Most of my work is focused on the foreboding secrets that exist inside of us that we are innately afraid of sharing, and everything we do to hide and keep that secret out of fear. The truth behind a secret, once revealed, is often perceived to result in a devastating punishment. But what people don’t share, is once the revelation occurs, so too does the cathartic cleansing. To see how others react to your inner most secrets, how they evolve in how they see the world through you, it’s an exciting moment of growth, and if it can be replicated in storytelling, it’s a thrilling experience. This is why the only theatre I pursue is the theatre of catharsis.

This is a complicated way of saying that I write to tell heart felt stories of the human experience, with the peaks of humor and valleys of humanistic ennui creating the roller coaster audiences find rewarding to go on. I write because the American Culture (United States, to clarify — as a citizen I feel obligated to keep up our pompousness) — American Culture wants people to contain their emotions, avoid confrontation outside of the slightly veiled wall of comment sections, and most importantly, for Americans to justify their want to never change, regardless if change is a requirement of life. Because of this natural competing conflicting instinct within Americans — to hide all complicated emotions but also allow the comforting pat on the back to stay the same, there springs a hidden desire to explore emotions deeply to the point where it can inspire change and human growth.

I always return to a deep secret I kept for a long time. In the Winter of 2012 I attempted suicide, and failed. I hid it, from family, from friends, hid so well that no one knew for years. I was so ashamed of my feelings, my sadness, my angst, my anger, my attempt, and I pushed all of those shames behind this cutout of a fun cheery comedian that I played on the stage of my life. Someone who people liked being around, and someone who was sure that if people knew who he really was, they would no longer want to be around. So I started writing plays, dancing around the truth of the subject of depression. Then I got a residency that was shaped around an artist challenging their conception of theatre. And one of the steps of the residency was simply titled Face Your Fear. I chose then to face my fear of confession, and letting people know what I attempted. I met at first with strangers, then friends, then family, to tell the story of my attempt. I told this dark truth and all of the emotions around it, and revealed myself to the truest of my ability. And what happened went against my internal logic entirely. People didn’t want to leave me, they wanted to reveal themselves to me. By showing this level of emotional vulnerability, the people I talked to revealed right back to me their own stories of depression, of suicide, some never saying it out loud for the first time until that moment of us talking. I saw people change how they saw me, and shared their own experiences, and I changed how I saw them. And together, our worlds changed, right there. We told stories full of emotional truth, and achieved catharsis.

That’s the type of theatre I strive for. To tell an emotional truth, to the point where it is explored so completely, so truthfully, that it allows us to fully live in that emotion, and together, leave feeling heavily, in a room full of people, reminded that we can talk about the untalkable, that we are allowed to feel, and express our feelings.

It’s not all sadness, you know. Emotions are inherently tied to humor, to fun, there’s a whole spectrum beyond sadness. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about depression without making a joke, except for maybe this artistic statement written so that people can call me pretentious because that’s my secret kink.

Well… Almost got through it without a joke. It was never a secret.