I Love My Willy

In honor of Shakespeare's birthday, I wanted to write a little bit about the impact that Shakespeare has had on my life. I know, I know, a writer being influenced by Shakespeare is a little trite, but perhaps my reasons won't seem such. Bear with me.

Let's start at the beginning, in fair Virginia where we lay our scene...

I was an awful student growing up. I hated school. I hated the repetition and the constant parade of things that I was certain that I wasn't ever going to need to know. I failed English and Math pretty consistently in middle school. My failures in English were deeply baffling to my parents as I'd always been a voracious reader. I had a big vocabulary as a little kid. However, I was definitely of the opinion that a lot of the analysis that went on in English classes was silly. I just couldn't understand where my teachers were pulling all these things from. (I had several rude guesses, of course)

I remember the day that this started to change. I was in my eighth grade English class and we opened up our copies of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I was NOT looking forward to it. I had gone with my mother to see a production of Julius Caesar a few years before and Shakespeare was, to my mind, for boring, pretentious people. I was certain that I was going to hate reading it.

However, by the end our Midsummer unit I was completely hooked. I hadn't expected something that I thought would be so dry and boring to be so relateable. As the girl who was always just “one of the guys” I really felt for Helena. (Except for the height thing) The only kind of romance I knew was the unrequited kind, so watching her pursuit of Demetrius struck a chord for me. I could feel her desperation and yes, the resentment of prettier friends for whom the guys were always falling. I could relate to the willful Hermia deciding that she wasn't going to listen to her parents and that she'd just run away to follow her heart.

In all honesty, Midsummer was maybe not the best play for my already smart-ass self to read because it introduced me to the ever-awesome Robin Goodfellow. I loved Puck. He still is one of my favorite Shakespearean characters. The last thing I'd expected was that I would be cracking up while reading Shakespeare, of all things. It was a good lesson in keeping my mind open. You never know what you're going to like until you try it.

That was only the first of the lessons that Shakespeare taught me. The next one is the one that is largely responsible for where I am now, career-wise. 

 

Studying Shakespeare was the first time I ever really felt good at something. I'd struggled so much in school before reading Midsummer, but after our Shakespeare unit was finished my sense of self-confidence had grown exponentially. While many of my classmates struggled with the language and pulling meaning from the Bard's words, I didn't. I could read it and understand it quickly. I could interpret it easily. Suddenly all the crap that my English teachers said about allegory and metaphor made sense. I found myself looking for double meanings where before I would have tried not to see them. My writing improved as I worked to express the beautiful things that I saw in the text. Suddenly I was getting A's in English and looking forward to class. I didn't feel like such a failure anymore. I was good at something. I stood out in a positive way. I wasn't useless. I started writing more and more as my confidence grew. I actually started to like writing, something that would have been impossible before. Soon, that fondness for writing grew to a passion, a passion that has come to define who I am and what I do.

Once I got to high school and we moved to more complicated plays I looked forward more and more to our Shakespeare units. I gobbled them up. By senior year I chose a Shakespeare class as one of my electives just to have the opportunity to study some more of them. I had no idea what an important choice that would end up being.

Those of you who have read this blog from the beginning know that senior year of high school is when my depression stopped being something I could handle alone. Senior year was when I first started cutting myself and eventually, senior year was when I tried to kill myself.

I have, sitting next to me, the book that was on my desk the night I tried to kill myself. The Complete Pelican Shakespeare. Kevin and I had been studying for the big Shakespeare test that all seniors at our high school took. I was doing Shakespeare trivia with my best friend during what I was certain were going to be my last moments on this earth. And I was ok with that. However, as you all know, Kevin realized what I was up to and stopped me. He asked me to get help and to keep the faith with him I went to one of the teachers I trusted most and told him what I'd done. He gave me forty-eight hours to get help before he'd go and report my suicide attempt. He didn't want to deprive me of the control to do it and to this day I am infinitely grateful to him for that.

Of course, during those forty-eight hours I went back and forth about what I was going to do. I didn't want to tell anyone because I was afraid I'd get kicked out of school and sent home. I definitely had the thought that I had to “finish it” before then. I didn't want to deal with more shrinks and more meds and more of disappointing my family and friends. I was stuck and had no idea what to do.

During that time the English elective that I was taking was reading King Lear. I liked the play well enough (mostly for the Fool), but I was having a lot of trouble engaging with ANYTHING during that time, even my beloved Shakespeare.

We were going through Lear line by line (or close to that) when we reached the section where the blind Gloucester believes that he has thrown himself off a cliff and miraculously survived. He says:

“Henceforth I'll bear affliction until it do cry out itself 'Enough, enough, and die.'”

I'm hoping that my note next to his words was my literary analysis of a play in which lies and lying are very important, though it may well have been the first bitter thing that popped into my head: “His reason for not killing himself is a lie. It's all a comfort illusion.”

However, as my teacher and class moved on I found myself looking back at Gloucester's words again and again.

“Henceforth I'll bear affliction until it do cry out itself 'Enough, enough, and die.'”

Wasn't that what I was struggling with? I had tried to kill myself too and been 'saved' in a way. If an old man whose eyes had been gouged out could have hope, what was my excuse? I had always prided myself on being a strong person. Was I, or wasn't I? Fuck affliction. I was stronger than affliction. I too could “bear affliction until it do cry out itself 'Enough, enough, and die.'”

I changed reading those words. I resolved to go and get help, which I did. The weeks following that were some of the hardest of my life and more than once I found myself in the dark place thinking of ending it all. But Gloucester's words kept coming back to me, as they still do when things get really, really bad.

“Henceforth I'll bear affliction until it do cry out itself 'Enough, enough, and die.'” has become a mantra for me.

After high school Shakespeare remained a big part of my life. It was the concentration in my English major. I...may have taken all of the Shakespeare courses that my school offered and then had to start inventing some to take as independent studies. I got a little bit of a reputation for being “that Shakespeare girl”. I would argue on the most obscure points with friends for fun. I learned to rap Othello. When my grandfather passed away, I recited Sonnet 60 at his funeral. After a bad car accident where I flipped my car on the ice, I still showed up for my Shakespeare class that day. Granted, my advisor (who was one of the teachers) wasn't thrilled with me for coming to class instead of, ya know, going to the hospital. I was so messed up emotionally after that that I needed the comfort that I got from the Bard's words.

The Bard is well known for having changed the very face of our language, but better writers than I have discussed this at length. I wanted to take the time to reflect more on how he has changed me. I wouldn't be what I am or where I am if I hadn't come into contact with the immortal Will.

Will, my old friend, “so long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Love,

E.W.

A Married Woman's Thoughts on Marriage Equality

Good morning, Dear Reader.

So, I have been thinking. I talk about a lot of very personal things on this blog, yes? We've talked about my shishy bits and about my depression. Hell, I've even talked about politics. Today I have some thoughts I'd like to share that are inspired by what has been going on on Facebook for the past week or so. As I'm sure you all know (especially if you have the Facebook) marriage equality is a big issue at the moment. Everywhere I look I see people sporting equals signs, rainbows, and even my favorite: family, family, family, family, BATMAN.

Well, as a married woman who hopes to one day bring children into this world, I do happen to have some very particular thoughts about marriage equality and how it impacts the cohesion of my family. I was going to try to frame this humorously, but you know what? I can't. It's too damn important.

LGBT people getting the same rights that straight people take for granted has had absolutely no negative impact on my marriage.

Knowing that out there Ellen and Portia can actually refer to each other as “my wife” has not lessened the bond between me and my husband when he calls me the same thing.

When George Takei refers to Brad as “my husband” it doesn't detract from when I call my husband the same thing. He is still my husband. I am still his wife. It is every bit as meaningful. If anything I am just happy that others can share in the feeling of being bound to someone that way.

LGBT people getting married has not made my marriage license fade like words in Tom Riddle's diary. My wedding dress has not withered or burst into flame. My wedding band has not cracked or melted like the One Ring in Mount Doom. When one of the women who is like a sister to me gets married in two weeks, I do not anticipate that dragons with rainbow scales will appear in the Wisconsin skies to prevent a straight union. If that were to happen then perhaps I could understand the hyperbolic rhetoric of the "War on Marriage".

Personally, I do not feel my marriage is under attack at all. My marriage is what it has always been: a relationship built on love and trust and understanding. Is it perfect? Absolutely not. However, its imperfections are due to the flawed people who maintain it. It is not imperfect because in some places LGBT people can get married.

When I think of procreating, I don't worry about the fact that somewhere there might be LGBT people marrying one another. There are much more important things to worry about. I worry about climate change. I worry about the economy. I worry that I will become so crazy during pregnancy that I scare Husband off. I worry that I will be a bad mother. I worry about potential alien invasion.

I don't worry that two people who happen to have the same junk getting married is going to warp my child in some way. I worry about reality television warping my child. I worry about cyber bullying warping my child. I worry that the internet in its infinite perversion will warp my child. I worry that certain news networks will warp my child. These are real threats. Two adults who love each other choosing to make a legal commitment to one another is not a threat.

A good marriage, a good family, isn't based on the sexuality of the people involved. Straight people get divorced all the time. There are lots of awful parents who are straight. It isn't about sexuality, it is about humanity. People are flawed. However, the thing that can mitigate those flaws and make us stronger? Love. Love is what is important.

Let me frame it this way. When you notice other people breathing, does it somehow lessen your ability to do so? Of course not. If you are having a delicious piece of cake and you see someone else having a slice, does it detract from your enjoyment? I sincerely hope not. Marriage is like both air and cake. Air, in that legally it is a right that we should all have access to. Cake because there are lots of varieties and they are all delicious.

So, as a married woman, I think that if the fact that LGBT people would like to make a commitment based on loving, honoring, and caring for their partner is a threat to you, the issue is you, not them.

With love, as always,

E.W. 

Tom Riddle and his diary are the property of J.K. Rowling, Mount Doom and the One Ring of J.R.R. Tolkien.