PTSD

by

Sister Act

Last night we went to see Sister Act the musical.

I was so excited to be seeing a show, I was literally bouncing.

It didn’t matter that I knew nothing about the show. I mean, I knew it was based on the movie, but I haven’t seen that in a billion years. I didn’t know the songs, and I hadn’t even really had much interest in it. But I was offered tickets in exchange for a few hours of babysitting. I figured, why not? It’d be fun.

And it was. I didn’t care that we were in the second balcony. I mean, yeah I wished I could see the actors faces at times. (Which is why I’m planning to get some binoculars or opera glasses or something before we go to Kinky Boots in October.) But it was… it was funny, and amazing, and everyone was so talented.

I just… I love Broadway so much. I love the passion. I love the vibe that you get, because the cast and crew, they love what they do. There’s just… something about live theater.

And, as always, there was the tiniest bit of sadness.  There is the part of me that will always be sad that I didn’t pursue singing. That I wasn’t encouraged and pushed to stick with it when the anxiety and stage fright paralyzed me. That my mom had allowed me to just give up and quit and run away every time I got insecure.

I wish more than anything I had stayed committed to choir or drama club. That I had been able to make friendships and be part of group, like I saw everyone else doing. Even when I was in choir, I still felt like the outsider. During the breaks, when everyone was socializing, I usually never had anyone to talk to. I watched everyone around me turn to their friends and gather in their little circles.

But the singing felt so good.

I just. I wish I could create something beautiful. I wish I could sing better, and play an instrument. I started and gave up on so many instruments. Piano. Guitar. Viola. Clarinet. Singing. I wish my mom had pushed me to keep practicing. Had tried to get me private lessons so I wouldn’t just give up.

I wish I had pursued art. I wish I could draw, and paint.

I wish my mom had made my go to my karate lessons. I loved karate. But I would whine about not wanting to go, because I was insecure, because I didn’t think I was good enough.

I just… I just wish I hadn’t been allowed to give up so easily.