Every time I’ve sat down to write over the past couple of weeks I move away from it. Mainly because the stuff that’s happening in my life feels so much more personal than it has in the past.
I’m really investing in things I care about in real and tangible ways and I’m pretty sure I had a mental breakdown yesterday.
I had an anxiety attack so intense I could not leave my bed. Called out of work with a migraine, but really it was an “I can’t handle pretending like working here satiates my creative needs” kind of day.
It’s weird. I know so many people who panic because they don’t know what they want. I panic because I know the things I want, and want them so intensely, that the thought of not having my desired experience is crippling.
I care way too much about this shit.
I just want to create. Connect. Share. Retreat. Give and get. All the time. Every moment of the day. Until I am fucking spent. I want to live life in a way that consumes me.
But right now my lack of pursuing my goals with every waking moment is eating me alive.
I get home and I am exhausted from work. Slink off to my land of video games where I can pretend I’ve accomplished something, or to an improv show to get my hit of the performance drug.
I don’t know. There is good stuff. Lots of crazy good stuff happening. (My commercial aired on the premiere of Walking Dead. I was in the viral phenomenon ”Women of LA.” I just auditioned for a series regular on a pilot after being in LA for less than 2 years.) I’m just too focused on what my end goal is, and trying to figure out the how of achieving it.
I like watching movies in theaters relatively alone. I can let my feelings consume me and bust out into whatever form they want to take, or sit quietly with them. Things I don’t allow myself to do normally.
I wish I would have gone to the movies yesterday.