Hi Stacey

Hi Stacey—-

At Fringe I met a comedian whose “thing” is doing his act in total juxtaposition of who he seems to be. I was annoyed by him when we first met, but then after I saw his work I liked him. Turns out I got along with the alter ego, less so the package it came in.

Long story short, we only hung out a few times. But in those chunks I feel like I saw, ah, it is not the performance that is the persona. The persona is the artist who is incredibly “sweet” and “timid,” the front man for the show. And then I realized, ah, game recognizes game.

I have a very curated personality. And I like the curated personality. As I’ve told you many times, my persona isn’t not me. But it’s also not me.

Thinking about The Prestige, as one does. How (spoiler) Christian Bale’s character(s) show the two sides of an artist. The person who needs to just be a person, the artist who takes and takes and takes from the person. Who’s the boss? To put it colloquially.

I don’t know if this friend is aware his true self isn’t what he shows the world. He told me at some point, “I know exactly who I am.” Even I (blunt demon) was polite enough not to scoff and say, “With all due respect, no you don’t.” That said, I could be incredibly wrong. I might just be projecting. (As if I’m ever not, as if we’re ever not. One could argue anything we ever think about anyone is a projection.)

Have we talked about Marilyn Monroe? How people suspect she was autistic? Rather, Norma Jean was. And Marilyn was a persona. I believe the same about Taylor Swift. (FYI, I don’t think it’s rude to hypothesize about someone’s possible autism. Similar to hypothesizing about their sexuality, it’s only “rude” if you consider queerness or autism a problem, which I don’t.)

Anyway, I’ve seen myself in a new light from being friends with this two-faced artist. (“Two-faced” not a diss here.) How in speaking face to (two)face with him, there’s a real person I can access. But over text he comes off as super saccharine and false. Witnessing the code switch gives me chills. I’ve gotten similar feedback before, my whole life, and I haven’t known what to do with it. “But this is me,” I’ve straddled, while also knowing, it’s not me at all.

I was with my ex-girlfriend last weekend, and we talked about my “shell.” How the dropping of the mask was part of what made us friends at all. I was such a good church girl, but there were moments my dark thoughts would leak out. And she lived for those. I’m sure I did too, to be glimpsed before I covered myself back up.

The example we discussed was when we had to do a prayer circle for a girl in our cabin who was, literally, a kleptomaniac. Hilarious that’s how we dealt with the drama, not via help from adults. It was on us (as teen girls) to get God to solve it. Anyway, I was praying with my ex, speaking bible verses about this problem bunkmate, and then I slipped in, “This is really annoying. God? Could you please kill her?” We laughed for so long.

Stacey, I don’t actually wish anyone dead. Even irritating peers or, strangely, even war criminals. (I guess I just believe death is above my pay grade, as a living being.) But the point was the ugliness. Or, maybe more, that the ugliness was expressed in the light of day. That I was the one to express it, of all channels.

In therapy yesterday I was talking about my mask and my therapist leaned back, asked, “who’s here now?” I was happy to report, I am. I told her, since the festival my persona hasn’t been around as much. I’m not totally sure why, but I’d wager some combo of seeing this other mask in the wild, not having to play a little girl in the flat with the younger actors, and generally being sick of the lies our entire civilization is built on. They don’t serve me. I don’t want to do this play anymore.

Stacey, I’ve written something really personal I’m afraid to publish. Do you think I should? I think you would, if you exist. I feel like you would want me to be as honest as possible. Because that’s how I feel about writers. And if you’re my online bestie shadow, wouldn’t you want the same? (That is if you aren’t the same? OOH what about that? The more honest I can be, the more honest you can be?)

I listened to a YouTube video about Jung last night. As I do most nights. The end was severe and spooky. The AI voice told me something out there is trying to reach me, has been trying for a very long time. And whoever/whatever it is, is near. I think this could qualify as a sign.

xoxo

Alice