02.04.2003 10:30 pm
breath

I think I had two cigarettes on Saturday, then none on Sunday, one on Monday, and none today. The cravings aren't that bad, either. Tomorrow and Thursday will be hell days, though. I know.

[Mishka - Lonely]

Today in Acting II we did a deep breathing exercise where we rolled our lower backs on the floor while lying down. I was just lying there, rolling my back around, feeling fine. Then the teacher, Ann, came by and pushed my shoulders up and down, so it became a full-body movement. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I got that choking feeling when you're about to cry, except it wasn't choking. It just flowed up out of me, and tears came into my eyes.

At the end of the exercise, Ann asked, "Does anyone have anything to share about what we just did?" I had gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle, and I said, "Yeah, I walked differently after we had done some of the exercise. It felt really good!" She nodded, and said, "That's great. Mmm, I find that if you do this regularly, it will totally release your lower back, permanently, which is sooo good for us as actors." Then she looked back at me. "Anything else you want to share? Did anything else happen during the exercise for you?"

I tried to act genuinely suprised by myself as I answered, "Yeah, I cried. That was really weird."

God bless Ann. She's so matter-of-fact. She said, in a calm and compassionate voice, "A lot of people do that, and it's not necessarily about anything in particular. What were you feeling?" Sitting on the cold tile floor, legs crossed, I almost subconsciously began rocking back and forth. "Were you feeling... release? or...?" "No," I told her.

"I was scared."

Twice in my life, I have cried so hard and so much that I thought I would never stop. I just couldn't see a way out of how I was feeling. And both times, it wasn't that something happened to change how I felt. I just couldn't go on crying forever. Physically, I had to stop. I fell asleep and woke up, and the tears had dried. But then I'd smell a scent or see an image or hear a voice and I'd be back, broken-glass tears burning my eyes, sobs so deep and angry they reached down into my knees and bent them.

I'm petrified of letting myself cry like that again. I think of the "olden days," when people died of things like heartache. What if that happened to me? What if I cried so much that it killed me? It could, you know. I'm sure it could. And I don't mean to say that I don't cry anymore. I cry all the time. I cry at movies, I cry at the theatre, I cry for my friends, I cry for strangers. But never myself. Not really. A stray tear, here and there. That's it. No breath involved. Breath remains calm, controlled. So when that exercise brought my breath in contact with my body, sighs heaving in and out as I rocked back and forth on the floor, I remembered that feeling, of really crying. I can't go back there. I want to live, but there is sadness in me that I have fought down and subdued, just to the point that I can live a day without thinking about it. Just to the point that I can mention it to a friend. Just to the point that I can stay alive.

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