Dear sweet diary of mine,
Greetings! It’s done. I just got off the phone with my agent and informed her that I am stepping away from showbiz – only for a short while, of course. Goodness do I need a getaway. I’ve been all work and no joy since I was such a small, fragile thing. You know, Diary, my earliest memory is seeing my face on a billboard all lit up with lights! Ever since then, I’ve memorized script after script, signed autograph after autograph – oh, please don’t mistake me – for I do, oh so much, adore life in the limelight. Though, I can’t help but to often wonder once the makeup is washed off and the studio lights go dark, when I’m left alone curled up with a plush throw blanket in my trailer… When I gaze into my reflection before I drift off to a restless sleep, I don’t know who it is that I see.
I need this time, Diary, you see? Time has swirled and danced around me, drifting me along in a lulled, dull sense of awareness. I haven’t seen home since…Well, quite frankly, I’ve never felt that I truly had a home. Perhaps moving to this new blossoming island of StoryBrook will fill the role of home. Oh, just listen to me, speaking of home as though it were just another role to play – cast of one! Disillusioned and problematic while lost in her own enigmatic state of propagated pompous propriety. Oh yes, I am.
Inspiration. That’s it – what I so longingly desire. To live a life that inspires me is my calling. An artist without muses leaves much to be desired and really isn’t much of an artist, are they? My life is stuffy and bogged down by the wills and the whims of all but me. I need to breathe, to be around people who are people. Genuine. Does that word apply to anyone anymore? Me. I want it to apply to me.
Oh, Diary. Here I go. Droning on and on. Poor little me. Living the life of everyone else’s dream. How dare I ask for more? For different? Subtle is the melting away of humanity. Though, I suppose I’m not a candle, am I? No. I’m a being of humanity. Do I not deserve to feel and to know what it is to exist as someone other than who I’ve always been? I have explored new characters splattered across pages hundreds of times. Still, no lead role has ever led me to know the part I play in the life I live, for the role that is my life simply cannot be extracted from pen and paper.
What will they think? Everyone who knows me only knows the characters I project myself on to. What will they think when I learn from myself who I am? What will they think if they don’t like me as me? What will I think if I never take the opportunity to find out?
StoryBrook, will you be the place where I finally get to learn what it is that makes me who I am?
My.. Oh my…Oh my…