People have generally always considered me funny. For awhile that wasn’t the case as I was getting acquainted with the English language and even since, my sense of humour is not everyone’s cup of tea. In fact, most people in the Anglophone Western societies do not get it. The sensibilities are too different.
However, over time I learned what tends to make people laugh even if it is not really funny to me. THE reason I did that is because I tend to use humour as defense weapon. It is a way to distract people from seeing what really is going on behind the mask of a clown.
So now the mask has been sheared off. Not by choice; but now it is broken (along with my heart) but this will hopefully will make me stronger rather than completely to destroy me.
Except… I am supposed to entertain people on stage. Luckily, improv is not standup comedy so I am not supposed to be cracking one-liners. On the other hand, it is not a good idea for me to be continually miserable on the stage.
And therein lies the problem for I feel the need to get back to improv. Having made a number of emotional breakthroughs, I think I can grow much more as an improviser now. This is something I can actually be good at and be a better person for it. Whether healthy or not, there is a need in me to make people laugh. I am not expecting for this to pay the bills – that would be a highly unrealistic expectation. However, somehow, making someone’s day just a little brighter by making them laugh makes me feel that l have some kind of a purpose in life. I am not a religious man by any means so I do not have the comfort of thinking that higher power has a purpose for me. So I have to go and get my own purpose. And I think humour is it.
They call it stormy Monday but Tuesday’s just as bad
Wednesday’s worse and Thursday’s also sad
– T-Bone Walker, “Call It Stormy Monday” (1947)
Monday mornings. They are never easy. After two and a half weeks of not having to wake up early to go to the office, it is especially difficult to get going.
This morning I was rather horrified also to discover that there seem to be far more grey hairs on my head than there were a month ago. Have I not noticed them before or has the stress of recent events caused that? It is, unfortunately, a possibility. My inner state these days can easily be described as highly agitated and stressed.
How long can I keep going like this? I have only had two therapy sessions but I am already wondering whether I need to ask if SSRI’s are right for me. As much as I yearn for an emotional relief, I am apprehensive about mixing Methylphenidate with an SSRI. Is pot a legitimate alternative?
For the first time in years I’m getting heart palpitations and irregular heartbeats. I haven’t had to endure that since before I was diagnosed with ADHD-PI and started on Methylphenidate (Ritalin). It used to help control depression and anxiety as by-products of ADHD-PI but somehow this is no longer enough.
For the sake of myself and those around me I have got to figure out a way to want to live and to figure out how to forget the woman I love.
Lately, it has been a struggle to keep writing. The novelty of having to write at least one post a day has worn off and the boiling geyser of feelings has subsided. Now it seems that all there is left is dull ache of sorrow.
Sunday night I had been able to get myself to the theatre and do a pretty good improv show. In the fit of irony, the universe has arranged that in the very first scene I did in the workshop before the show, my scene partner’s character broke up with my character. All I could think of is “Shit! Just don’t start crying.” I managed not to do that. There was a small crowd but it was better that way for me, though I imagine, not for the theatre. As smoothly as the show went, I still struggled with trying to keep positive. It is not easy for me at the best of times and I am not going through the best of times at present.
Getting back to writing though, the challenge of doing one post a day or more has been beneficial in establishing a discipline of writing. I need that structure now to help me get through this shit.
It should also be of help in my therapy. I am actually supposed to write two letters: one to my dead grandfather and one from him. The first one is relatively easy. He is on my mind a lot and I think of the time we could have been having together often. The second letter will be hard. I can’t even imagine what to write. It has been almost 19 years since he passed away. I remember his face but not his voice. I rarely think in my native language these days and that puts me even further away from trying to access him deep in my psyche. What would he say? How would he say it? At best, that letter “from him” would just be me saying what I think I know I should do. I wish I could hear his voice. I wish I could listen to his advice. (I will definitely need to do a post inspired by him, about him very soon.) In the meantime, I will have to find a way to keep at it.
In improv we say (I believe Meisner pioneered this) “if you are stuck in the scene, state something that is true. This writing challenge has been doing exactly that for me: a way to say something true about myself in order to keep going. A constant lighthouse of stability and common sense to keep me away from the rocky shores of dark, evil thoughts that would eviscerate me.
I am taking this life one day at a time.
I just have to keep on writing one post at a time.