the lost loser

i’ve never been more terrified to tell someone how they make me feel. i look up at him while we’re intertwined on my couch, and i look into the prettiest blue eyes i’ve ever seen and i want to say “it’s you. i don’t need to go looking for anyone else right now. i only have eyes for you.”

it doesn’t mean we can’t continue to be open but i need him to understand that not a day goes by where i don’t thinking about him and the idea of getting to spend a normal evening together, with a cup of tea while we catch up about our day. maybe we read in comfortable silence. maybe we’re lulled to sleep by our drowsy kisses.

I woke up today and something felt better. Something felt more sure. And I picked up my pen and my periwinkle journal and I wrote out the outline for what I believe to be the final draft of The Lost Loser. I’ve been feeling lost for years, unsure of where my identity landed or where I fit in within this world. It felt like I was existing to apologize. But with what I want this to be now, I want to allow others to give themselves permission to celebrate themselves instead of questioning in the same ways I did. So much gets lost in the unknown and I know I’ve lost a great deal.

But most of all. I want to forgive myself for needing time away from everyone. Even though I have physically shown up during the time between now and December 2019, I know I’ve kept everyone an arms length away. Assault changes you in so many ways. I took on so much shame and self hatred hidden behind so many “I’m just tired”’s. I want to move on with my life. I want to be unafraid of asking someone outright if they actually want to continue seeing me. I want to live with the same unapologetic bravery as a toddler so new to the world that understanding the concept of trauma isn’t even a blip on their radar.

That’s what adulthood is I think. That is true success. Feeling so unapologetically good about who you are as a person and what you put into the word that nothing nobody does can take that away from you.

I’ve been in the process of writing “the lost loser, a devised play” since my senior year of college. It began as a spark. A wild idea for my senior capstone. I knew I was going to work alone and I knew that I wanted it to come from the heart. At the same time, I stumbled upon the pixelwhip. This flow toy opened my eyes to even more possibilities in the realm of devising. “the lost loser,” as my capstone, became this exploration of heartbreak and anxious dreaming. I touched on the budding realizations of sexuality, the pain of misplaced attraction, and the roadblocks of self doubt. The end product became the groundwork of a bigger story I wanted to tell. I knew I wanted to pick it up again postgrad, after settling down in Chicago.

I quickly became wrapped up in my serving job, putting others plans before my own priorities, and just burying myself in other commitments. It got swept up in living life. Time passed, people moved on , I switched jobs. I thought there would be more time. Then, my world came crumbling down. I experience a string of unpleasant trauma and I didn’t know how to return back to the work that I just made time for. Picking up the pencil or turning on my pixelwhip was impossible. I was disconnected because I was afraid of artistically exploring what happened.

What followed was three years of coping through cannabis and disconnecting further from my artistic voice. When I did return back to performing, there was a barrier between me and the work. I fabricated how I felt during the worst parts of the pandemic instead of being honest, because I wasn’t ready. I missed out on opportunities of healing through my work because I didn’t want it to happen so publicly.

But now. Today. Things have shifted and pieces are coming back together at last. I feel like I’m ready to have conversations that need to be had. I’m going to try my best. I’m going to walk confidently through my healing.