I’m tired, tired of being me and tired of being the person I try to be:
At 11.22am today I came out to my mother.
She found something that I wrote last year, something angst
y and currently emotionally insignificant about that certain someone
, and confronted me about it. There were a few tears, but I’ve come out of it (pun
not originally intended) very unscathed. She kept hugging me and saying that she doesn’t mind, that it’s going to be alright
. I cried a lot, but I think it was out of utter shock rather than any other particular emotion. I think more than anything it was uncomfortable in its newness. A bit too much reality for me.
Movies are a ‘filtered reality’ (the only profound line of the Blair Witch Project), a place to escape into when reality is too awkward. Movies have their own encased truths - I like to be convinced of something I would never ordinarily believe in. I’m making my first “movie” next Friday. I’ve got a script, actors (acting students at least), extras and a camera operator. All I’m missing is a video camera, but that should be remedied soon.
Maybe I should feel different. Maybe I should feel changed. Maybe I should feel.