The Penitent man shall pass
I’ve been in an awful creative slump for a while now.
I feel like I can’t come up with anything good, or useful. I don’t know if it’s because I’m depressed, if I’m still getting used to my meds, if my sleep is off, if I’m just tired, or what. I know one thing’s for sure; it’s pissing me off. BIG TIME.
I want to write something interesting, something fresh, but something that isn’t as dark as my prior work. I think that’s a problem for me because I like the darkness, the sardonic nature of my characters, and the humor that I’m able to get through that. I want to write something much lighter, but I can’t find anything that would fit. I mean, Unicorns are awesome and all, but I don’t know if I can write one word of a script or story without saying FUCK half a dozen times.
Maybe I’m fighting my nature too much. Maybe I’m just not making the effort to try and work. Like I said before, I have been depressed. This summer sucked a lot of the life out of me, and what I did in the spring is long past. Maybe it’s the heat. The San Fernando Valley is a bitch during the summer, but lately, it’s been hotter than the entirety of it. And it’s Mid-September for fuck’s sakes!
I just don’t want to be that brooding guy, but I know I am. Sure, I’m funny, and I’m well liked, but my dark side is a bitch and half. I’m trying not to be the victim. I’m in control, but I don’t know what to do with that control. I’ve never really had the wheel my whole life. Someone was always driving for me.
I talked to one of my dear friends about this today, and he commented that it may take me another YEAR to figure all this out. It’s not what I want to hear, but he’s probably right. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and I have problems with taking the first steps towards change. I don’t get out of the house enough, and I’m rather overweight. Okay, maybe I’m fat, but I’m not obese. I’m not at the “GODDAMN, use a treadmill!” stage. That’s a step in the right direction I suppose.
The only thing really going for me is that I’m in school, and I’m giving it my all. Sometimes, that’s not enough in other people’s eyes, namely the ones helping to fund me. Maybe I expect too much out of myself. I get upset if I get a C. Anything above a B is fine, but I still feel like I can do better. I’ve only had one C+, as I said a while ago, but I felt it was deserved. The other day, on my last day of class for the next week until the new quarter starts, my professor praised me in front of the whole class about my effort. All of my other classmates had given me compliments beforehand, as that was what we were doing for each other (very 1st grade, I know), then he would comment. He called me a ‘tentpole’, which was very flattering, but I was kind of in a daze. I said I was very humbled by all of the praise I had received, but I even said I could do better. If even my best isn’t good enough for me, what ever will be?
Anyway, so I’m kind of stuck in this loophole. I don’t know if I’m just going through a REALLY long phase, or if I’m just drowning in my own depression. I did break my sobriety last Saturday, but I haven’t smoked since. I don’t really feel like going back to it anymore. I like it, sure, but it never really helped me. Maybe I just want another taste to help my creativity. Maybe I should have another taste to help it. I don’t know. I don’t want to go down that dark path again.
This probably all seems ridiculous considering how much I write per post on these things, but you have to understand, this is just me talking about my life. It’s not like I’m writing short stories, or scripts. This is purely for pleasure, and maybe to keep myself from getting rusty. I don’t edit these. I don’t refine. I just let it flow. That’s what I do. It helps me iron shit out. Public or not, I would probably be keeping a journal if it weren’t for Tumblr.
Anyway, I’ve gone on long enough. Maybe one of you has some advice for me?
Maybe not. Whatever.
The Human Condition.
This week is the clusterfuck of all clusterfucks. Everything good, everything bad… It’s pretty much happened.
I started the week with a BANG, producing a short film on Tuesday morning from 2am to 11am. It was hellish, but went well overall. I don’t think I can complain too much about it since I have yet to see any of the footage, and I was more concerned about getting to bed. I slept 14 hours after that, so I’d say it went pretty well.
Yesterday was horseshit. One of my classmates didn’t have a single fucking person on his crew, and it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen performed. I had to do 5 different things at once, plus he didn’t have a fucking clue what he wanted going in. I know I might be a little harsh, but a project like this, you can’t fuck around. It’s how it goes. I take this shit seriously. I wish other people did, but I guess that’s how it goes.
Retarded Dystopian movies starring dead bitches don’t help my mood either.
And finally, last night, I wrote 4 1/2 pages of my first feature script. I didn’t feel the need to write more, even though I should have. I thought they were great. My teacher thought they were shit, but he and my classmates tried to help me. I was hurt because it was what I imagined in my head, but I guess that my vision isn’t always the best version of it. It still doesn’t feel too good.
Now? I’m reminiscing about not having a girlfriend, being a bit of a pervert, and accepting that I intentionally isolate myself in order to not get hurt because I’ve been hurt so many times. I’m also preparing for my first directing project in almost a year, which happens on this coming Wednesday.
I’m not stretching myself too thin anymore, but I’m still healing from stretching far beyond what I thought I could. It seems to me that for every good thing I do for someone else, a bad thing occurs to me personally. Why is this? Does the universe hate me so? I know I haven’t been great lately, but I try so damn hard…
I just wish that my efforts were rewarded with something more tangible, something less toxic, and something exciting to wrap around. I feel like I’m losing part of that spark that makes me me.
Maybe I’m just all balled up inside. Twisted, feeling under-appreciated, majorly hurt. Doesn’t matter how good things are going, I truly feel this way. What appears fine on the surface, isn’t necessarily what’s true deep within.
With my birthday around the corner, I have nothing planned, nothing to do, and everything I want to happen. I wish I didn’t feel like I was so alienated from my friends.
It all boils down to the question I always ask myself; Why is it I can save everyone else, but I can’t save myself?
I hope this gets to you
LEBOWSKI: It’s funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, competitors bested, obstacles overcome. I’ve accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What… What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE: I don’t know, sir.
LEBOWSKI: Is it… is it, being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn’t that what makes a man?
DUDE: Sure. That and a pair of testicles.
- From The Big Lebowski
Last year, 2010, was by far the hardest year of my short existence. A lot happened in a short period of time, I divulged into madness and chaos, I suffered, I smoked weed and drank to try and mask my problems, I grew my hair out so I look like a crazy person, I met good people, I dropped bad people, but the worst person I know went to jail. That person is my father.
My father, despite his best efforts, is not a man that I can easily talk about. He gave into himself instead of doing the right thing. He became the very thing he didn’t want to be; a toxic, lying, overweight, unhappy man. Most of the last quarter of 2010 was suffering over him leaving because he manipulated me so bad, that I believed that I had no value. It will take a long time to heal the damage he left in his wake.
I am not expecting anyone to understand where I am coming from, nor try to. But see my words, and understand that I will not give up hope for my future. My friend Jen Friel (http://talknerdytomelover.com) wrote earlier that we have the ability to change ourselves, and our lives if we make the effort to do so. I am ready, in this new year, this new decade, to stop beating myself up over the past, and move forward with my present, and the future.
Yesterday, I was hungover, but my mom suggested that the best way to try and get over my depression and suffering was to write to my dad. I said in the past that I had not wanted to talk to the man at all, but she said that telling him how I feel would make me feel better, and I should say whatever I feel. Well, I wrote it, and I feel so much better having did.
So I present this letter to you, in hopes that you will better understand how I feel, and why I feel so much anger and grief towards my own father. It is brutal and shocking, but it is how I feel, and all of it is the truth. You’re wondering why I would do this? I’m not afraid anymore. I feel better knowing that thousands, if not millions of people could read this because people need to know that no matter what you are going through, no matter how severe your situation, no matter what happens: You are not alone.
It’s taken me a long time to write this because I didn’t think I had anything to say to you, but I do. I have more words for you than I have for most people, and I am going to make you suffer as I have suffered through your constant, fake, tormenting bullshit.
You were a good father once. You were a positive influence in my life at some times. But that has long past. The last 7 years of my life have been nothing but pain and suffering because of you. You brought this upon yourself, but you also brought this upon the people you should have cared about the most. You used to be a good man, but that has long past. I’m going to tell you how I feel, and you’re going to take it.
Do you know your own self-value? I don’t know mine. Why? Because you never instilled it in me that I HAD any value whatsoever. You were too wrapped up in your business and food to even give a fuck. I couldn’t have a 10 minute conversation with you without you picking up the phone for business. It was like your child, but I was not apparently. I’m sad that I even came out of your sorry excuse for testicles. A real man takes care of his children, and puts them first before anything, even if he doesn’t always agree with the things they say or do. You did not. You kicked me to the curb and put more focus on Charlotte. She has suffered as I have, but in a different way. It didn’t matter what I said or did, but you interrupted me when I was telling you something. You fell ASLEEP on me one time when I was talking to you. A true father listens, you did not.
Your constant impulsive decisions caused us to be in the place we are now; almost homeless, living off my mother’s parents, barely struggling to get by. I had a hard time even telling you I loved you at some points, but I realize now that it’s because I don’t. You used to be a good man, but now you will suffer the consequences of your actions.
Your mother is a bitch, and I don’t want to have anything to do with your family. You obviously are too scared to say what you have to say to her. You let her control you, and you never let your suffering go. You should have shed her, because she’s a stuck up cunt, but you didn’t. You turned those feelings in on yourself and let it eat you. You should have realized that you had value, that you were worth something. You did not.
I know how good of a person I can be. I’ve saved people from suicide, death, I even saved you. I wish I hadn’t sometimes. You would have made an excellent vegetable. I admit my mistakes, I tell people how I feel, and if I don’t agree, I respect their opinion instead of tell them that they’re wrong. You? You always told me I didn’t know what I was talking about, and you never let me figure things out on my own either. You always had to do everything for me instead of letting me live my life. Your promises of wealth, glory, and happiness were all lies, a visage of what YOU wanted. Instead, you brought pain and suffering to those who counted on you. You never did the right thing, and you never listened.
You’ve made me suffer, you’ve made Mom suffer, you’ve made Charlotte suffer. You lied to us, your own wife and children! Family is about respect and love, but you shouldn’t have even had me at all. You don’t deserve me. I can do good with my life instead of the evil you did with yours. You are suffering the consequences, and you deserve it.
I don’t love you. I think that you’re the biggest piece of shit that ever walked the planet. You let your ego and greed get in the way of what mattered most. You played us. You treated us like your pets instead of people. I am a man. I am a human, I am NOT a monster. YOU are the monster for doing what you did. I associate you with evil. You might not have killed anyone, but you killed me emotionally and mentally. You caused lasting psychological damage to me, and it will NEVER go away. You never let me speak, and have my own opinions. You would never admit that I was right about anything, even if I knew EXACTLY what I was talking about. You never knew jack shit about anything because all you cared about was Food and Business. You chose your partners and associates impulsively instead of weighing your options because you were so desperate. You thought you could fix things, but you only made them worse through your actions.
I hold so much anger to you. I think you’re a cocksucker, and you deserve your punishment. You avoided the truth, and now you’re paying for it with 7 years of your life. I hope you rot.
You are where you should be, gone, out of my life. I want you to stay there. I haven’t read any of your letters because I don’t want your excuses and bullshit. I know you’re just trying to reconnect with me, but I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want you in my life, I don’t want you in Mom’s life, and I don’t want you in Charlotte’s. You don’t deserve us. All we ever did was love you, and you treated us like your servants you fat fuck. You gained more weight, and you never gave a shit about your health, which is paramount. You made Mom suffer having to have sex with some fat, lazy slob. She doesn’t love you anymore. I know she doesn’t. I don’t love you at all.
So old man, this is my vengeance, my words. Not a sword or a fist, though I would punch you so hard your neck would snap if I had the chance. You’re not worth my time, and you’re not worth the effort. You made your choice. You chose yourself. I didn’t have a choice, but now I do, and I’m telling you that you will no longer put up with you. I will not be manipulated by a sociopath, nor will I accept that you are my father. You are just another stranger, waiting to die.
I don’t want you near me, I don’t want you to meet my future girlfriend and/or wife, I don’t want you to see your future grandchildren. As far as I’m concerned, you never existed. I’m choosing my life over suffering for the actions of yours. When I get famous, I’m telling people in interviews that you are not in my life, and that you deserve your punishment: not having a relationship with your own flesh and blood. I’m not choosing my ego, I’m choosing my life.
Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t write me, don’t text me, don’t Facebook me, and stay away. If I see you, or hear from you again, I will get a restraining order against you. I used to be your son, but now, I’m not, and I refuse to be.
My brutality and anger towards you is endless, but I don’t have to put up with you anymore. I’m shedding you like a snake sheds its skin. You don’t deserve me.
Fuck you. I hope this makes you suffer.
What makes a man? It’s the choices he makes to better himself and others. The choice to accept his life, and move forward, no matter how painful the truth may be.
Thank you all for reading this, and I hope that your new year is brighter than anyone could hope for.