Depression is real.

You could call me the king of the Overshare, a master of TMI. And I get really conflicted about it because I never wanted this to be all about myself. Or if it was, I wanted it to be a chronicle of a spiritual journey, not a therapy session. But the difficult truth is that I've struggled with depression (sometimes quite severe) almost all my life, and likewise, I've almost never felt like I had people--outside my family, who I don't want to burden with it--to talk to, from the heart. It all just gets too much. "Man, it costs to be friends with you." I saw my first shrink in 1996, and that's when I took my first depression and anxiety meds; I've been on such prescriptions ever since. I think I've taken just about all of them. And I've been through at least 10 therapists. I've sought help in the church. I've tried to form friendships out of professional relationships. I've confused friendship and romantic love more times than I can count. And I do believe that God is real, with all my heart, and I talk to Him a lot, but sometimes I long for someone to be here in physical form to hold me and whisper comforting words in my ear.

I have friends, and they're not perfect, but they're not bad either. I admit that my standards have been too high. I'm not trying to say I'm settling, which would be insulting to them; I'm merely pointing out that most people can't fit in the mold that I would want them to, in the same way I can't be what everyone wants me to be. It's taken me nearly all of my four decades to really "get" this and accept it. Some of my friends are just activity partners. Some of them, I do more listening than talking. Some of them, I feel like we've drifted apart from each other, and I don't know how to be close again. Some of them I have little in common with, but I feel I'd give my life for. Some of them, I don't want to confide in because I feel like they condescend and tell me all the ways they think I'm wrong, when I just really want someone to listen. Very few do I feel a real deep connection with, and feel like it goes both ways. And almost always, I feel like I'm either going to get love or respect--not both. Now what would suck is if all my friends read this and tried to figure out what category they fell into, because the truth is, I love them all, and whatever role they have in my life, I'm good with it. There are a few from which I wish for more. It's always been that way. But you take what is offered and try to give as much as you can back.

Why is my heart wanting to share this with all of you right now? I just want to be real and honest. It sucks when I try to throw a party and nobody wants to come. It sucks when I email someone repeatedly and they don't respond. It sucks to not hear from people for weeks or months at a time. It sucks to feel like I'm always the one who has to reach out. And yet, I think that's all my fault because I've worn my heart on my sleeve too much. True, now in 2013, I've relegated most of that to this blog which almost nobody reads. But still, I think I give off this vibe like, "I want something from you, more than you'll be wanting to give." The sad thing is, it's true in most cases. And yet I've tried so hard to reign that in, you have no idea. I mean, really, if you knew the effort it takes me to just be cool and act like I'm not feeling a lot more than I'm saying, you would be impressed by how well I actually do, especially in comparison with how I used to be. I may sound like a mess here, but I'm a lot more reformed than most of you realize. (If you knew me in the mid-90s you wouldn't want to get within a mile of me, much less friend me on Facebook or read my stupid blog.)

But the problem with that is, I end up keeping it all inside. And when loneliness comes (which happens a lot more than I dare say), it does get very bad. I go to Facebook and give a status update just to feel like I'm not invisible, but it doesn't work. And when I feel this way, I know that not all of my friends could help me. And the ones I feel like they could, I'm afraid to ask.

If anyone is reading this, I would encourage them not to worry about me. I'm just doing my psychotherapy thing here. There is zero chance that I would harm myself, and the reason is simply LOVE. Not self-love, but love of others. But not everyone has been blessed with the love that I've been blessed with, and so I say to anyone reading this, don't ever assume that things are okay with someone. Check on them. Show your love whenever you can. Let them know they matter to you, and tell them why. And if I'm not practicing what I'm preaching, you can feel free to get on me about it.

"...because younger is always so pretty..."

That's from a John Mellencamp song, and one of the only exceptions to the rule of what I'm going to be talking about today is that I mainly admire an older generation of songwriters and musicians.

The other day, I responded to a personal ad on Craigslist. Like me, he was 40 and looking for "friendship or something more." He also said something that did not surprise me in the least: "I mainly get along with younger guys." I had to laugh, because that's something that I would say. I imagine, it's something that every 40-year-old might say, but I could be wrong. In spite of his honest stipulation, I wrote to the guy and said, "most younger guys are not interested in 40-year-olds." Needless to say, I didn't get a reply from him, even though I was friendly and told him I knew where he was coming from. I was "young at heart." But I also told him that when I was younger, I had no desire to hang out with older men.

Well, when you're looking at it from the perspective of the older man, it seems quite hurtful, and you want to yell, "Ageism!" But this is kind of universal, isn't it? Oh sure, there are some young guys who go for older men, but it's usually because they want to be taken care of, not because they're really attracted to them. But a lot of olden men go for younger guys, if they can. It typically means they have to be in excellent shape and exceptionally attractive. And money doesn't hurt.

I find that when I'm looking at personal ads, I rarely even click on a profile for someone my age. Forty seems "old" to me, and I forget that I'm that old. I don't feel that old. In fact, I'm immature in a lot of ways, my emotional growth stunted in my adolescence. Those who know me and my living situation know that my lifestyle is more like a kid's than an adult. There are many adult rites of passage that I have not gone through yet. Or maybe I started to, but failed.

And if you're a frequent reader of this blog, or if you know me at all, you can tell I'm not just talking about sexual relationships when I look to younger men. Every time I work with younger men in a show, whatever younger men who happen to be in my life, I just am drawn to them and want to hang out with them. I had a problem during my last show because I was around a group of guys who were in their 20s and they all clustered around each other, and I tried to join them, but I found that I couldn't. Oh, it's not like they told me to go away, but somehow I just knew that I was not one of them, no matter how much I wanted to be.

I get pretty emotional as I write these words because when I look at my life right now, I see very few people my own age, and the people I am really drawn to are much younger, and often married, sometimes with kids. I tell myself it's fine because I'm not after these men, sexually, but the truth is, the kind of close friendship that I want is more like a romance than a normal friendship between dudes.

Young people say they don't have anything in common with older people. To some extent, that may be true. As I mentioned before, my music taste is very different from that of my younger friends. I don't do gaming of any kind. And I think that when you're older, you do see the world differently. I look back on my 20s and think that I was a stupid, immature jackass. I'm glad I'm not that same guy that I was back then. But then I get upset when I see people that age acting their age. You're supposed to be selfish and immature in your 20s. Hopefully, you grow out of it.

I've always been looking back. My whole life, looking back. When I was a kid, I was a loner and didn't do things with other kids. So when I got older, I wished I could go back and be a child, but I couldn't. And then when I was a teen, I was a pariah and generally hated, and I did not experience the rituals of being an American teenager. So when I hit adulthood, I wasn't ready for it. And as I've gotten older, year by year, I can't seem to stop looking back and trying to live an earlier time in my life, trying to get it right this time, trying to board a ship that has long since sailed. As much as I can't be a kid and do kid things, I can't be 20-something anymore either. Words can't express how much I want to be, but I can't. And whenever I try to surround myself with the younger crowd, I'm reminded that youth is something that I missed, and I can't go back.

Older and older we get, the years stack on each other. Eventually, the young guys who don't think they have anything in common with me will look to an even younger generation that is more beautiful, more desirable, more ambitious, and more elitist than they are. But when they're 40 and I'm 60, I still won't have a chance with them.

of true confessions, leaps of faith...

I used to write letters. Long letters. Not because I had a long distance pen pal. In fact, most of the letters I used to write were to people who lived within 10 miles of me. I wasn't trying to recapture a lost art (although now that seems oddly worth doing). The thing was, my shyness used to make it impossible for me to tell people how I felt. What I couldn't imagine at the time (though now it seems so obvious) was that people, for the most part, were not generally interested in hearing it...or reading it.

People never seemed to fit my expectation of what a Friend was supposed to be. And I suppose that I didn't fit people's own idea of the same. I was terrified of the phone: what if I interrupted something important? What if I woke them up? What if I dialed a wrong number? And if we happened to meet somewhere, I would either clam up and be a total bore or else I would unleash this explosion of pent up feeling, like I was in a shrink's office, leaving the other guy to feel like he had to dispense some Wisdom, which he didn't really have to give.

So I never got out much. And whenever I felt drawn to a person, I would write to them. I knew it was strange and probably unwelcome. But I just couldn't help myself. There was a time that I just felt a desperate need to reach out like that. What would I tell them? Well, I'm not going to relive all that here. Sometimes, it was something that they did not want to know, or should not know, or did not need to know. Sometimes, I just felt like I needed them to know for my own peace of mind. But I was lying to myself, because it didn't give me peace of mind. When people didn't respond, or when they responded badly, it just brought more sadness, confusion, loneliness and desperation. Sometimes it would become a cycle and I would write again and again, even though it was obvious that it was the wrong thing to do. In the midst of revealing heavy emotions, I would also just talk about normal friend things. I would talk about songs I liked or movies, books, other culture. I used to quote a lot. When I could not think of what to say, I let Tori Amos or Smashing Pumpkins or Foetus say it.

And what did I hope to gain from all this? Writing a long, heart-felt letter is like a leap of faith because you're investing time and emotional energy into the idea that this person you're writing to is going to read what you've written, and that it will affect them in some way that is favorable to you. I wanted people to understand me. I wanted them to like me. In some cases, I wanted them to help me. Because a lot of these letters were written in a very dark time when I didn't know what to do.

There's really only one person that I still write letters to. He resides in a prison a long ways away. I've never met him. I think I've mentioned him here before, but I haven't identified him, and I won't. (I have a feeling that people would judge me for wanting to correspond with this person.)  But it's amazing to me how much my motives for writing him seem the same as when I wrote those letters to all those other people years ago. I seem to be looking for a friend, for understanding, for love even. And here's a captive audience, although that's not really true; he doesn't have to read them, and if he told me to leave him alone, I would. But he's written back only a few times in several years, and it's very hard to keep it up. It's that leap of faith, a faith that seems to grow weaker as time goes on, because I never know if I'll hear from him again. Do I really want to spend the time and energy on this? Do I really want to feel things for someone who is really not accessible to me? How do I know when to stop?

Some of what I used to write in letters, I put in blogs like these. It's not the same. It's still a leap of faith because who even reads this? But it's not personal. It's not "from me to you". When I wrote letters, it's like I was trying to touch a person's soul. But this here is just...food for thought, followed by forgetfulness. Go back to Facebook, go back to your emails, Twitter, your online games, your porno, whatever. I don't try to touch people hearts because I don't think they want that. I have to find a sexual partner for that. And that has always been exceedingly difficult for me.

As I've grown older, I've learned about boundaries. I can say whatever I want here because you chose to open this document. But if I send a letter...If we're talking and I say something deep or emotional, I know it tends to be off limits. When I was growing up, I was guarded (shy), and then I found a way to be unguarded (letters) but then I realized it went too far, and now I'm guarded again. I don't say what I want to say. I feel things, and I keep them to myself. It's how you're supposed to do. It's what's expected.

I still don't get out much.

flow

Okay, here's the thing: I love you, but I want more followers. Gotta figure out how to promote this thing. Of course, I shot it in the foot by taking away its central focus, so now even I don't know what the heck it's supposed to be about, so that doesn't help.

I think that what will come in the future is a new blog that focuses on my work as an artist. That way, it can appeal to other artists, who can relate and comment about their own similar experiences. But that will probably be on the Wordpress Book of Dreams site, which is technically up but not updated since the failed production of last fall's What Connects Us.

I've been keeping pretty busy, more so than I have in a long time. I worked on a monologue for Part Time Playhouse. Their summer series, In Theater, focuses on work written by and/or performed by military veterans. The piece I did was a 7-page monologue, which was very well written and well acted. (I withhold names of people in this blog to protect their privacy if they don't want to be blogged about.) But I had trouble directing it. First, I felt like a fish out of water in two ways: 1.) I was not a vet, and could not relate to a lot of the experiences discussed among the playwright and actor. And 2.) This was for a filmed public TV production, which was new to me, and I didn't know all the ins and outs of how that worked. Both elements made me lack confidence in my abilities to both direct and be respected. Very early on, the actor nailed the performance of this piece, with a real understanding of the character, and for most of the rehearsals, I just kind of sat there, not knowing how to improve upon it, which left me feeling redundant. But then the broadcast day came, and the finished product was wonderful. I don't know how much credit I can take for it, but it felt good to see the piece succeed, because it was really solid. I also had a chance to hang out with an actress who I directed in a show a couple years ago. She was starring in a different monologue, also very good.

So it's been nerve-wracking, getting things arranged for my project grant that I'm applying for. You have to try to figure out when and where you're going to perform the piece that you want to do, but often to do that, you have to pay a deposit to reserve the space. I have assured various people whom I love that I will be careful about taking financial risks. And so I have to really watch what kind of arrangements I make with people. I have to know that I'll be able to follow through. I have to either have an escape clause in case I don't get the funding, OR I have to have a plan B for how to fund the project. I already know I'm gonna be doing other types of fund-raising in addition to the grant, even if I get it. But the pressure is on; the complete application and supplemental materials (whatever those turn out to be) are due before the end of the month.

Tonight was a very significant night for me because after a few years of working on my new play, "para physin", which I wrote with a good friend of mine, I finally had it read in a public setting by PDX Playwrights. Mostly it was a good experience. Even when people are trying to make your script better, their suggestions are made in such a way that is thoughtful and considerate of your hard work and your feelings. I know that all my work comes from a place very deep within me and it's really hard to stick your neck out there for people to chop it off. But this is a good group, a thoughtful group, and I appreciated the feedback. I hope to be able to showcase it in Fertile Ground 2014, but there are some changes that need to be made first. Again, money is an issue. And rehearsal space. Last year's attempt was such a miserable failure, I don't know if I can bear trying again so soon.

So in the next weeks, I'll be working on the grant and helping out in a play for Wilsonville Theater Co. Been trying to find some nice people to date online, but it's not been very successful. The guys that seem great tend to be con artists. And I used to be gullible, but not anymore. The day you realize you've become a realist is worse than the day you realize you're a man and childhood is gone.

If you're reading this, I want to know who you are.

When I was shamefully attending voc rehab sessions twice a week, I would sometimes have to go "upstairs" to talk to one of the counselors. It was very irritating the first time I started to walk that double flight of stairs, and I heard this loud yell from up above: "ANNOUNCE YOURSELF!" It was a man's voice. I didn't know who he was, but obviously in charge. At first I wasn't sure if he was talking to me. How could he even see me? I didn't see him. Then he yelled it again, so I sheepishly said my name and stated my business. Then I was allowed to come upstairs. I learned this was always necessary, no doubt for security reasons. Maybe there were some whacked-out druggies at the voc rehab. I sure didn't feel like I belonged there, but I did because...well, I was afraid of work. (I don't mean that in the same way you say a lazy guy is afraid to work; I was afraid of it like some people are afraid of heights or closed-in spaces.)

Well, anyway, the point of that whole opening paragraph is that now I'm the guy saying to you (saying, not yelling): announce yourself. If you read my blog, subscribe to it, comment on it (please keep it friendly), let me know who you are so that I don't just think I'm talking to myself. I mean, I realize that above all, that is exactly what I'm doing, but I'm also trying to connect here.

Thank you.

a sea change

As usual, the title of this entry is deceptive. Yes, there's a change in the wind (maybe even in the sea) but it's not a change of monumental proportions. I still remain the same man I was when I wrote the last entry, but I'm tweaking the direction and focus of this blog just a little bit. Up until now, the pretense was "one man's gay Christian journey." But then I realized that I had a really hard time sticking to that specific criteria. So I'm broadening it a bit to free me to write whatever I want, although the downside may be that I no longer have an audience per se, just people who know and care who I am. Which is a very small number. Oh well. That's the way it has to be, at least for now. Telling people this is a "Christian-themed blog" just feels like a bait-and-switch. Not gonna do it anymore. This doesn't mean that God won't come up because I'm still a Christian. But generally, what you read here is not intended as spiritual discourse.

So who gives a shit about Matt Russell? I'm going to put a new caption beneath the title of this blog that says, "writer, director, producer"...That's not complete. Maybe I should add "alien." Part of what makes me interesting (and yes, I dare say that I am an interesting fellow) is how unusual my life is, how skewed my perspective, how unknown my feelings and how foreign my thoughts to the general populace. This does not make me feel proud or superior in any way. In fact, it makes me feel like I don't fit in anywhere, and it is, in fact, the whole impetus for writing, to cope with the ubiquitous feelings of isolation and loneliness. It's the mechanism by which I try to survive.

For example, a few weeks ago, I finished a play I've been scratching out for a long time. Little by little for years, and then the last 80% just eked out all at once. And in this play is all the things...or at least almost all the things I wish I could say to my straight friends, particularly the ones I like a little more than I should. It's the long bear hug that none of them want, but hidden in the form of a drama. Sometimes that is what you have to do.

There is no organization to this entry. To you new folks, be patient. I'm just getting used to this new format. It will be more coherent next time. I want to take a moment to mourn the loss of actor Cory Monteith. Of course, everyone has already had their cry on Facebook and Twitter, but it seems only appropriate for me to say a few words on here. I first saw him on one of my all-time favorite TV shows, Kyle XY. (If you've never seen it, I urge you to check it out because it's very well written, acted, etc.) And as has been the case before (as in with Matt Damon) I recognized his greatness before he became famous and so watching him on Glee was a terrific pleasure for me. Glee itself is a mixed bag. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. But when it's good, it's great, and has the power to touch hearts in a very meaningful way. And Cory was just like the guy next door that you have a crush on. You know you can't have him, but you also know that he's not going to hold your feelings against you. Completely harmless...except to himself.

This is a time of some stress, and I'll be trying to work through it by writing through it. 1.) I'm directing a short monologue for Public Playhouse to air on Aug. 4. It's a 7-page monologue. Rehearsals every day for a week and half before the air date. I've never done anything like this, and so it's a learning experience. 2.) I'm applying for a grant from Regional Arts and Cultural Council. This is will be for a project I wish to produce in the year 2014. There are many guidelines to this application process and it feels like an SAT test or something. I don't make a lot of money from my job, and so I can't generally afford to produce the projects that are on my heart to produce, and so I need funding. This is my first attempt at that. 3.) I'll be helping out with the fall production of Wilsonville Theater Co.'s Miracle on South Division Street by...okay I can't remember the playwright, I'll tell you later. I'll be kind of a 2nd pair of eyes for the director...unless she wants me to act in it, which might be fun because it's been a long time. It would be fun but SCARY!!!  4.) My new play which I mentioned earlier is being read by PDX Playwrights on Aug. 6 and if all goes well, I want to produce it for Fertile Ground. Well, some of you know I tried to produce one of my works for FG last year, and it was a complete disaster. I know the mistakes I made, and I honestly am not going to make them again...I'm wiser, but I'm still gun-shy, because what happened last year really hurt. 5.) I've given up any notion of producing the Christmas show. It's okay because I feel like it's all in God's timing, you know, but it's hard too because it can only be produced during one season in the year. If I don't do it this fall, it has to wait another year. And I just think it's a really damn good show, but I may be the only one who thinks that.

At some point soon, I'll write about my addiction. It's not drugs or alcohol or sex. It's the search for love and affection, and you would be surprised by the different ways in which it manifests. But not tonight. This is a good start to the new direction. If this was live, you'd all be throwing rotten fruit at me. Thank God for the internet.

my creation

I once sat listening to a pastor who said that people shouldn't claim to "create" things; people can make things out of the vast material that God provides around us, but the word "creator" should only apply to Almighty God. Well, I don't really agree with that. I agree that He's the Supreme Creator, and I would never try to equate myself with His glory and majesty. But we're also created in His image and as an artist, I know what it's like to fashion something where there was nothing there before. You could say that God sometimes plants a seed of inspiration, but that doesn't really diminish it in my book.

Last time, I tried to describe to you (whoever YOU may be, my readers) what a perfect world would be like, if I ran it. Actually, it was more like the world that I do in fact run in my writing. But the words eluded me, and I was unable to capture the essence of this thing, you could call it Mattopia, where people always listen and treat you the way you want to be treated and people don't have to worry about arbitrary social rules and boundaries; they can be completely honest with each other, and in doing so, they come one step closer to fulfillment.

It's not a perfect vision; there are bits of hypocrisy hiding just below the surface. For instance, I would like to be honest with Joe Blo about my feelings for him, but if that grosses him out, then I would not want him to tell me that, at least not in those words. Maybe in my perfect world, he wouldn't have to like me back, but at least it wouldn't gross him out. People wouldn't be grossed out by stuff like that. On the flip side, if Flo Joe tells me she's into me but it grosses me out, under my "perfect world" standards, I would still want to be friends with her, but that's not really the way I feel. So you see, it's a perfect world when it suits me. And I feel like a really big man that I can admit that.

The things I write (and I mean, creative writing projects, not like this blog) do not represent a totally artificial world, like Leave It To Beaver. Rather, it shows the world like it is, but then presents some element of different-ness, a way that things aren't but ought to be, in my humble opinion. And I'm not the only writer who does this. I seem to recall Stephen King's emotional reaction to seeing Stand By Me, the film adaptation of his great novella, The Body. He was greatly moved, but had to admit that the kind of friendship shown in that story is more the way we'd like it to be than how it is in real life.

So as I reflect on finishing the first draft of my script, para physin, which I've worked on for 4 years (all tiny bits and pieces until the last week when the majority of it just fell in my lap, like a giant elephant from the sky), I realize that the real world is certainly represented, but so too is Mattopia, a place where some really sweet and wonderful things can happen, things that don't generally happen in real life. Does this make me a more honest or less honest storyteller? Less honest, perhaps, from the viewpoint of the cynic and the realist. But more honest in terms of what my true heart hopes and dreams for humanity. And I have to think there is an important place for that in the arts.