Recently I was accused of not accepting blame for anything I do and for enjoying the public spectacle. 3-4 years ago, this was very true. Today, not so much. I loathe going to social events, my blog has been devoid of personal information, and nary a mention of someone else’s drama. That is until a week ago when backed into a corner and I felt it important to correct factual errors concerning what transpired. It was with great regret that I went to a place that has become ugly to me to write that. It used to fit like a glove, but not anymore. As for the blame game, realistically – I accept all the blame for what I am responsible for, which is plenty. For the failures of my movies, it resides solely on my shoulders. Problems with the screenplay and successes (or lack thereof) for HORRORS OF WAR, it is all me and no one else. The failings of camera work in my half of the film are my own fault. The financial failure I also place firmly on myself. I will carry the burden that the film did not make more money as a personal regret. I did not assert myself as I should have or there will always be something I coud have done better.
I have made several movies that ‘fail’ by my own standards. REFRACTORY was poorly written by me, as well as the 2nd CELL PHONE MONOLOGUE. That doesn’t mean the movies are without any merit, but I’d be a fool not to recognize the bad and good simultaneously.
All of the blame sits on my shoulders. They were failures to communicate, which is pretty much the sole job description of “director”. Since I directed these films, the failure is owned solely by me.
I have been in a state of depression for at least 2-3 years. If anything, the actual cause of my depression IS the acceptance of blame for all my failures. Owning up to these correlates to my decline. I have no control over how people I used to know 5-6 years ago perceive me now, whether they want to bother to get to know me now. People have a tendency to view people in a stasis of perpetual unchange.
I don’t really give much heed to ignorance or stupidity these days. To be honest, I haven’t ‘felt’ much of anything. The break up was kind of continuing the numbing. My health on the other hand, has a sharp pain to it, both physical and emotional. Knowing that this would have most likely been avoided if someone had just taken a few minutes out of every day to help me, brings out a pain that punctured through the malaise. Not sure if that’s a good thing, but it wakes me up to the fact that I still can feel something at all.
I’m still trying to decide what project to go first. I have several. Writing or planning is not the issue. It’s the creation part. That is sacred to me. The fear of failure, like my previous failures, that stops me like a brick wall from charging forward.