All out of love

I’m all out of love…

Over the past two years, I have thrown my heart and soul into a couple of key projects - “Mastermind”, first the play and then the short film, and the play version of this blog, “Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis”.

And I threw my heart into someone that was so very close to what I thought I wanted, what I hoped would turn into something. Held my breath and jumped.

And I sit here now, out of love with most of the things in my life. And I’m not sure where to go to fall in love again.

“Mastermind” was one of those very precious, special projects that took every ounce of creativity I had. Getting into Comic-Con with it made me think it was going somewhere that would… I don’t know what. Change my life, change my destiny, seal for me that I am something special, that I am capable of creating something truly special.

And then… nothing.

Cast and crew couldn’t have cared less. It was me. That’s it. Me. Promoting, pushing, building, creating, willing it into life. While everyone stood by and watched. And now the film sits on my hard drive, my will to do something with it completely and totally gone. The love sucked out of it.

Then “Diary”. Wow. “Diary”. Taking this blog and writing the play was so… overwhelming. For over a year, I lived and breathed these words over and over again every single day. Figuring out how to put them together in a way that would speak to people who didn’t know me and who probably didn’t care about my life. Trying to find a way to make it not masturbatory, make it real and honest and open. I fell back in love with my own words, my own writing. There are entries in this blog that I still can’t believe I wrote and things I wrote that I could barely hear read out loud when this show got up on its feet.

Lived, breathed, loved.

And then… it all crumbled around me. I cast someone who couldn’t handle the language. Okay, I’m not Shakespeare but I’ll admit that my writing is challenging. She gacked and blew my entire opening weekend. Crushing my heart, crushing my soul, crushing my love. Lost two other actors in unprofessional and disappointing ways. Had probably the most difficult rehearsal/production of anything I have done in my entire career.

My having to go on stage and replace my actress was bittersweet. I actually enjoyed getting up on stage for the first time in years and reveled in telling my own story. And maybe if I had planned to do that all along, it might have been different.

But by the end, I had been beaten and battered. And the resounding lack of audience and support crippled me.

I was left at the end empty and broken and devastated.

And then you.

You.

I get it, we talked, that’s fine. But even after we talked and I thought the friendship would live, you faded away, breaking my heart even further. I get that you didn’t want what I wanted but…

And now I sit, alone, week after week after week since “Diary” closed, buried in depression, buried in melancholy, trying to get back on my feet, trying to figure out where to go next.

And I realized tonight that I am out of love.

I don’t know if I ever want to direct again. I never thought I would say that. Directing has been the heart and soul of my life for more than ten years. But now, there’s nothing in front of me that I’m in love with, that’s driving me to direct again. And I’m tired. Tired of fighting for what I want, tired of building and building and never moving forward. I’m watching people who, granted, have worked just as hard, but they have incredible support around them and are moving forward in ways I thought I would be. And it makes me wonder why I’m doing this. What am I doing wrong that’s keeping me here? I don’t know if I’ve got the energy or the passion left in me any more for this.

My artwork still moves me but I can’t remember the last thing I painted/drew that I was in love with. I can’t paint right now. Oh, sure, I’m painting but it’s stuff I have to paint. A painting for school, life drawing class, illustrations for a children’s book I’m supposed to be doing. But nothing that stirs my passion, that drives me to the sketchbook or to the easel. While I was at Comic-Con this summer, I began to feel the stirrings of passion but they’ve faded away in the ensuing months.

And in researching the art school I’d like to go to on the East Coast, there’s no way in hell I could afford it, even if I got accepted. Grants and loans will only go so far and I can barely pay my rent, never mind find $20,000 for school each year.

And you. I really don’t want to feel that again. I don’t want to find someone and reach out and give away and feel that strongly again. I just don’t. Because it always ends this way - me, alone, even the friendship gone. And it’s so incredibly painful and confusing and heartbreaking. And I just don’t want to go through that again.

So I’m all out of love, in every single area of my life. I’m facing 50 next year, and I thought I had it all figured out.

And now…

Out of love…

Out of passion…

Out of answers.

Not sure where to go from here. The sense of loss is overwhelming right now.

Maybe it’ll turn around, now that I’ve put words to it. Maybe I can get some perspective and find that love again. Maybe.

I should have

In the dark of the night
Now
Long after I should forget you
My one regret
Is that one night
That perfect night
When you had me in your arms
And I could hear the pounding of your heart
Over the pounding of mine
My one regret
Is that I didn’t kiss you
Because then
At least
I’d have the memory of that.