i posted this on my FB page this AM:
a professor once noted that my plays tended to focus on women who are dealing with depression, anxiety, loss, hopelessness. people who feel trapped. people who sometimes can't get off the floor. you write what you know, they say. and so i write those stories. i rarely sit down intending to do so, but there is usually a moment i realize that i've landed there again. selfishly, i think i write these stories because i so appreciate when someone comes up to me and says "i've felt this way too". it makes me feel less alone. and there have been times when i felt so damn alone. and hopefully, the plays make others feel less alone too. that is my hope.
(but i will say there is this weird thing that also happens where we say to put the emotions into the writing, which can be good, but also can sometimes make me feel like as an artist the only way i can be "good" is depressed...so it is a delicate balance...one i walk every day.)
this week i've been thinking about the times when most people didn't know how depressed i actually was. i've been thinking about the times when there were people who didn't understand. i've been thinking of the people that helped me when i needed it most. i've been thinking and remembering and feeling.
and i don't have anything wise to say. other people have written and will write much better things, but i just want to say...i've been someone who reached out for help and got scorn in return. i've been someone whose depression wasn't considered as "important" as others. i've been someone who has gone to therapy and basically lied and said i was fine. we sometimes aren't good at being there for each other. and sometimes we aren't good at being there for ourselves because, well, sometimes we just can't be.
and my hope is that we keep learning to support, to check-in, to understand, to care for each other. to send love as fiercely as we can.