I want to break free

I've always been able to speak more freely in writing. For some reason, and maybe lots of people feel this way, it is much much harder to be completely candid while looking someone dead in the face. Of course, there are those few people in one's life with whom it is easy to experience complete candor, but those people are few and far between. In my experience, too many people are too judgmental. Too quick to make unfair decisions about my character. Too easy to stuff me into a box and paste a label across my forehead. And the very fear of meeting those kinds of reactions are enough to keep me from opening up completely with everyone in my life. But when I write.... I can pretend that it's just me. That I'm just writing to myself and no one else will see. I've yet to master the consequences of my writing, but life is about growth, right?

Something is breaking out of me. Something is bursting forth. I feel nervous, sitting here, knowing what I am about to type. But I've got to do it.

We often ask ourselves, "Who am I?" I've been asking myself that question my whole life. And today I finally admitted that I've always always always known who I am. It's never been a question of "who am I?" but a question of, "Can I accept who I am?". And thus far, the answer has always been a stark NO. Because till now I've always been so frightened that Who I Am is such a terribly flawed, inadequate person - certainly not a person who is Good Enough. So I've pretended that I don't know Who I Am in order to allow myself the freedom to change hats and try out different personalities and be different people. And if you tell me that this is why I became an actor you'll be denigrating the fact that I'm an artist and in fact, this refusal to accept my true self is an enormous obstacle in my quest for unbridled artistic freedom. If anything, it’s preventing me from being an actor. The unconscious choice to smother my Real Self has been a source of unbelievable misery all throughout my life. (Not that I’ve been miserable, I’ve had a freaking awesome life, but you know what I mean.)

As I write this, a little voice in my head is screaming, "STOP! Don't go on! Stop typing! Don't Do It! You'll be so sorry.... no one will love you any more... everyone will think you're a nasty disgusting dirty girl." But that can't really be true, can it?

I blogged recently that (by the way, I just had to stop typing for about 8 minutes and give myself a little pep talk about how its really alright for me to go on and continue with this entry because I am THAT afraid of being judged. Where is the strength to defend myself against unfair judgment?) I am ashamed of my sexuality and that I believe that that shame is holding me back as an artist. Maybe because to be truly able to create, one must be truly accepting of oneself. I've been noticing lately that a vast majority of art, at least a vast majority of the art that I am exposed to, revolves almost entirely around sex. So it makes sense to me that if I cannot come to terms with my feminine sexuality, my creative process will be stunted. The other night I debated with Poompy about why it is all right for men to be sexual and not for women. First he told me that he didn't think that was true at all in today's society. Ha ha, I replied. If he went around telling people he'd slept with 100 women, nearly every man would respond approvingly, and while maybe women wouldn't find it so favorable, they wouldn’t be surprised or disgusted, most likely they'd just chalk it up to the fact that he's a man and he's expected to be promiscuous. (Yes, I'm making generalizations. I'm fortunate enough to have surrounded myself with mostly remarkable people. But the majority of the population is pretty fucking generic, so it's fucking fair for me to make generalizations. At least in this instance.) If I went around telling people that I'd slept with a 100 men, women would call me a slut and a whore and men would either be disgusted and not want to touch me or else they'd decide I must be an easy lay and expect me to fuck them. Poompy could not argue with me on that point. But he countered with the theory that that is the way men and women are programmed. He said, “If you think of people in terms of animal instinctual survival, males are programmed to impregnate as many females as possible so that they can ensure that their DNA is passed along through long lines of lineage, while females are programmed to be true to one male so that that male can be sure that the baby he is raising is actually his own.” Well. It made sense at the time, but I'm not sure if I'm buying it now. It seems awfully unfair. It seems like a simple way for a man to defend his own rampant sexuality while encouraging a woman to be always chaste and pure. (Please don't take this to mean that anything is off between Poompy and I because it isn't. It's just a debate we had about a subject that's been on my mind. It has nothing to do with us, personally. Except that it has everything to do with me because it's taking over my mind at the moment.)

I'm beating around the bush. I am ashamed of my sexuality. I don't want to be anymore. I want to embrace my sexuality. I want to allow myself to be a strong, confident, sexual person without fearing that people will think I'm some dirty little whore. I guess I'm at an advantage since I'm married and women having sex with their husbands is pretty widely accepted. I guess it would be harder if I were a single girl crying out to the web that I want to be sexually free.... but maybe that's my point. Why couldn't I be sexually free before I was married? Why is there SO MUCH shame and angst surrounding sex? Why am I SO ASHAMED of something that is SO Natural. It’s got to run deeper than just what’s been imposed on me by society and religion. Doesn’t it? I don’t know. Because NO ONE EVER talked to me about this!

Who Am I? I’m a wild, passionate, inspired, sometimes crass, always curious, willful, intensely sexual girl. And I shouldn’t need to feel like there is something wrong with me because of it.

This is coming up now because, well it started with Dance Dance Party Party and my hidden talent as an exotic dancer, but these feelings and concerns are growing stronger since I’ve been taking J.R.’s acting class. The teacher has had us choose all our own scenes and so far I’ve picked three totally different plays, from totally different time periods, written by playwrights from completely different countries, that ALL revolve around the consequences suffered by sexual women. And I’m really realizing that the characters I’m most drawn to are the broken, suffering women – women who have the potential to be strong and independent but are so crippled by their sexuality that they let it destroy them. Lulu from Wedekind’s Lulu and Wendla from Wedekind’s Spring Awakening. Miss Julie from Miss Julie, The Bride from Lorca’s Blood Wedding, Julia from Webster’s Duchess of Malfi, Young Woman from Sophie Treadwell’s Machinal, Maggie from After the Fall, even Kate from Taming of the Shrew. I could go on and on naming characters like that that I am just dying to sink my teeth into. And they’re all the same. Some how, for some reason I can’t figure out, I believe that I will be destroyed if I embrace my sexuality. On the one hand, it’s SO easy for me to embody these women because I identify with them. On the other hand, it’s a terrifying task because if I allow myself to embody those women… it means I have that kind of woman inside of me.

And I do. I really do.

And it makes me feel soooo dirty. And I haven’t got anyone to talk to about this. As wonderful and empathetic as Poompy is, he’s not a woman. He can’t relate. So I’m writing about it in a freaking blog. And I’m frightened what people will think of me when they read this. But I’m throwing all that out the window. Because if I continue to live my life afraid of what people will think of me….. I’ll destroy myself. I’ve got to learn to accept who I am and love myself and maybe then… maybe then I will develop the strength to stand up for myself. To defend myself against those who judge unfairly. Of course, I’m writing this under the assumption that everyone I love, if they read this, will decide I’m a disgusting dirty girl for having these thoughts and that they’ll lose respect for me or that they’ll be disappointed in me. Maybe I’ve judged them too harshly. Maybe they will accept me and love me and encourage me to explore the depths of my being.

I think that leaving my home is one of the smartest things I ever did for my artistic self. I’ve shaken things up. I’ve forced myself to see with new eyes. I jumped. Cut the apron strings. There’s no one near enough to hurt me. I don’t know anyone in this city except Poompy, and he thinks I’m perfect. (Thank GOD.) And the people I’m meeting only know me as I present myself to them. And maybe every one else will love me no matter who I am.