Proof

Prove that you love me.

That’s the phrase that kept going through my mind in the dark of last night. “Prove that you love me.” Don’t know where it came from but it crippled me and kept me from really being present in the middle of a great night.

I participated in a 24 hour theater event at Eclectic yesterday (and the night previous). I love doing these things because they keep me sharp as a writer and make me think differently as a director. And I love working at Eclectic because the people there are incredible.

Madame H, Ranger Smith and I wrote an outrageous, Judd Apatow type script (only smarter) and had a blast. We haven’t seen much of Ranger due to his Beautiful Baby so it was so much fun to write with him, however briefly.

Then quick sleep and up at dawn to get my play as a director and work all day. Long, boring stories about a producer who didn’t know what she was doing, crap I ended up doing because she didn’t, exhaustion, frustration, etc., etc. Long, long day. But the performances were quite good, for 24 hours, and I had a good time, all in all.

But suddenly, in the midst of the partying to celebrate the shows and the upcoming new year, I got bitch-slapped by clowns. Again. They’ve been very quiet lately. I think they’ve been plotting in the darkness.

I stepped away to the dressing room to get some quiet time because I had been going like crazy all day and thought I just needed a moment or two of peace to pull myself together. But the longer I sat alone, the more melancholy I became. And suddenly, that phrase leapt out at me.

Prove that you love me.

I wanted someone to come back to the dressing room and find me and beg me to come out and be a part of things. I wanted someone to come back there and tell me they loved me and how wonderful and important I am and all kinds of bullshit like that. I wanted these wonderful friends who are so loving and giving and supportive and amazing to “prove” to me that they loved me by…. I don’t know what.

I don’t know what they have to prove to me. They have proven over and over again how much they love me by just the presence of their friendship. They have cajoled and encouraged and supported and praised me more than any other set of friends I have had. They have been there for me at other dark times and have surrounded me with more love than I have ever had.

But in the dark of last night, I needed proof.

The intellectual part of my brain was trying to be heard over the cackling of the clowns. It was telling me all of this - that these folks love me and demonstrate that quite often and what more could I possibly need to feel loved? But that part was drowned out and finally gave up and faded into the background.

And my beautiful friends did what they could, which should have been enough. ET kept checking on me, poking her head in, asking if I needed anything, not letting me be alone too long. Then Kerr stuck his head in and insisted that I needed to be out on the stage (where the party was) at midnight so I could kiss him at midnight. Okay, he’s gay but I adore him. And he would not take no for an answer. And I’m glad. I went out, greeted the new year, kissed him and a few other friends and started to feel better. I thought I had gotten through the worst of it and the rest of the night would be amazing.

Boy, was I wrong.

I saw the current OOMA with his girlfriend celebrating the new year and that sent me off again. I want THAT. Of course, I want him but I really would like what they have. Someone to wrap me in his arms, kiss me, hold me, make me feel like a million bucks. And I was off to clown-land again.

And again, the refrain - Prove that you love me.

That clown in particular has my mother’s voice. Which is interesting because my mother has never uttered those words. But I think that’s the root of her craziness - prove that you love me. I’ll do outrageous things so that you will have to prove that you love me. I’ll be crazy and out of hand and obnoxious so that you will have to prove that you love me. I’ll say terrible things to you to get your attention so that you can prove that you love me.

Life with my mother always seems to be filled with landmines and booby-traps. You never see them coming. They just appear in front of you and explode. And then you’re not quite sure how or why or what actually happened but you’re suddenly missing a leg. And she’s petulant because you didn’t demonstrate how much you love her as your leg got blown off.

And I spent most of my life with people like my mother, who demand that I prove that I love them by sacrificing parts of myself. And that’s probably why I don’t like that there is that part of them in me, the part that screams “prove that you love me” when I’m feeling dark and moody. I feel like I’m lost in a tsunami of emotion, not sure what I feel or what’s going on, and I just want to stand and scream, “someone rescue me, someone prove you love me”. And I hear my mother in that voice and I don’t want that.

I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want to grow up and be her particular type of crazy. That’s one thing I am definitely learning. I don’t want to be my mother or my sister or my brother, particularly. I’d like to be more like my dad, more zen, more laid back. But even he has his own crazies, as I guess we all do.

Monica gave me some interesting insight tonight that I am hoping will help kill the “prove that you love me” clown. She works with Zadra, my best friend, at a company that deals with gifted children. For the past few years, when I talk about certain things or issues I’m dealing with, Zadra will teasingly giggle, roll her eyes and say “gifted child.” And then help me out with my issue. Monica brought this up tonight. She read me this quote -

"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off...They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating."
— Pearl S. Buck”

This kind of stopped me in my tracks. I realized that many of the times that I find myself buried in the black is when I’m in a social situation that is big and loud and crazy. What Monica explained is that they find that gifted children cannot handle situations like that because they are overly sensitive to input and stimuli, and therefore, situations like loud parties become intolerable because they’re taking in every single sound and sight and person and things and it becomes intolerable.

That’s exactly what it feels like. I’m almost drowning in a tsunami of input, of stimulus, and I’m not sure what to do with it. It feels emotional but it may start out as just overwhelming input. Then I just can’t function and maybe I need someone to “rescue” me from the overwhelm. That’s maybe where the need to have someone “prove they love me” comes from. I need help. I need rescue. But I can’t ask for it because I’m incapable at that point to ask for help. So it translates weirdly into no one loves me because no one is rescuing me from my own self-imposed exile into blackness.

So, after losing yet another night to unnecessary and inexplicable blackness, I realize that I need to get a handle on this “prove that you love me” thing. I need to lose the idea that someone needs to “prove” that they love me and just accept that I’m loved and help those people who love me find a way to help me out of the blackness. Give them tools to reach out to me when I’m deaf, dumb and blind in those moments to rescue me from the blackness. And maybe with giving them those tools to help me will give me the comfort to know that the people who love me will absolutely rescue me and, thereby in a weird way, “prove” that they love me without my demanding it.

But I did realize today, in the middle of all of this, that I am deeply loved. I was overwhelmed by that and it made me angry with myself that I let the clowns distract me from that love. So I hope to take these tools that I gained today from my awesome roomie and beat the living hell out of this particular clown. And then maybe find more tools to beat the living hell out of his buddies.