Theatre has been my go-to self therapy for years. What it took me until 2016 to realize was that maybe it's less therapy and more of a flat out escape.
My first experience of wanting to be in a real production was 6th grade. Fresh off the introvert train of home schooling I saw those audition flyers for Robin Hood, felt an immense pull… and chickened out. Fast forward a year later. I saw that the Drama club would be doing the Princess Bride. I had just seen the movie for the first time that past summer. It was like fate. I couldn't refuse. (Warning: If you are not familiar with the Princess Bride the next few sentences will not make sense. Also, I feel very sorry for you and would highly suggest watching it at your earliest convenience). I was never a fan of Princess Buttercup and thus had no plans of auditioning for her part. Instead, I tried for the Spaniard. I did not get it but instead was cast as Vizzini (aka the guy who says "inconceivable" a billion times) and the Clergyman (the guy who is supposed to marry Buttercup and Humperdink). To this day those are some of my favorite parts I've ever played. From that play, I was hooked. There was a certain exhilaration in being able to abandon myself completely and put on another person's skin for a while. I was told where to stand, how to sound, what to say. I didn't realize how badly I needed that in my life until I did it.
Theatre was the only way I was able to get through school. It wasn't that I had bad grades (I was labelled as one of the "smart ones" and was always expected to be a genius) only that I felt so out of place I couldn't stand it. I figured that was normal for a teenager and just pushed through it, but that didn't make it hurt less. When I did have friends I felt like an outsider in my own group. I had a hard time being social outside of school. I felt like I floated between groups and to this day I'm surprised when people remember me because I always felt like a ghost. I guess I have theatre to thank for being noticed. It made me feel like I belonged to something, to a group, even if it was only for the duration of the play.
I played a variety of parts throughout my Middle and High school careers. When it comes down to it, I've realized that the parts I enjoyed the most were the guy parts or the parts that were completely over the top. In 11th grade I got the lead role of Oliver Twist in the musical Oliver (I had actually tried out for the Artful Dodger, but I find it interesting to mention that this is another play where I avoided the female lead). When we advertised in the paper, we used a photo of me as Oliver being threatened by the main villain. The director told me of an instance where he had been talking to people in the community about it and they had said, "Oh, the boy you have playing Oliver is perfect!" He corrected them and informed me later, just to let me know how convincing I looked (17 year old "girl" playing 13 year old boy… Yeah it was nice to get the confirmation). What I didn't understand at the time was why I was so pleased to hear that from him. I would retell the story with pride but in the back of my mind I would go, "Why does this make me so happy?" It would take me a while yet to figure out the answer to that question.
Fast forward to 2014. The last play I was in was the 2011 Murder Mystery. As I watched the Shakespeare in the Woods production of Two Gentlemen of Verona, I could feel the pull again. I wouldn't be able to make it happen until the following fall when I would join the cast for the 2015 Murder Mystery. And thus would begin the questioning, "Why doesn't this make me happy anymore?" (To be fair, that questioning started when I first was trying to get into local theatre outside of high school, but I took an acting break. I guess that means the questioning began again).
Before I go on, I will explain what this Murder Mystery is. Each year, the theatre company in Mammoth that I often find myself associated with, Sierra Classic Theatre, holds a fundraiser dinner. While people eat, they enjoy a show that has been written by locals. Always a spoof. Always full of small town inside jokes. For the 2015 Murder Mystery is was a jab at the "Real Housewives." Think of the housewives, how they dress. Let that sink in.
My character was fun. She was a crazy hippie who had some ridiculous lines. I was excited to play her. I was not in any way shape or form excited to wear her costume. The point of the Murder Mystery is to be over the top. The housewives are over the top. I had to be an over the top sexy housewife in heels. (I had really hoped the hippie thing would save me from heels and an updo. It didn't). I know I looked fabulous. Everyone wouldn't stop telling me. I kept telling people how sexy I felt, but that was a lie. I didn't feel sexy. I felt as far from sexy as you could get. Nothing gave me more pleasure at the end of performance nights than to rush home as fast as possible and rip off those clothes, dismantle the tower of hair, and scrub off the layers of makeup. I've always been uncomfortable dressed like that. It wasn't the first time (in a murder mystery no less) that I had been expected to wear something like that and the act only became more uncomfortable each time I did it. Still, I was grasping for that solace I had found in my early years of theatre. The hunt to find it again would go on.
There was a brief tease in the Spring of 2016 where for a week of my life I was immersed in a play called Rapture, Blister, Burn. It was a staged reading so lines didn't have to be memorized. There would be only one performance. I was playing a college student so my tshirt and jeans were accepted as a costume. I was in bliss and it was stolen far too soon. You have to understand that it was the hole left from that play that had me willing to do anything for a full production.
Then came the 2016 Shakespeare in the Woods.
We're gunna do a little time warp here and jump forward…
It's dress rehearsal, and it's the first time I've fully put on my costume.
All I felt like was boobs and hair.
I wanted to die.
Everyone I walked past had to say some version of "Sam you look amazing!" Did the guys ever notice that they literally stopped and stared at me long enough for me to notice before they said anything?
I wanted to die.
Just an hour earlier I was home at my house. My bosses had been gracious enough to let me leave early. I was going to need every extra second for the mane…
Long locks - how long since I had last cut them? They had never been shorter than my shoulders due to the fearful nagging voice of my father always chirping in to my thoughts, "Not don't cut your hair! It's so pretty. I love girls with long hair." I have always wanted to do what makes my dad happy, makes him proud, makes him notice me. For him - far more than myself, I realize - I held onto the security blanket that was my hair. So my hair was down to the middle of my back, and oh, also dyed a bright, bloody red (I was under the constant assumption that the more intense I got with my fashion choices, the more I would feel "confident" in my body. I was only ever doing more damage, it turns out). Since we were doing a western theme - cmon, just imagine the fashion those girls wore - I was to combine my costume with curled locks. I knew it might take a while. Long hair, combined with emotional pain regarding making myself more feminine… I was going to need time to take breaks… and let's be honest, I needed some weed too. Only after I was high was I going to be able to look at myself in the mirror for the next 45 minutes to an hour.
There were tears, of course there were tears. I tried to console myself, "In Shakespeare's time, women weren't allowed to act. Men played all the female roles." It was a nice try, but somehow it didn't ease the pain.
"If you're still single by the end of this show, you were looking the wrong way." Why did that one coming at me sting so badly? It was meant well, but all it did was call to attention how beautiful I looked in my female attire. It only reminded me how attractive I can be...as a woman. I know I looked fabulous, but I felt like a poodle.
It was hard to play the role through practices but somehow it never prepared me for this particular feeling of hopelessness. I wished I could go back to the high school years, the years I could play a guy. At least for one brief moment in this play I got to cross dress. I would shed that horrible red outfit in one quick change, throwing it to the ground with gusto as I pulled on trousers, buttoned away my chest beneath a more neutral top, and tucked my hair away… It would only last for one scene, but oh man, did it feel good. I could feel the difference in my confidence after I would burst from the dressing room and take my place offstage, waiting to go on.
But then I would go back to being a woman, complete with being groped.
Have I mentioned yet that I wanted to die?
Let's go back now, back to April 2016 when auditions were announced. To tell the truth, I had no love for any of the female characters. Merchant of Venice has never been a big favorite for me. The first time I read it in high school I hated every character but Shylock. I would have loved to play Shylock (but it wasn't meant to be, cause the guy who played him in our production nailed it and I wouldn't have wanted anyone else in the part). I even contemplated asking if I could try out for a guy part, most likely the clown, but couldn't work up the guts. So I was Nerissa, right hand gal to the lead, Portia.
I tried to convince myself that I would enjoy the part the more we practiced, but as the summer went on, I found myself sinking only deeper into depression. The thought of going to play practice brought me no joy, in fact, thinking it about it only made me tired. By the time I realized that it was doing more harm than good and that I should have dropped out, it was far too late to do so.
The first time I tried on my costume was maybe a month before the performance. (This timeline could be wrong. That feels so soon but the practice process was only a couple months. We started practice in June and performed the end of August). It wasn't fully together yet, but even then, I knew I was in for trouble. (At that point, I was still toying with the idea of dropping out. The first sight of this costume just about made me do it). My director wanted me to try it on to make sure we were on the right track for fit. It fit great, yet the sight of my director's face lighting up when she saw how good it looked was no cause for comfort. My heart sank with each assuring word of how excited she was about this costume. I wished I could have been as excited as she was, but really, it was the Murder Mystery from the previous fall all over again. Why do people want to put me in these super feminine costumes? Why?
"Because they look good on you."
No. They look good on Samantha, someone who isn't even real. Sam loathes these things. Every time Sam has ever tried to get dressed for an event that requires a dress there's frustration, tears, no confidence. A breakdown is almost inevitable. These things are not for Sam. I can't bear to look at myself this way. It's not like this just started happening. This has been going on at least since puberty only I didn't know just what it was. Usually I called it "insecurity," a "lack of confidence" and assured myself that if I forced myself to dress these ways and sucked it up eventually I would like it. So deluded. But, when you grow up not knowing a lot about anything LGBTQ, it's hard to know if you are or not. Plus, when you have strange feelings that no one else seems to have, it becomes easier to pretend the weird feelings don't exist and bottle them inside. Anthying is better than sharing them and risking embarrassment. (Right?) It doesnt feel good to say, "Do you know how this feels?" and to have that person respond, "Uhhhh…no," and then look at me like I'm some complete weirdo.
Even now that I'm aware that the exact problem wasn't that there's anything wrong with me, it's only that I'm transgender, it's hard for me to share those feelings. I'm not the kind of person where it's that easy to talk about personal things. I have a hard time telling people it's my birthday, so "coming out" is a pretty big deal… which meant my loneliness and sorrow, being bottled so deep, was only made worse throughout the summer. I wasn't ready to share the deepest secret about myself.
It was bittersweet when we finally came to the end. I was excited to leave Nerissa behind, but I hated that I would lose the fellowship of people. More than anything, I hated that I was so happy that it was all over. That isn't why I do plays. That isn't why I invest so much time and energy…
One of the main conflicts that happens in Merchant of Venice is that Antonio agrees to pay Shylock a pound of his own flesh if he can't repay him for a loan. This summer, it felt like I gave up a hell of a lot more than a pound of flesh. It killed me, and I've needed more than anything to talk about it. Lately, everyone asks me what my next production is, but where do I go from here? I tell everyone I'm taking a break because it takes so much time and energy. Truth? I'm taking a break until I can pass well enough to try out for the parts I really want. What I don't know is when that will be. I hope it's soon. Escape or therapy, it doesn't matter. I need the theatre. I need the people. I need the break from reality. There's something about a production that I can't explain. This amazing feeling... even through all the shit that I hated during Merchant of Venice, I still tasted that feeling. It's in the people, the fellowship of working together to make this beautiful piece of art happen. I guess it was for that feeling that just this last time, I found it worth it to lose myself even more. In fact, I needed to go through the pain to drive it home to myself why it's so important that I stop playing Samantha.
