I have kind of some general thoughts about BMI that I’ll be sharing over the next few days, and this is first up.
After class on the fateful-est Monday (when I didn’t perform in my own song – which is in the huge full story, if you ever want to meet for a hike – it’s too long and exhausting for a Denny’s trip…), a bunch of people were going to Gutenberg! the Musical!
I even had a ticket that I’d bought on a day when there was a super sale, on the off-chance I’d want to go.
And I did want to go!
But I was like, “I can’t show my face here. All these people believe that for whatever reason I couldn’t or didn’t want to sing that musical theater comedy song. It. is. over. No one sees me for who I really am (or who I really believe I am – what if they all are right, and I am wrong and I’m not a musical person?!). And I don’t know how to change anyone’s perception. And I think it’s probably too late to.”
So, I forfeited my ticket and gave it to this super nice girl in the class, because I decided to impose the rule on myself that I “wasn’t allowed” to go.
I walked home from BMI – which, granted, was really nice. And then I just went to bed while they all went out and had fun.
I saw a picture later on social media of everybody together wearing hats from the show.
And it made me really sad.
And it’s like, “Whhhhhy Aurora?! Why are you so freaking sad? Nobody told you you couldn’t go. Nobody in that group said one mean thing to you. In fact, almost everybody made you feel pretty welcome. You chose not to go. In this instance, at this time, you are not being ostracized. You are not being left out. You are doing it to yourself!
This is all you, and your in-your-head stuff, and decisions you are making.
And it’s such a weird feeling. It’s as though it’s hard to even explain it. It almost feels like I’m tied up in a straight jacket, struggling so hard to get free. And I’m yelling, “Help! Help! Little help over here?”
But it’s not even locked in the back. It’s like, “Aurora. Honey. Just slide your arms apart. It’s really no big deal.”
And yet, I can’t seem to do that for myself.
If I go out with the BMI people, I feel sad, ’cause I feel so bad about myself in their presence. If I don’t go out with them, I feel sad because this is what this is supposed to be – a super cool exciting time in our lives where you get built-in friends in New York, and you’re geeking out about musical theater all the time.
And they look like they’re having a blast… And I don’t get to enjoy it.
So, basically anything to do with BMI makes me sad. Which sucks because I have it once every week.
At least I am realizing that I’m the one making myself miserable. And maybe, just maybe I could work to change it. If I can be strong enough…