Most of my life was spent in the goth scene and with circuses, sideshows, and theater. I made great contacts in this circle of people and as I got to know the people in these communities (and believe me, a lot of them are difficult to get to know), I kind of felt like I belonged (more so with the performers than the audiences). Some time between touring with FreakShow Deluxe and wrecking my car in a tornado, I started feeling pressured to be “normal” and to do things the “normal” way. For example, getting a job with a corporation, working my way up the ladder, and then retiring when I’m 60.

This did not work for me, so I started working with horses again… something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager. No matter how much I loved the horses and how much I wanted to reach the top level of riding, one thing grated my soul and kept crushing me regardless of how much I didn’t want it to matter. I did not and do not fit in with horse people. From a polo player continuously asking me why I make myself look the way I do to uptight eventers snubbing me every time they saw me in the barn or accusing me of not taking proper care of their horse, it was plain obvious that I didn’t fit in this world of polo shirts and ballerina buns.
However, for the first time in my life, I attempted to fit in. I cut off my mohawk. I dyed my hair black instead of pink. I even bought shirts with horses on them, and God forbid… A POLO SHIRT. I thought that my suicide attempt was the lowest point of my life… Apparently these moments that followed were the lowest.
I quit the barn that I was working at and shortly got a job at a doggie daycare. I didn’t fit in there either. People stabbed me in the back and the management delayed my 90 day review so long that it was nearly 6 months when I finally got it… and when it was given to me, it was just a blank piece of paper with a line through the middle. I stopped trying to do a good job after that point. It didn’t matter anymore.
But while I was working there, I was also doing the things that I wanted to do. I became more involved with the Seattle film community (when I was on the horse farm, I couldn’t do anything except look at horses). I went to events and concerts and I started seeing glimpses of where I belonged.
After I quit the daycare, I attempted more corporate jobs. Naturally, I failed any interview I got because I am not a corporate person and I don’t think I can even pretend that I am anymore. I focused on my school work, making films, and networking with some people that were kind of like my old life.
Then I went to see Voltaire. I used to go to his shows every time he came to town in Ohio (sometimes once a year), but I hadn’t in a long time because of depression and all of the above garbage. Seeing Voltaire again, talking with him, being in the creative atmosphere of Voltaire, the Nasty Habits and Jeff Ferrell, reminded me of what I originally wanted from life and who I really am. It reminded me of where I belong.
I belong with artists and creative types– and not really just ANY artists. I belong with subcultures. I belong in the underground. I belong where I can do what I want and not get crap for it… and I’m not going to pretend that I am a corporate video person or that I am anything other than myself.
So what if that means it makes me less desirable to major companies? That’s not what I want to do with my life. I want to make films and enjoy myself. Life is way too fucking short to sell your soul to a corporation… even if it pays good money. I’d rather be happy and scraping by than forcing myself to fit in again. That’s a fast track to another suicide attempt.