I Couldn't Breathe...

While Acting in a Leather Bar (Part I)

Life is a hoot.

People often use the analogy of it being a river. If so, it seems to be a really fast one that keeps throwing me around, underwater. I feel like my life has been a mix of sitting at the shore, then diving head-first into the strongest current. As I reach my 40s, I’m wondering if I’ll finally start to ride the gentle waves into my destiny. Nope. I doubt it. I’m probably going to try to burn out like a shooting star. Let’s see if I can keep it going until my 70s.

Slap & Tickle

I landed a role in a play. Then I learned that it was a non-linear play (read: impossible to memorize). Then I realized that it was a trauma piece. Albeit a beautiful one, much of the content was very similar to the trauma I’ve experienced in my life. Add to this the fact that we perform the play in a famous leather bar with scenes from Crocodile Dundee playing on repeat. It’s been a challenge. As I started to learn my part and embody my character, Shira, a 42-year-old Jewish trans woman–I started to experience symptoms of PTSD.

It was a shock. I’m blessed with the ability to erase nervousness. (I can literally will it away. It’s weird.) I’ve found myself pushed in front of a lot of crowds, my entire life. From catholic church choirs to leading drill teams in the military. Crowds don’t affect me anymore. I say this to stress that I don’t get stage fright. During rehearsals, I started to have panic attacks. My heart started beating fast, and I felt like I was leaving my body. I could barely breathe, let alone recite lines with emotion.

Then the worst happened. During the first show, at the very beginning, I froze. I could barely move. I chopped my lines in half and ran off the stage. For an entire week, I used every method I knew to get through the PTSD. It wasn’t enough. In the second show, I was nailing every line. Hitting every mark. Suddenly, one of my easiest scenes came. I was backstage, hyperventilating. I couldn’t move. The next thing I knew, the stage manager pulled me from backstage to the stage in front of a blinding light, obscuring the crowd from my view. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I barely knew where I was.

 

A castmate knew I was in trouble and jumped on stage to save me. It didn’t help other than giving me a way out. All I could do was focus on breathing. My body–my nervous system–thought I was in trouble. It was the worst experience of PTSD and panic attacks I’ve ever had. And it didn’t just happen during the play, it also happened reciting lines with the cast in private. In the playwright’s basement, holding a glass of sparkling water, I felt like someone was going to hurt me or someone I love. This had become more than just a play for me. I had to do this for myself.

Show three was coming. I hadn’t experienced my body taking over like that since I was an MMA fighter, after the cage door closed, and the adrenaline took over. This wasn’t the military, this wasn’t an MMA fight, and it wasn’t all the horrible shit that happened to me in my extended phases of abuse both from myself and from other people. It was a play. And I just could not do it.

How did it go? Find out in a few days. To be continued…

What else is happening?

TransContinental (my travel documentary for Gay Cities and Queerty) has a new episode coming! Have you ever been curious about Queens? Let me guess: When you think NYC you think Manhattan. Well, you’re not alone. AND I get to introduce it to you. I. Love. Queens. 

Later, I have NY Pride coming, Vancouver Canada, and Fire Island. Fun!