somebody different

“Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone's hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted--wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.”  -The History of Love, Nicole Krauss

Sometimes I remember that before I was who I am now, I was someone different.

At the end of the day, we are a sum of our parts; when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a collection of my own choices, adventures and failures. This might sound weird, but I'm sure we all do it, so whatever, I'm over it — I have many times stood in front of my mirror totally naked. I know, get over it, get over all the junior high oh-la-las, and just listen to me for a moment. I do this because I am in a way taking stock of myself, and just me. Not me in a cute J.Crew skirt, not me in a bikini, not me in a bridesmaid dress, not me in anything. Just. Me.

There's something about standing in front of the mirror and realizing that at the heart from the outside, this is all I am — a petite body, with pale skin, a nice smile, and long curly red hair.

I remember right after my bike accident, I was very concerned with the way my body looked. I didn't have scars, just tons and tons of broken blood vessels, scrapes, bruising, a herniated shin muscle and chronic pain from a broken non-displaced pelvis. Every couple of days I would get up from my bed, taking a break from the show that kept me company for weeks, Keeping Up with the Kardashians (another blog for another day), and I would get undressed to take a shower. I remember at first being so scared that I would fall, but only once did I ask someone to wait outside to make sure they didn't hear the crash of me slipping and breaking myself again. I still don't really know why asking for help is something I only ask for when absolutely necessary. But, alas, I had to shower, if only to keep up some semblance of dignity.

Before I would make the slow climb into the tub, I would stand in front of my mirror, balancing on my crutches, figuring out a way to slip off my sweatpants without falling. And, I would stare at myself, at the imperfections that had become me.

There's something about nakedness that polarizes how you value yourself. What are clothes, but another thing to hide behind, to help identify ourselves as someone we want the world to see us as? While nakedness is just another way to be vulnerable, even if it's only yourself who sees.

At the risk of jumping onto a high horse and screaming "Clothes are for the weak!" which very well may be true, I think it's important to take stock of ourselves. People say you come out of the world as you came in, naked — but how many people do you know who have been buried in the nude? We go to our final resting place, dressed how the world wanted us to be.

There's a book I truly adore called, The History of Love, that I quote at the beginning and end of this post. The title makes it sound like a much mushier and false account of what it actually is. At the start of the book the main character, an old man, Leo Gursky, in his early 80s decides to throw caution to the wind and be a model in an art class. Before he goes to the class he disrobes in the comfort of his own apartment to assess who he is without any sort of wrapping paper. And it is not an Adonis he describes...it's just who he is, an elderly man with loose skin, sun spots, white curly hairs everywhere, and lumpy bits covering a weak frame. I love this description. I love that it is unapologetic.

It's strange to realize that the body you have seen naked the most times is your own. Yet, every time you see it, it is different, changing as you change, aging as you age. I suppose this post is more of a reminder to myself, if nothing else, that beneath everything, we're all just people.

“At the end, all that's left of you are your possessions. Perhaps that's why I've never been able to throw anything away. Perhaps that's why I hoarded the world: with the hope that when I died, the sum total of my things would suggest a life larger than the one I lived.” -The  History of Love, Nicole Krauss

I can't come up with a title that doesn't sound trite. Perhaps, Living Real.

Lately I've been listening to probably too much music, and I'm at that annoying point where every time I hear a song, I think, "Oh, my God, that is so my life." I am fourteen again. Woo. The Head and the Heart's "Lost in My Mind" flipped onto Pandora at that moment. So, you know what I mean despite the lameness, yeah? In other news, it turns out Katy Perry and I could be best friends because we both have personal whoas. Shoot me if I ever sound this stupid again. I actually hate that I'm writing all this forward intro crap.

ANYWAY. It's been kind of a whirlwind of a week since my last post, which is mostly good. The kind of stress that goes into being honest is unexpected, but it's freeing. I'm sort of done talking about what it means to be real, though. Not that I will cut someone off if I find myself in conversation about it again. I could talk about it forever. It's just, it takes a lot to stop pretending. I am so used to wearing a shield that I sort of don't know what to do with myself right now. Sorry if that sounds real asshole-y, "I'm sort of done," ugh, it's just, what I mean is I want to start actually living more real — not just writing real.

Like, I need to talk things out so that I can know if I'm on the right page with the people in my life. I sort of feel like if I'm not talking to someone regularly it's as if they don't want to know me. No one is a mindreader unless they're a mindreader. That's something I wrote in my last post, not the mindreader part, but the feeling of thinking people don't want to know me. I'm at this point where I can't tell if I should take another step out and tell people I want them in my life, or if it is better to just move on. Who knows if they feel the same way? Oh, the sheer amounts of opportunities missed due to personal gridlock. It's weird. It's so weird.

Actually, something weird happened the other day. I don't normally do stand-up a ton, but it's something that I'm weaving into my life intermittently. It turns out I like to stand up in front of people and open my worldview to them. (We're all shocked.) It's a special kind of rush...knowing you might just blow, and you don't have anyone to blame it on, except maybe high ceilings that swallow laughter. I like to say doing stand-up is like having a conversation where you can't be interrupted, and if you are, you get to go off on that audience member, and everyone is like, "Yeah, lady, you tell them!" That hasn't happened to me much, which I appreciate, though I would sort of love to yell uninhibited sometimes.

Normally I just talk about how much I love my family and maybe tell a story about us all being insane together...things I'm comfortable talking about. A lot of stand-ups find things to gripe about and because it's a shared experience, audiences laugh. They laugh from recognition. That's a very cool kind of laughter, but I love laughs from surprise. What I mean by surprise laughter, is they didn't expect to hear what they heard, but they recognize it still, the laughter of admittance that they understand. I love to surprise myself most of all, probably because I'm a narcissist. (I'm not really a narcissist, and I don't think I actually know any true narcissists in the way that Narcissus, that Greek god, was.)

Anyway, I did a whole set based on honesty, relationships and being real. The first line of the set I got dead silence (which is what I was seriously hoping for, chill out), and then it got laughter because it stopped people in their own brains. It's very uncommon for a comedian, let alone a female comedienne to open with, "Hi, I want to be married." Cats out of the bag! Surprise! I want a lot of things, and this is one of them.

It was so amazing, guys. The fear, anxiety and silence that took over the audience (mostly single male stand-ups) opened the door to the rest of the set: being honest about our hopes for ourselves and the people in our lives — people want to talk about it, apparently, as many of the other comics ended up referencing my set in theirs. It's not as if I want to get married to just anyone anywhere anytime, and not today by any means. But it's real. It's a part of who I am, and I explained why.

There's an unwritten rule in Hollywood that you can't say you want to be an actor on a sitcom, or you want your own HBO stand-up special, or you want to write the next big Blockbuster, what have you. But, clearly if you've made it as far as Los Angeles, those are things that you likely want, and saying you want them makes them more real. It opens you up to others. How are they supposed to know who you are and what you want, if you don't tell anyone?

So, I said it. And I kept up this new trend in my life of being truthful, and it felt fucking good. There's that old ditty, "Truth in comedy," to which I say, "There is comedy in the truth." It has less of a ring, but I think it's clearer. What I think the first means is make your comedy truthful, whereas the latter means, tell the truth, and it will be funny. The difference is slight. It has to do with where you start.

All those things I said before, those are my dreams. And we don't tell what our dreams are because if we tell other people then they know if we didn't get what our dream was. As for wanting to be married, especially as a new-to-LA actress, that's just something you don't say. You don't say a lot of things, life is all about the things that you do not say to one another. There's embarrassment that comes from voicing this particular desire. I would say that the number one thing you don't say as a woman in your twenties or thirties is, "I want to be married." Not everyone wants to be, but I would say most people at least want the comfort of a serious relationship. I'm not going to qualify this much anymore, because I don't think it should have to be, other than to say, marriage is a really great thing if it's between two people who really want to be married. It's being with the person who has your back, is excited to see you, and who you have the freedom to totally be yourself with all of the time — and vice versa, that's important.

Of course, we aren't going to always be 100 percent ourselves with someone else until we're ok with ourselves alone, but that's the goal. You can't be yourself with someone else until you're yourself by yourself. Did you get all that? I had to read it aloud a few times. And that's why relationships should be treasured, given time to grow and fostered with connection.

this is not a poem, this is the most real thing i have written to a group of people who might read this and i am very scared.

This is coming from a place of honesty. I haven't written as myself in more than six months (i.e. my entire time since moving to Los Angeles thus far), choosing purposefully to write through the narrative voices of made up characters in made up settings with made up scenarios — or poems, so many poems. Often these stories and characters are versions of me, or the people in my life, as is the case with many writers, so it felt like I was still able to express what I thought, experienced and have been feeling. But as I continue to think about it more, I know that this has very much been a response to me not wanting to be really open about my fears, my future, my everything. It's my own little "arm's distance away." And because I love telling stories and creating worlds, and I'm good at it, I didn't know the level of self-destruction I have begun to take on.

There's that term, "take up your arms" when referring to battle. Every day to me feels like a battle, and I am so alone. I am fighting off those I am closest to every single day, and I am seriously fighting off those who could potentially want to be close to me. I'm doing this, and it is sabotage.

I don't want to share.

And, I don't want to do it because I am afraid. I am afraid that the things that make me who I am won't be good enough in the eyes of the people around me: close, far, unknown, known, doesn't matter. This is not ok. And, it's something I didn't know was a real problem until very recently, even though it has been boiling since September 2012, if we're being real, and I am. If we're really being real, then I would say it goes back further, but 2012 was the hardest year of my life. I feel like I'm not conveying the real gravity and impact of this period of my life or that it won't seem like that big a deal, but it really was. I am scared that you won't think it was as awful as I do.

In very short, because I am scared, awful things happened, and then I was fake-ok for a time. Performing was good, and I was insanely productive, but all the while I was going through a very destructive phase that involved things I have only told a very select few. But mostly, it involved me not being myself because I am afraid of being hurt. I don't know if I can go through that again.

The other day a truly good friend of mine was talking to me about her perception of me. Besides the multitude of kind things she believed to be true about me, she mentioned how I once told her that I didn't want to be seen as weak. This struck a chord — the idea of being weak. She said, the things that you say about yourself and believe to be true of yourself are in the eyes of others the furthest from how they actually perceive you. The example in her own life was that she didn't want people to think she was mean, and if there is one person in this world with a gentler disposition, who goes miles out of her way for the benefit of others, it is this woman.

I am so concerned about others seeing me as someone who can handle it; someone who doesn't need others. I thought because I still spent time with friends and family, made phone calls and sent emails, 'liked' things on Facebook, sent a note, whatever — that that was enough, but those things, while good and nice, have to be matched with the freedom to really share. It is not easy for anyone to share honestly. And, truthfully, I don't think one should share everything with everyone all the time — this is not what I am advocating to anyone, and least of all to myself. But for those I'm closest to or want to be close to, there is not real love, compassion, relationship, etc. unless it is met with the vulnerability to say you need someone, you want someone, you care about someone, and open yourself up to the possibility of them hurting you. For real connection, I have to be willing to take down this facade of being too cool, of having a game face, of using comedy and stories and small talk, in order to feign comfort. It's a faux comfort. Real comfort, though, that is what we all crave, and that's why many of us spend so much time alone. I'm the only person I can truly just be myself with. No one knows, no one sees. In truth, I want the comfort I have alone but with someone else. 

But I am afraid, so I protect myself. 

I find myself neglecting people, waiting for them to make the first move, and pretending like I am ok when they don't. I convince myself they don't want to know me anymore, and I am afraid to tell them I want to keep knowing them. It is gridlock because we all do this.

I verbalize the words: "I don't need you" every single day. I've said it to my mom, I've said it to my dad, I've said it to my sister, to my brothers, to my friends, to boyfriends, to teachers, to confidantes, to anyone that could remotely affect me. I've said it to friends about other friends. I say, "I like them, I care about them, but I don't need them." 

This, this is something I have said about those I need most. If I admit that I need them, then for me, it feels like they have the power to wound me. The truth is, they have it anyway, because I do care, they just might not know how much. And this perceived notion that I don't care lets them off the hook to show how much they actually care, if indeed they do. (That last bit was me protecting myself even as I write about being open. It never stops.)

The truth is, I care about the people in my life deeply. If you're in my life at all, I care about you. I am so afraid that I don't have the capacity to share who I am fully. I am so afraid that I will be rejected. I am so afraid. It's like a sickness, my fear.

Even as I write this now I find myself censoring my words, my heart. I'm afraid that someone will read this and think: "God, she is so freaking dramatic. I'm so glad she moved to Los Angeles so I never have to see her again unless she makes it, in which case, ugh, I am so jealous, because honestly, she isn't even funny or pretty, or nice, or anything."

I thought this thought the other day: "We are all scared people pretending not to be." I am a huge offender. 

Another phrase I use to hold people at bay is this: "Everyone is the worst, and I am the worst of all."

This comes from a place of shame. Shame is like a cancer, and it will destroy you if it isn't addressed. Shame is what we feel about who we are, and it's why we hide. It can come out of regret, it can come out of past hurt, it can seemingly come out of nowhere. For me, it comes out of past hurt, of past heartbreak. Not always the kind involving a girl and a boy, though it's been known to happen (both me breaking and being broken), but also heartbreak from friends, of let downs from my parents, of jobs I didn't get, of hugs not given, of love and compassion I didn't give myself; in short, when something happened that made me feel like I was not enough.

I listened to a Ted Talk another friend emailed to me (I know, haha, Ted Talks, but those are good!) and the woman, Brene Brown, talked about shame, courage, authenticity and vulnerability. 

She said this:  

"Shame feeds into our sense of worthiness. Those that have a strong sense of love and belonging believe they are worthy of connection. "

After talking to another dear friend about how hard it is for comedians to accept praise and compliments, I concluded that for me, it has a lot to do with the innate feeling that nothing quite fills me — discontent. The irony is that performers are perhaps the neediest people when it comes to them, but accepting praise (love and belonging) is difficult because we can stop for a second and be ok with our apparent success. For me, I always felt being content was the opposite of being driven. This is faulted. It is just not true. Being discontent, not accepting love from others, keeps us out of and feeling unworthy of connection. One can accept love/praise/compliments/etc, and still strive to be a better version of themselves on stage and otherwise, a more real version of yourself, yourself. Your real self.

To have real connection with others is a result of both parties being authentic: letting go of who I want to convey I am, and just be who I am: being vulnerable. 

I am not a vulnerable person, and my personality and actions are often calculated. As I'm writing this, I am rewriting, trying to be more clear, trying to show what I want to show, trying to be authentic, but somehow feeling like I am not, while still writing well, while still making a point, while I don't know. It's as if I want to share more about the specifics of my life, but the truth is I don't want everyone to know my truths. But, I want to be open to those who want to know me and who I want to know. The nitty gritty truths of our experiences aren't what's truly important, but rather they're things that draw us closer to each other. I don't think it's appropriate to tell everyone everything all the time, I'll say it again, but we're not alone in those experiences. And to try to go it alone is an upward and losing battle. I'm realizing this, and to keep myself an arm's length away is really hard and very lonely, and it's not worth it.

I'm just trying to have courage to share what I am going through as a person, because I think a lot of us go through this. A lot of people think we have to be some version of ourselves so someone somewhere will think something of us. Some. Some. Some. I'm trying to tell the story, the truth of who I am with my whole heart. I'm trying to have the courage to be imperfect, to be compassionate to myself so I can show compassion to others, to be real, to accept not except that being vulnerable means being ok that someone might read the first line of this and think, "Fuck this bitch. She is too much for me." It doesn't feel good, but it's necessary in order to be open.

I might be too much, but I would rather be all of me, then just some of me.

There is more, there's always more, but this is where I am at today. Hopefully I don't delete this tomorrow.