One more performance of this dumb fucking play I hate. One more.
Ordinarily when I finish a show or wrap a film, I feel a strange sense of emptiness inside. There's a well-known "post-show slump" that many actors talk about. This will be the first acting project I've done whose ending brings with it not a sense of loss -- only relief.
THANK GOD IT'S GOING TO BE OVER IN JUST A FEW HOURS.
Before this fucking play I hate, I never fully understood what people meant when they talked about someone or something "bringing out the worst in them." I knew what it meant on an intellectual level, of course, but I wasn't entirely sure it was possible in reality. I'd never felt that fully; I'd never witnessed that fully. I guess I could say that my eating disorder brings out the worst in me, except it doesn't completely. It brings out some of the best in me as well. My dedication. A twisted version of my incredible ambition and tenacity. My work ethic; my analytical side. I'm not saying there aren't many less destructive things that could do the same and not also bring out some of the worst in me, but that's another thing -- the eating disorder also quells a lot of the worst in me. It keeps the worst from being too noticeable.
The play was a different story. It brought out the worst in me and buried the best from the very beginning, and I'm ashamed of it. I hate the person I allowed this play to make me. (Note that I take responsibility for becoming said person. No one put a gun to my head and told me to be such a brat that I couldn't stand to hear myself think.)
My negativity has soared to new heights. I hate everything and it's no longer charming; it's grating. A certain level of misanthropy, when played right, can be endearing. Think of Dr. House or... fuck, I don't know, Rat in "Pearls Before Swine." Think Jeff in "Community." Now turn that up to eleven and it's not so refreshing anymore. I brood like I'm the second coming of Hamlet. My smiles have turned into grimaces. My laughs have become sardonic and hollow. I take an attitude with everyone. I've found it impossible to conceal my eye rolls or let slip snarky quips that reveal my deep-seated loathing for everything about this play. They come out before I know they've slipped past the security checkpoint in my brain. This dressing room has been hijacked by AJ's bitterness. I radiate negativity from my pores. All I do is complain. I'm even complaining right now. I can't stop complaining about how much I complain. Me me me me. My life my life my life my life. My misery.
None of this is an exaggeration. I'm a vain, sarcastic, bratty, ungrateful, negative, spiteful, hateful, ornery, cold, aloof, narcissistic bitch. With no mischievous, playful undercurrent to my rancor; no secret compassion behind my contempt. It's all ugliness. It isn't cute and it isn't clever. It isn't funny; it's draining to those around me and I fucking hate myself for it.
I hope this dies with the play and I can get back to ruining my own life in peace without becoming a toxic drain on humanity.
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