Just Wow.

My black and white cat, Pepe, cries when he thinks there are no people around. I guess he's afraid of being abandoned. I understand that a bit myself. I'm 25 years old and I still feel that way sometimes. There are some things that we just don't grow out of, I guess.
I don't miss California, but I do miss the way things used to be. I miss the comforting knowledge that things were stable. It was a sad little lie, but it was infinitely comforting. I miss the people that were once all together, creating (yes, I do have that here, and it is v. comforting, but not quite the same), and working (and gossiping) in tandem. We all knew each other's secrets then, and knew each other maybe better than we knew ourselves.
And now we're all off in the Diaspora, floating on our own little islands with our own new circles, new communities of understanding. And we still want the same things, but we are maybe a bit disaffected, discouraged. It's a weird thing, this theatre community; it seems we start over fresh, too often, creating a falsified sense of intimacy in our minds as we jump into the next big thing, the next show. And when it's over, we're off again, the Diaspora calling, and we answering, diving in again, another show, another group, more false intimacy.
I'm not good at reaching out, at calling old friends, at keeping these cherished friendships alive. I'm terrified of rejection on some level, a failing of my own personality, perhaps. Partly too, it's hard because I have spent so much time running away from certain parts of my past -- the baggage that weights a person down -- that I have lost the ability to aptly communicate honestly with anyone any more.
It's not that I don't love the people here in Chicago, either. I do. But it's damned frustrating for an antisocial misanthrope to start afresh, again, in building new friendships, new connections. I can put on the act of being outrageous, talking freely about sex, love, comedically failed relationships, and the like, but in the end, I have revealed nothing too dear about myself. I won't tell you about the pain I've felt -- when my parents split up and my father told me my mom just wasn't very interesting, when I unsuccessfully (obviously) tried to off myself in high school during a severe bout of insomnia, when I accidentally drugged myself into a drunken stupor freshman year of college and what happened after. There's some dark shit for you.
Whether I like it or not, I am like my father in that I compartmentalize my life. Certain people know certain things about me, but others see me in a very different light. No one has all the facts. Maybe not even me.
I saw the first run-thru of Closer last night. It really fucked me up mentally, but I had a dinner date with an old friend from college afterwards, so I'm slowly dealing with how it affected me today. It's going to be a good show. I will see it on opening, but after that, I am booked solid through the rest of the run. I need to stay busy now for my own mental health. It's been a crazy and fucked up month. (But our 1 year anniversary was lovely.)

That is all.