When the police found me I was standing on a subway platform, somewhere in Brooklyn, barefoot, wearing only soccer shorts in October, and crying. My hands were folded behind my head like a captured soldier. For the previous 12 hours I had wandered the streets of New York, convinced that I was being videotaped, Truman Show-style, by hidden cameras. I made my living as a public defender in Brooklyn, but I did standup at night. I’d recently met with a network executive to discuss a pilot for a reality show based on my act; now I thought the city was my set.
I’m always moved by stories of mental illness because our minds (and our bodies) seem to be the most uncontrollable and unpredictable thing. They are all we have and every measure to protect them never seems enough. And, to some small, unspeakable extent, I feel that I’m constantly on the verge of witnessing someone I love, or even myself, being subsumed by irreversible insanity.
Tumblr is a funny place, because my readers (edit: wait, I meant to say followers… wow) can only get to know me insofar as by what I choose to post (and what not to post), and I keep leaving out the more contented side of me, when I’m not so mopey and melancholic. Nevertheless, I’m sorry for all the blanks I constantly leave out, though I’m sure not many are looking for it anyhow haha. I promise I’m not as persistently dejected as I seem (but don’t quote me on that actually haha).
I will however say that I’m trying to learn how to be by myself again and in the meantime teaching myself the hard hitting choreography to G.U.Y.