thank you. Every once in a while I check my blog stats and see what posts people are reading (by the way–where is my guest post about growing up with a bipolar mother, and my post about forgiving people who commit suicide re-blogged? They’re getting way too much traffic to not have links posted elsewhere). I saw that someone had read the blog post I made last year to celebrate the good things about the time while my court case with my abuser was going on. I’d forgotten about that post, and about my ability to be happy and positive during really dark times. Seeing that link and re-reading that post was really helpful, especially since I’m going through some fiercely dark times right now. So I’ve decided to do a round two, 2018 edition.
I’m going to make a somewhat embarrassing admission. Well, it would be embarrassing if most people did not already know it about me. Ever since I was a wee gal, I have wanted to be famous. Specifically, a famous writer. Sure, I have entertained fantasies of being a rock star, or an Oscar-winning actress. On my especially bad days, I’ve contemplated what it would be like to be an infamous serial killer. But my dream has pretty consistently been rich famous writer.
I know, it’s a very difficult dream. Especially when you add the “rich” in there. I think it may actually be easier to gain recognition as a writer than it is to a make a comfortable living as a writer. But dreams are dreams. For better of for worse, we all have our big shiny pie-in-the-sky aspirations. Being a famous writer is mine–don’t get me wrong. I definitely have other motivations for writing what I’m writing these days. Reporting on stigmatized populations is not the most surefire route to fame or fortune…regardless of the practicality though, I’ve had big dreams since childhood.
I have not yet accomplished my dream of being a rich famous writer, in case you were wondering. But I have accomplished some success with my writing, which is a start! Betty’s Battleground was recently ranked number 26 on Feedspot’s list of top 75 PTSD blogs! HealthyPlace, which I also write for, was ranked #2. Pretty sweet! Writing for VICE was definitely a bucket list item; I just turned in my third assignment for their health sciences channel. I’ve had two widely circulated articles on Vox, both of which landed my subsequent radio spots. One of them showed up in my treatment counselor’s inbox as the title post for a mental health & addiction e-newsletter. I’m paying my half of the rent with my writing. Interesting people with blue checks by their names are following me on Twitter. There are still no guarantees on that fame, but it looks like I’m on the road to some form of success.
Problem is, this all doesn’t feel half as awesome as I expected it to. And it’s definitely because of my damn PTSD.
I couldn’t resist myself this week. I have been singing Cabaret showtunes ever since I saw Roundabout Theatre’s National Tour last weekend. Everything from ‘Willkommen,’ to ‘Mein Herr,’ to ‘Don’t Tell Mama’…I even re-wrote the lyrics to ‘Two Ladies’ so I could sing it around my kiddos. Now Anabelle joins in…”Deedlideelidee two babies! Deedlideelidee two babies! Deedlideelidee and I’m the only mom here!” Is that perverse? Re-constructing a song about a menage a trois to sing with my toddlers?
I don’t care! I love Cabaret. Not just any productions of Cabaret: It is THIS production of Cabaret that makes my dark little soul sing. Originally directed by Sam Mendes, the most recent Broadway revival of Cabaret, which is now touring the United states, perfectly captures the darkness, the decadence, the desperation, the sexiness of pre-WWII Berlin-and humanity. If there’s a stop near you left on the tour, you must see it. See it even if you don’t like the movie, which I will admit, I don’t much like myself. Keep reading to find out why this production is an absolute must-see that beats all the rest.