Milwaukee Generals, and Marquette’s monologue showcase. I haven’t learned how to appreciate them properly, as I’m still suffering from extreme social anxiety — an utterly new concept to me, at least to be aware of that part of myself — but I’m enjoying seeing where other people are in their artistic journeys, both those with more experience than me and those with less. It makes me think that maybe teaching would allow me to learn even more about how not to compare. Comparison is definitely what leads me down dark paths.

I like being thought of as an authority on so many matters. I try to wield that power honorably. I want to learn to be more open to the expression of other “trees,” as it were. I acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses in people as simply different than my own, but I have to start seeing things as less task-oriented.

Sincerely, I have been looking into which people I would think of as being affected by my choices. It’s hard to see past the one obvious choice of my wife, which can sometimes make me feel isolated. It is my own hesitation and aloofness that have left me in this position. I hide when I’m hurt, and I guess the wound has not closed yet. Now I am not the only one picking at it, either.

I’d like to smile again without it feeling wry. I have chosen a path that I think will get me there.