i wonder if my sole purpose is to feel, communicate and tell the stories my ancestors were never safe enough to do.
that, and love.
feel the tissues of the jews that says
“I don’t exist”
how we survived 5,000 years of repeated attempts at genocide
when i realized in therapy yesterday
“i don’t exist”
i felt my ancestors celebrating
that finally one in our lineage is facing this burden
and can finally heal and release. still,
i am having trouble trusting my path
today my intense anxiety had me spinning - toward a bizarre choice to cook and devour 4 pieces of bacon that expired November 17th - (they were not moldy, stinky, slimy or discolored)
i caught up with a loved one who’s also in entertainment- the taboo of entertainment is talking about what it’s actually like in entertainment publicly-
“i don’t exist”
entertainment the best sleight of hand: uber-visibility while staying hidden in plain sight. you never have to be fully mature or whole here, unless you choose. you can direct the narrative, while directing your own narrative.
well-
my loved one is heartbroken about the effort to break through their next project
“we are both choosing this. we could stop.” i say.
they can’t. they have a family. it’s hard to switch careers. return to school.
and i get that. i think about leaving constantly.
and - to stay feels like my calling.
it is what it fucking is.
i’m remembering six months ago at a showrunner friend’s house saying…
“why are we like this?”
why do we need to do this?
we shook our heads over ice cream with cookies.
we don’t fucking know.
in the vein of calling:
my mom says when we make plans, god laughs.
i really truly had a plan for this next season of my life. and then my best friend and i fell in love again, now long distance, while in my body relationships feel like being on fire. i want to spend more time with him, but i accidentally booked an overpriced airbnb, and am locked into a solo trip to Bir Sur. when i’m back i want to declutter my place and hire a cleaner for a deep clean. finish a pilot.
wrap up.
i want to scrub everything out and see who i want to become this year.
finish up all lingering projects, make all the space
for who i’m meant to become after 6 years of chronic illness recovery-
and it’s fucking hard to stay on task/track while managing intimate relationships of any kind + travel + chronically ill. cptsd(ish) is an asshole.
my doctor even said “you love each other - just make it work” which inspired me to soften, then immediately lose my fucking mind. cc: 4x bacon.
if i learned anything from my chronic illness i don’t get to decide everything.
if i learned from my witchcraft practice - i have a lot of power.
swinging from vine-to-vine in this dichotomy,
in this industry where we never really need to grow up,