So that play thing I was doing is over now, but I have a secret about it. The play was really sad, almost maudlin. That's not the secret. The concept (written by a former teacher of mine from high school) of the play is a circle of friends, most of which use drugs, reacting to one of them dying of a drug overdose. You can infer how I can relate. The secret is: making people sad made me happy.
And I don't mean 'it warmed my heart' to 'share my story' in semi-acting. No, I was spitefully happy, sadistically happy. I asked everyone I talked to after the show if I made them cry, and when they invariably admitted to at least tearing up, I would fist-pump in victory. Don't worry, I'm not really rejoicing in their sorrow. I'm rejoicing in the source of their sorrow: a brief taste of bitter understanding.
Friday, Sunday and twice on Saturday, I, and the awesome cast of JUNK, forced a crowd of 20-40 people to feel the way I do all the time. They only had to feel it for an hour and forty minutes, the lucky bastards.
Most folks don't or can't understand. Some think they understand, and some don't want to understand, both of which peeve me. I don't even think I really understand, but at least I can admit it, and I think that admission is closer to understanding than anything.
The take-home from doing the show is that a small handful of people have a slightly better understanding now. And it made them sad. And it made me happy. But the joke's on me, because their sadness will pass, and they'll go back to their lives. Just as my happiness will pass and I'll go back to my grief. But I'll always have my memory, my hour and forty minutes of morbidly depressing, schadenfreude fame.
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I hope you brought enough comment to share with the whole class!