Anyone who watches "West Wing" knows that one.... what's the next thing to be tackled? Who needs to be taken on? How do we claim triumph over the next set of obstacles?
These are the questions I ask myself in a hospital room in Concord, MA. By now, I figure I've lost at least half my reading audience. I figure this mostly because I write about THE SAME SHIT OVER AND OVER AGAIN. But I can't help it. This is the stuff of life that eludes me, and I will continue to write about it until it makes sense. I swear, I'm not trying to bore anyone. But this is the course of my life. If you're bored with the monotony of hospitalization after hospitalization, can you imagine how I feel?????
I ask "What's next?" because I (and a team of highly-trained specialists) have come to a conclusion: Laura is very good at being bipolar. Laura is also very good at singing & acting in high-pressure, high-level musical productions. What Laura is NOT very good at is doing both at the same time. Since kicking bipolar disorder to the curb doesn't seem to be in the cards right now, I am taking a hiatus from performance.
The thought of this makes me nauseous. This is not "ok, go do this difficult thing without a net". This is "you've been doing this difficult thing without a net since you were three years old, now just fucking stop". The idea of it brings on waves of depression, devastation, confusion. I feel like someone just pulled a rug out from under me and told me there was a floor to walk on, so just go do it. But the floor is covered in tacks & nails. How the FUCK am I supposed to walk across this new floor? I don't need a net, I don't need a map; I need feet of steel.
I know that there's nothing telling me not to sing EVER. I'm allowed. My throat works. I remember the notes and words and rhythms. I just can't do it in front of anybody for the foreseeable future.
AND I AM PISSED.
I have some thoughts. I won't stay away from music. I'll continue to take voice lessons. I'll continue to work on my piano playing (when the titanium screws in my right hand don't give me too much trouble), and I am hell-bent on learning to play the guitar.
But this feeling of not singing feels like someone is trying to pull my heart out of my chest... through my right eye socket. It's a ripping and tearing that I can't even get my brain to comprehend. I need some steel plates in my head and heart to go with those feet. I need to walk across that floor. How the hell am I going to get across that floor?
What's next?
These are the questions I ask myself in a hospital room in Concord, MA. By now, I figure I've lost at least half my reading audience. I figure this mostly because I write about THE SAME SHIT OVER AND OVER AGAIN. But I can't help it. This is the stuff of life that eludes me, and I will continue to write about it until it makes sense. I swear, I'm not trying to bore anyone. But this is the course of my life. If you're bored with the monotony of hospitalization after hospitalization, can you imagine how I feel?????
I ask "What's next?" because I (and a team of highly-trained specialists) have come to a conclusion: Laura is very good at being bipolar. Laura is also very good at singing & acting in high-pressure, high-level musical productions. What Laura is NOT very good at is doing both at the same time. Since kicking bipolar disorder to the curb doesn't seem to be in the cards right now, I am taking a hiatus from performance.
The thought of this makes me nauseous. This is not "ok, go do this difficult thing without a net". This is "you've been doing this difficult thing without a net since you were three years old, now just fucking stop". The idea of it brings on waves of depression, devastation, confusion. I feel like someone just pulled a rug out from under me and told me there was a floor to walk on, so just go do it. But the floor is covered in tacks & nails. How the FUCK am I supposed to walk across this new floor? I don't need a net, I don't need a map; I need feet of steel.
I know that there's nothing telling me not to sing EVER. I'm allowed. My throat works. I remember the notes and words and rhythms. I just can't do it in front of anybody for the foreseeable future.
AND I AM PISSED.
I have some thoughts. I won't stay away from music. I'll continue to take voice lessons. I'll continue to work on my piano playing (when the titanium screws in my right hand don't give me too much trouble), and I am hell-bent on learning to play the guitar.
But this feeling of not singing feels like someone is trying to pull my heart out of my chest... through my right eye socket. It's a ripping and tearing that I can't even get my brain to comprehend. I need some steel plates in my head and heart to go with those feet. I need to walk across that floor. How the hell am I going to get across that floor?
What's next?
I can't imagine that you have lost ANY of your reading audience. Those of us who follow your blog love you and want you to get better. The pain you must be feeling is unimaginable to me. Not being able to do what you love most is worse than awful. I so hope that one day you will overcome all this. If it only took good wishes, our magic wands would have done the trick. Until then, please know we all stand behind you. The library FISH say we will BE THERE for you. We only wish we could MAKE YOUR DAY so you could CHOOSE THE ATTITUDE to PLAY. Nice philosophy. So wish a little pink fish would make it all better.... I'll put one up for you tomorrow......... I'm there.....
ReplyDeleteHello, Diva. I spent the past half hour writing a wonderful paragraph of response...(& fending off the hungry Kitty) & it was simply eaten by the internet. I'm trying to remember what I wrote, but; alas... I can't. I do have a hopeful story, though, & it was hopeful enough to be on the cover of the Boston Globe on Thursday, July 31st. Just look up "The Opera Guy" on Boston.com. I do remember asking you to embrace your wonderful writing while you get back your Health. It is YOUR time to HEAL! So enjoy it as much as possible. I did several months of partial hospitalization therapy when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar type II, & it helped me immensely! The earlier misdiagnosis of "moderate depression" & the associated meds derailed my own career as a singing actor, but I've been steadily coming back. In the meantime, I've kept singing, though usually for less money & smaller, less mania inspiring audiences. This has helped me with learning humility, which was publicly in short supply when I was the younger "shooting star". Wishing you all the best, & praying for your recovery, "The Opera Guy"
ReplyDeleteOpera Guy! I am honored! Like you, I've been trying to reply and the internet keeps taking my answers away. I just read and xeroxed your article here in the hospital yesterday. Thank you so much for your comments and encouragement. I will continue to write as I go through this whacky and sometimes jaw-dropping journey of mental illness, and I thank you for all the encouragement you offer.
DeleteBest wishes to my new super hero, Opera!!!! Guy!!!!!!
Laura <3
Looking forward to warbling with you when you're ready -- and you will be. Just keep singing and writing and dealing with it all. You'll be back on stage -- it's who you are. In the meantime, love to you.
ReplyDelete