Just need to squeeze out the Poison

I'm not going to share this one on the Facebook, because I think people are probably sick of hearing about it. As sick as I am of feeling it. But I have to get it out of my head somewhere. 

I've had a rough week, filled with panic attacks, chest pain, nightmares, and depression. I think it's a combination of a few things. It's getting darker much earlier now, so that ol' pain in the ass, Seasonal Affective Disorder is rearing it's ugly head. I never thought this was a problem for me, since I love the fall, and especially Christmas; but, my ex-husband, who was a sufferer, thought it might be a monkey on my back, too. 

I'm also feeling like I am doing a crap job at everything I'm doing right now.

I've been feeling very disconnected, very tired, very sad. I can't feel anyone's love for me, no matter how much they are showing it. I feel like I am dragging a ball and chain, and it's pulling me into that pit of anxiety, self hatred, and depression. 

Nobody wants you here. 

You suck at everything you do. 

Everyone is so sick of you and just tolerates you because they are nice.

You are a terrible wife and mother.

Everyone hates you. And they are right to feel that way, because you are a horrible, pathetic, sickening person.

I am going to fight it this year with daily exercise, since that's the one thing that seems to help. I wish cuddling up with a blanket and a book was effective, but, nah...

I'm sorry to whoever reads this. I know it is pathetic. I hate it. But keeping it inside became too much.

First rehearsal in the new shoes! And insecurity!

And my feet only hurt! It isn't so bad that I've lost my will to live! The other ladies say they hurt anyway until you break them in, so I have hope. In the shoes.

Now, in my acting/singing/dancing? I'm not so sure. I'm going to keep working on everything as hard as I can, no doubt; but I'm worried. Of course. But more than my normal worried. You know what I wish? I wish I could cut myself slack, get out of my head, trust myself, insert whatever statement you can think of that is encouraging. Instead, I find myself barely holding in a desperate need for feedback, for encouragement, for praise from the others. And there is very little else I hate in myself as much as I hate this.

I hate this pathetic, desperate feeling. I hate that it is inside me. I hate that there doesn't seem to be any medication/meditation/intervention that can purge it out of me. Maybe I'm not cut out for this side of the stage.

Baby's First Theatre Show!

Thanks to a good friend, Baby 16 (ok, she's 5 years old, but still...) got to go to her very first theatre show last night--StoryBook Theatre's 'Cinderella: The Tale of the Glass Slipper'! Miss Sam* and I got to bring Short Pants into the fold. The verdict? She totally loved it. If you are worried that your wee ones might not enjoy a live theatre experience, as I was, maybe give it a shot! 

Baby 16 is sensitive to loud noise and does not have the attention span for a movie, so I thought this might be the right venue for her first show. With a run time of 75 minutes with no intermission, it was the perfect length of time for her kindergarten self. She was fascinated by the technical aspects of the set (she has a real future on production teams!) but was still totally amazed by the theatre magic, when the Fairy Godmother and Cinderella's costumes transformed from shlumpy work clothes to beautiful ball gowns. I wish I could have captured her reaction on camera. It was the reason why we do all the hard work--that moment utter amazement, thrill, and joy. Full on "I just won the lottery?! OH MY GOD!!!" reaction. It was my favourite part of the night.

She was so into the show, she didn't even ask for her snacks! It was indeed a magical night. Thank you, StoryBook, for providing shows like this for families. It was a tight, excellent production with great acting and fabulous singing. And thank you again, Miss Sam, for the tickets, and for totally understanding my shy kid.

*Note: I refer to my friends with a prefix when my kid is around. I think it's respectful.

Another Note:  Although I am volunteering for my first StoryBook show this season, no one asked me to review this show. Hell, I can't believe anyone actually takes some of their precious time to even read this diary of mine, much less ask me to do reviews and whatnot. Thank you, readers. I appreciate it!

Next time: HOLY CRAP! DROOD MOVES INTO THE THEATRE NEXT WEEKEND!

My brain is still a jerk.

The last few weeks have been rough. I'm not even 100% sure why. One theory is that it is tough to be the person who is the most green in the situations. I am still a very weak dancer, and I am still shaking in my shoes during rehearsals for Tommy. 

You know what I need? A solid plan for sticking to the hard times with some mental and emotional toughness. Rather than diving head long into the spiral of depression and sadness, to forward to the small improvements I'm bound to make as long as I work hard.

My jerk brain is pulling out all the stops to get me to protect it and avoid what I'm afraid of. To quit and hide. To shrink my expectations and dreams back to a size that is non-threatening. This is the first time I've ever wanted to keep going, keep trying, not give up. It's exhausting.

Any tips on how to give my head a shake would be appreciated. I refuse to give in, to give up.

Teacher!

This lady.

One day, about 8 years ago, I decided that I really wanted to sing again, in an organized, teacher-driven way. I was still in my home city of Edmonton, living by West Edmonton Mall. So, I looked in my local Yellow Pages (they still had those then, shut up) and chose a music school that was located in the Mall. Since I didn't drive, it was really easy to get to on the bus. There was my careful vocal education selection criteria. Can I get there easily? 

So, Imagine how damned lucky I felt when I nervously attended my first class with this beautiful person. And then she sang, and I had never heard anyone sing like that in real life. Full on, real, live, opera. I stumbled into a school filled mostly with kids to find one of the greatest singers and the finest voice teacher I've ever known. This lady made me start thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might actually be a good singer; because she thought so. And if a lady with her ability and education thought so, it might be true.

That's where she got her nickname of Teacher--as in "Teacher says I can." And I did. She had me singing Italian, French and German; and, damn it if I wasn't a loud singing soprano after all. She lives in Germany now, teaching music and directing/performing in shows. And I miss her all the time, until today, when she drove on down to see me. Karin Asselstine, my Teacher, you gave me music, some confidence, and best of all, your friendship. I love you.

Totally. Freaking. Out.

So, I got the shoe situation worked out, thanks to Jeremy at LaSyd's Dancewear. Much shorter heel=much more comfortable shoe.

So, this afternoon, I had planned to "plunk" in the parts for the songs that I have to sing in NoteFlight.com's website, so I can practice at home. Unfortunately, it is just way too advanced for me. I don't understand how to read music well enough to input the notes in the first place. 

So now I'm TOTALLY FREAKING OUT!!!!

I'm trying not to spiral downward. BUT. I can't figure out how to practice the songs at home, and my stupid body is failing me, and I can't dance, and WHAT IF I SUCK?? 

It's a terrible, no good, very bad day.

The Agony of The Feet

I've always had foot pain. Always. When I was a child, when I was a thin teenager; and when I was a thin adult. My damn feet have always been the ruin of my shoe dreams, the curse of my standing in line nightmares, and the tool of my sporting failures. Ok. Maybe I can't blame my lack of physical skill solely on my feet (see what I did there? Tee hee). But my feet have always made me miserable.

Why am I bitching about my stupid feet? Because I wore my character shoes for the first time, for an extended period of time. It was an unholy nightmare of pain. If I can not stand standing in the damn things, how in Hell am I going to dance in them?* And why can other ladies wear heels and be fine!? They look all awesome and hot; and I'm hobbling around like my feet are on fire, or have nails driven into them. 

*By "dance", I mean "try my damnedest not to trip over my own two (apparently left) feet".

Thankfully, the dance shoe people have a solution for me. Shorter heels! It seems that 2" heels are as brutal to me as stilettos; so, I'll go to the good people at "local dance supply store" and get help. I pray to whomever is listening that the shorter heels help. I swear, I thought my toes were going to pop from the pressure. Ewwwww. Wish me luck!

This post was going to be regaling you with stories of how much I suck in jazz class. About how I dance like I have either a) never heard music, or b) hate music. About how I can't get out of my obsession with the steps to actually dance to the song. But I'm trying to cut myself some slack. It was, after all, only my second class. Stupid Debbie Allen. Stupid TV. 

Also, they don't need Ensemble Person #2 in all the rehearsals, which does make me a bit sad. I'm learning from home, though! God Bless the makers of music theory and piano apps.