Monday, October 31, 2011

Gina's Monologue

This is the last monologue in the play that I wrote for LCC:

I always knew I was nothing. And it’s a strange thing, feeling like nothing. Because you can’t even feel bad necessarily, because…you’re less than bad. You’re just that: nothing. My first year here at UCLA I took a theater class for one of my GE’s. Our first assignment was a monologue. When I started reading, with the lights on me, bright enough so I couldn’t see anyone else in the room, I just started crying. I was breaking down there on the stage, but to everyone else in the room, they just thought I was a natural. Ms. S told me I was a great actress and I should really consider taking more classes with her. So, at least when I’m here and I’m on the stage, I can fill myself with something. Pretending to be something is better than actually being nothing, right? And please, don’t tell me I’m not, okay? I get it, I really do. You - boyfriends, mothers, friends – it’s your jobs to tell me I’m something special: I’m beautiful, I’m smart, I’m this, I’m that. And I appreciate it, really I do. But…don’t, okay? Don’t play those games with me, because I’ll never buy into them. I’m not worth it. When I was eight-years-old I was swimming with my little brother, Brian. He was such a sweetheart. Everyone loved him, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. But you know how it is – when you’re eight the only thing that matters is getting attention, and a new baby brother is the last thing you want, especially a cute one with a contagious laugh. My Mom went inside to make us sandwiches: pb&j, Brian’s favorite. She made Brian wait on the steps of the pool when she left, but as soon as she walked inside, Brian started taking off his floaties, telling me how he was a big boy and he didn’t need them anymore. Something told me it wasn’t a good idea, but I let him do it anyway. I knew Mom would just blame me if he started crying. He jumped in the deep end. I watched his arms flail, his eyes wide and scared. I heard him gasping for breath as his head kept slipping below the water. And I didn’t move. Not once. Once he stopped moving, I got scared – really scared. I ran out of the pool and into the front yard. When I heard my Mom scream, I ran to the backyard and saw her, her clothes soaked with water, collapsed on the side of the pool with him lying limp in her arms. I told her I was playing in the sprinklers in the front yard. I told her that I made Brian get all the way out of the pool before I left, I made him promise. I told her that I was so sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry, I should have never left him alone. She told me it wasn’t my fault. She told me she loved me. She told me it’s going to be okay. I don’t know why I didn’t move. I don’t think I’ll ever know. And I don’t want to. Because it doesn’t matter why I did it. I’m a monster. I’m…worse. I’m….nothing. Sometimes I think I’m getting better. I think I’m working my way up, ya know? It’s like I’m climbing out of this hole that I’m trapped in, and I’m moving up and up and up, and I’m so…proud of myself. And I don’t ever really feel proud of myself, but in this moment, I do. Because maybe I’m not perfect yet, and maybe I can’t bring him back, but at least I’m going somewhere, at least I’m moving towards something – towards this light at the end of the tunnel everyone keeps telling me is out there. But then all it takes is someone to throw a tiny, little, grey pebble into my pit to knock me back down again. I can be having a perfectly normal day, and then BAM, something just happens and it all comes crumbling down around me. And anything can be a trigger – anything. And in one moment, I can go from feeling totally normal, to feeling like my world is caving in, and that it was all my fault. And I’m falling, right? Down, down, I keep falling, but then the floor isn’t where it was before – it’s further down. And all that work, all that climbing, it was all for nothing. Because now I’m worse than where I started. How many times can I keep getting lower before I just….stop? It’s…it’s dark down there. It’s, well, it’s fucking scary. Every time I hit that bottom again, I just sit and tear myself apart until there’s nothing left. I just want to get rid of myself, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to hurt me anymore, to hurt anyone. Just do me a favor okay? Don’t try to fix me. I’m not some dumb, na├»ve girl. I just know better. I know myself. I’m never enough and I never will be. It should have been me.



Ivy's performance of this monologue is beautiful. It really is. It's better than I could have ever imagined it being performed. Every time we're doing a run through of the show and it comes to this monologue...I tear up in the least, and have even shed quite a few tears at the most. And that's with me trying with everything in me to hold it together. I never know if it's because Ivy does it so well, or if it's because the emotions that 'Gina' feels as she's speaking are so true to how I felt when I wrote this. How I still feel. It's a little of both, I'm sure.

Another blow up tonight. And at first I was angry, then sad, then angry and sad, then...like a sack of fucking bricks, there it was again. Worthless. The feeling that's the worst of all. In an instant I went from being angry that I wasn't getting what I deserved, to hating myself for forgetting that I don't deserve anything, for letting myself believe for one minute that I was worth more than nothing. And maybe I could try to convince myself otherwise, but my actions speak louder. I'm proving every day that I'm worthless, because I'm still here. I'm still right fucking here. Maybe I deserved this the whole time. Maybe my reaction afterwards justifies the initial wrong. If I saw anyone else where I am today, I would give them no mercy. I would say, 'she's a fucking pussy. What the fuck is she doing? No kidding this happened. It must have been obvious for years that she was too weak to stand up for herself, to demand better. He probably knew it the whole time that she'd just stand there, taking it all.' And it's fucking true. All of it.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Southern Living

Lately I've had this strange, rather strong urge to move to the South. Or Midwest. Or just anywhere but either coast. I can't help but fall in love with the idea of living in a small town where things are more simple. Of course, this is just an ideal image that I'm sure is just as skewed as what most Midwesterners think of California living. Maybe it has to do with my keeping up with the small handful of Mormon blogs. Maybe I shouldn't make that a habit. I don't think an impromptu move after graduation would do me any good.

Monday, October 24, 2011

stark realizations

it's only been about five weeks. i suppose i really shouldn't expect to feel healed by now. i knew it would take longer than this. i knew it would be months, years, decades, never, who knew. but it would definitely be longer than this. yet here i am, and it's midterms time yet again and i wish i could just sit and read about south american geography and its political effects and be able to focus on it without wanting to occasionally throw the book against a wall.

this wasn't supposed to happen. that's what still makes me angry, every moment, every day. this wasn't supposed to happen. it was supposed to be perfect, but instead it was exactly what could have hurt me the worst. not much can hurt me anymore, and i've prided myself on that. my shell is so fucking hard and it's something that i shouldn't brag about, but damnit it, i've worked hard to make that shell hold up against the shit that's thrown against it. it wasn't enough to protect me from this, though.

not knowing when this will be okay is the scariest part. it scares me that i've become so good at looking stable.

i've noticed that my temper with other people has become shorter. it's like in my mind, when someone does something slightly inconsiderate, instead of brushing it off, my mind screams "no, no, no, i had to feel the worst pain and had to pretend i didn't feel it, so i'm not going to deal with this little one!" so many things wouldn't have hurt me. why did the one thing that could have hurt me the most have to happen? am i going to be this cynical forever? will i always be this pessimistic? will i always feel this stinging bitterness? bitterness has always been a problem with me. it took me a long time to not let the bitterness of my childhood determine who i would be as an adult. but what if all that hard work was for nothing - because if any word sums up my attitude on an hourly basis the most it's bitter. i'm bitter, really fucking bitter. this isn't right. and every time i feel a tinge of pain, as much as it hurts, it makes me equally angry. i'm so angry that i have to feel so fucked up and hurt because of someone else's mistakes. someone else gets to make the most selfish and inconsiderate and disgusting decision of their lives and i'm the one who has to force myself to drive straight on the freeway?

what the fuck. what the fuck am i doing here? what the fuck am i going to do.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

sunday mornings

every saturday night i create these fantastical plans for my sunday morning.

every sunday morning i want to sleep in, until it's sunday afternoon.

this is a problem that needs to change.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

it's hard to not write cheesy blog titles



i almost named this one "baby steps." but that sounded a little bit ridiculous to me.

things are getting better. i wanted everyone to know who only reads the blog and hasn't been in closer contact with me lately. they are getting better, however slow. it's still hard, it's still trying, but it's getting a little easier each day.

i just figured out that you can track the amount of followers that your blog gets and i was literally flabergasted. i only have about a dozen people who openly follow my blog with their google accounts, and only about two who regularly comment. but damn! some days there's only 5 or 6 views, but apparently in the last month there's been plenty of days with 30, 40 or 50 views? what the fuck? and even stranger is when it lists which posts have gotten the most views. not surprisingly a lot of them are ones that i posted to facebook or something, but a lot of them are...not what i thought.

maybe this means i should start being a little more guarded about this little blog of mine. we'll see.

Monday, October 3, 2011

isn't this supposed to make me feel better?

so, i wrote a script. it's a 'dramedy'. the only reason that there's humor in it is because it's how i deal with my pain, so if i wanted to have an honest script, it had to have both: it needed the pain and the emptiness, but it needed the daytime story, too. it needed the fake, bullshit conversations and obnoxious jokes to get laughs and lead everyone in the wrong direction.

tonight made me realize there might be more permanence to this than i thought. a few days after the initial blow, i thought that maybe i was being overdramatic: maybe it WAS just absurd emotion that showed my naivety and age and that i would get over this the same way i've gotten over everything else. then tonight it all just came rushing out before i could even get a grasp on one end of my words to pull them back in. at the very least, i thought i was over some of it. yet...there i was - screaming in my car, asking how i could have meant so little, begging for a reason that anyone could have done this, let alone You.

i was in the shower about an hour ago, wondering when the next time i could just hop in for a quick shower before class without breaking down. how fucking pathetic is that? showering, driving alone, 40% of the songs on my computer, 70% of the people i see on a daily basis - anything can be that thing that pushes me overt that line of holding it all together and letting it all slip through my fingers.

i wonder how everyone would feel if they knew how much of that script came from this stupid fucking blog? would they be uncomfortable, worried, or just not care? who knows. it crossed my mind for a second to mention it at our first rehearsal, just to let them have a small hint at how real this is to me. i decided against it. there's just some things that are meant to be shared.