In New York, I was to re-claim my happiness, re-discover my true self, take control of my life and live my passions. After all, NY is the city of dreams. But instead, I was like a soulless corpse walking aimlessly through the streets; with no direction and no plan. I so badly wanted to get from Point A to Point B, but Point A felt like quicksand with no mercy. It was consuming me slowly while I gasped for air.
Physically, mentally and emotionally I was a hot mess. I had lost any type of girlish vanity or pride and would walk out the house completely unkempt. Sweats and a disheveled ponytail were my uniform. Black was my color of choice as it best exemplified my dark emotional state. I was the woman on the subway with tears trailing shamelessly down my cheeks. They rolled so fast and furiously that wiping them away was futile. My mind was an on-going emotional tirade. It was processing, analyzing and narrating every event in my 6 year marriage; searching for clues of its imminent demise. Emotionally... I was heavy. My sleep patterns were erratic at best and my dreams were full of crazy imagery that I didn’t have the energy to try and decipher. I’m sure they could’ve enlightened my situation, but I wasn’t really ready for clarity. I would spend my day with one eye on the clock, eagerly awaiting the hours to pass for an appropriate time to justify cracking a bottle of wine while not feeling like a total alcoholic. I finally understood the need to “take the edge off”. I’d even call my BFF and ask for permission to pour. I felt comfortable calling her because she’d always say “yes”. And, of course, she knew what was best for me (and our friendship).
It was in this state of Post Marital Stress Disorder that I starting rehearsing for the gig that mercifully rescued me from the city of fallen angels and broken dreams.