different...

There are times that I feel so odd.
I feel like I don't fit anywhere with any of my "peer groups."
Woman
Wife
Mother
Actor
Christian
Black
30s

I often feel like we (me and whomever I happen to be with) can relate up to a point, and then it just stops, like there is this abrupt fork in the road, where either our experiences or beliefs or maturity levels move away from one another. And it can be very disconcerting. I don't know if the people I have experienced this fork with, discern the split. I don't know if it is as jarring to them as it is to me. I've never asked.

It's such a subtle, stealthy, shocking feeling. I get caught up in the experience. I pick it up in my mind and turn the moment over in my mind. And, honestly, to acknowledge the split, would feel like a betrayal to the part of the road where we walk together.

I find myself in moments of extreme crisis thinking about how poetic the moment is and locking it away in a box in my mind, filing it away in "this is going in the play/movie/sitcom" file. Then another side of me, is like, "what is wrong with you? why are you thinking about how poetic this is?" But, my artist friends get it.

Then there's the part of me that completely forgets about me and everything is about the hubby and the kids. But there are times when even that gets ridiculous, like, um, go and drink some water if you want some, really, its not a treat, its necessary. Its WATER, NINA.

**sigh**

This is the artistic ebb...time to refill the well.

Process

One of the ways we were taught to decipher or translate Shakespearean text for ourselves in my graduate program was very simple. The method was one I was very familiar with, having been raised by an Ivy League English major, my father's response to almost every question was, "look it up."


Well, our professors taught us to look up the word, but they also taught us that in terms of the acting, we shouldn't only use the definition that seemed most obvious. But, we should also choose the definition that was most interesting to us. By doing this, we unlocked magic keys to opening the text. If it was interesting to us, it would be interesting to the audience; that was the main point. 


One of my major question when I started writing this play, was will anybody really care? My life is interesting to me, because, well, its my life. 


I mean, who am I kidding, it makes good theater: young black girl (ooo DOUBLE minority, there's something there), has a parent who commits suicide and she saw it (yikes! the horror!), father remarries, drama ensues through teenage years with stepparent (we love to watch peoples turmoil), secrets (ooo what are those???) but wait, now she's an actor? (that's exotic and exciting, and hear they're kind of wild, don't they all go on drunken binges and crash eventually?) Oh, but wait, she's married AND has three kids? (WOW! that's a lot of kids!) I hate when they say that, its not. NINE is a lot of kids. etc etc etc...


As I pondered and continue to ponder why its interesting, or should be to anyone besides me and my immediate family, the conclusion I've come to is this: its not the life itself, the events, and such, but the process of getting there that's interesting to me. 
proc·ess

[pros-es; especially Brit. proh-ses]   

–noun

1.

a systematic series of actions directed to some end: 

2.

a continuous action, operation, or series of changes taking place in a definite manner: 

3.

Law .

a.

the summons, mandate, or writ by which a defendant or thing is brought before court for litigation.

b.

the whole course of the proceedings  in an action at law.

6.    the action of going forward or on.

7.

the condition of being carried on.

How I got here, at this in the journey, in one piece, with a sound mind, is amazing even to me. But what I do know, is there is some purpose to it, it is continuous, the whole course of it, I must move forward, even if I'm carried. 

And that notion, that this process MUST happen, is very interesting to me. 

1 in every 1000

"...Let God be found true, though every man be found a liar..."
Romans 3:4 English Standard Version

Nina Domingue as "Thelisa" in the Drano scene from "Ya Mama!"

The one thing that was of utmost importance to me when I started writing this play was telling the truth. About my life, the choices I've made, the effects they have had on myself and others. The truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God.

Seriously.

I feel it is my reasonable service. God saw fit to keep me here, against all the odds, so I feel obligated to tell the truth about it.

And Truth means a lot of things. But what did telling the truth mean to the other people in my life? After all, even though it is my story, other people are a part of it and well, telling the truth also meant exposing some business that didn't belong solely to me.

And people seem to be terrified of exposure. Like the sky is going to fall if people know something about them. But people always know. They find out eventually. They may not understand what they know; I think that is truly what frightens people. Being misunderstood. And, "what would people think?" And what am I going to have to deal with because of what they think...well...

Mostly my parents, my father and my stepmother. My biological mother is deceased. My sister, who would most likely act as mediator, or not, my children, my husband. My dad's side of the family, my mom's side of the family...(insert torrent of thoughts that could cause one to hyperventilate here). Ultimately, I decided that it didn't matter and I didn't care. I had to tell the story for many reasons. I'll explore many of them in the blog. But I'll start here:

1 in every 1000 women suffer from postpartum psychosis. It is the disease that is most often misdiagnosed as postpartum depression. 85% of cases end in suicide or infanticide if left untreated. The disease gets worse with each pregnancy.

And it is the disease my mother died from. No one wants to talk about it. But I do.

That's the truth.