I am not a rockstar.

I have written a song though. I find it fabulous. It’s three chords on my ukulele and discusses David Tennant on Top Gear. Perhaps I’ll post it sometime.

I feel like on nights that I don’t want to write, I should be writing even more. There’s no motivation for me today, yet I need to push forward. I’m doing this for a reason, and it’s a good reason. I just watched Silver Linings Playbook on my couch (legally, too, so get off your torrent high horses) and I was really moved by Bradley Cooper’s performance. I’m usually not a fan of his work, but I felt like he grasped the idea of what it really feels like to be so afraid of not being in control of your life that you lose control. I feel like that about half of the time, but i’m pretty good at throwing magazines in my head instead of a doctor’s office. My brain is full of paper cuts.

Already I sound like a downer. That was meant to be poetic.

Ah, anyway.

I watch movies and wonder if the actors in them have any experience with the issues they’re grappling with. Did Bradley Cooper ever take Lithium or Effexor, or is he well researched and is just acting well? I don’t really want to know, that’s their business, and fuck if I want someone to ask him that in an interview. But when I see a performance that looks like it could be real, part of me always thinks “they’ve gotta be well versed in this.”

I would love to be in a TV show, probably more than a movie. I would love to play a completely fucking insane human being, and I’m not talking Winona Ryder in “Girl, Interrupted”, I mean proper insanity. Insanity that causes other people to walk across the street. I think it would be excellent therapy for when I do truly feel that I’m crazy. I know these aren’t PC terms but I’m okay with that. I have on more than one occasion thought I was losing my mind. I’ve lost perception and seen things too close or too far away, I’ve fainted on a piano because I assumed I was taking my last breath and prepared myself for death. Of course, I wasn’t going insane, I wasn’t dying. I was having massive panic attacks that, unless you’ve had them, sound like big exaggerations. But if you’ve ever had a panic attack that truly made you think it was the end, you know it’s nearly impossible to ever fully recover.

The point of this series of blogs is to prepare me to travel to London someday. I want to go so badly, I want to work there, I want to live there someday, if I can. I want to work on a British TV channel, like BBC2 or Channel 4, because I really feel it would make me happier than almost anything in the world. Luckily, my fallback plan of being a high school teacher is also one of my biggest passions, and I will not disappoint when I enter a classroom. But I know I’m young, neurotic, and a bit off, and I know I could dazzle them in England. 

But to get there, I have to beat these fucking panic demons. I’m doing well so far, but it’s also only been three days since I’ve actively been sharing my feelings. So I have to keep at it. I’m going to go do yoga and listen to Radiohead, and then I’m going to have a cup of tea and think some more. I think it will do me good.

 

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