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20 November 2007 @ 08:43 pm
 
Today I had a meeting with my theatre advisor to discuss my audition. I didn't get into the acting sequence and I wanted to know what I could improve for the next time around.

She ended up telling me that me, as a person (not as a character or actress) that I was too mature for my age (she didn't believe me at first when I told her I was 20. She thought I was 24-26), too smart and too intimidating.

I ended up crying, mostly because the stress of my life (I'm getting evicted, have no place to live and get to sleep in my car for at least a week just when it's starting to snow in my town) and she seemed very pleased. Told me that that's what she wanted me to show the world.

When I got home, I got mad. This woman is someone I admire incredible. But she's also spent maybe 10 minutes 1 on 1 time with me, most of which was me pretending tobe another character (auditions) or us discussing my class schedule.

You know why I act like I'm 26 when I'm only 20? It's because I've been through a ton of shit in my life. I have a fucking disease that saps me of my strength and my fertility and my health and my mental stableness. I act old because otherwise doctors don't listen to me. I'm mature because I spent 7 years of my life being told that the pain was all in my head. I'm mature because I had to have a fucking surgery at age 17 and take care of myself afterwards. I'm mature because I know what it's like to do a fucking physical comedy audition when you're hemorraghing and there's blood running down your legs. I'm mature because I can spend 8 hours building sets when I'm in so much pain that it would make half of the big burly men on carpentry crew cry like little babies. I'm mature because I can wake up in the morning and realize that I'm covered in blood and that while I was asleep, I bled through my entire matress. I'm mature because I'm a woman, not a girl, and because I have this fucking disease and I grew up fast because that's what you do when you're in pain all the time. You don't get to be a kid. You aren't afforded that luxury. It's hard and it sucks and you want to scream, but you deal and you get tough because there is no other fucking way to survive it.

And I don't cry every five seconds or be all emotional like all the sheltered freshman I'm surrounded by because I am strong. Because I deal with my private life and I have an incredibly high pain tolerance for mental and physical pain. I'm not like that because I cannot afford to be like that. I do not have the time to cry and feel sorry for myself because you know what? At this point, by the time I'm 30, this fucking disease will have taken over somuch that one day I'll wake up and I won't be able to push back at it and that'll be it.

I know that I cannot say this to her.
I wish I could.
But would she even understand?
Can anyone but you guys even comprehend what we go through?

::sighs::
Tess
 
 
 
Someonececiliamarie23 on December 10th, 2007 12:54 am (UTC)
Reading this made me tear up. I can relate.