Ever since getting fired from the New Beverly last October I have been absolutely paralyzed with fear of the future.
I feel like every decision I make will send me down the wrong path.
I have several scripts and a novel I am working on, and they are all stopped at about the same point – the point where I have to make a definitive decision on which way the plot will go.
I keep thinking – Can I bear to work at another movie theater? Do I want to go back to acting? Write a book? Start a band? Direct another film – and if so, a documentary or a feature? And if a feature, which one? Can I figure out a way to move back to the UK? Maybe I should just chuck it all and leave Hollywood forever?
I obsessively thought about all that had happened at the Bev in the previous months and went through every different scenario in my head a thousand times.
How I should have seen it coming.
How I could have prevented it from happening – by not making the film.
Because the same woman who fired me – Julie McLean, Quentin Tarantino’s assistant, also tried her damnedest to stop me making Out of Print, even forbidding me to shoot interviews at the theater.
I thought about it all over and over and over…
It’s an endless spiral and it bottoms out with me lying in bed, terror-stricken.
So if I can’t bring myself to do anything, I end up doing nothing.
Which is essentially what I have been doing for the past year. Nothing.
I had a nervous breakdown.
I was done.
Exhausted and absolutely heart broken.
So I just laid there. It was all I could do.
I had, very unfortunately, decided to take a break from anti-depressants for the first time in seven years right when this happened.
I was so happy about Quentin’s involvement and my new position that I felt good for the first time since Sherman’s death, really. So I stopped taking my medication.
And then I was fired.
Fired for no good reason except that one person doesn’t like me.
Fired from the job I had poured my heart and soul into for 8 years.
Fired from the job I had asked for continually for 5 years before that.
Fired from the job I loved more than anything on the goddam planet.
Fired from the job I made a documentary about.
Fired from the job that gave me hope that the passionate love of cinema could be enough.
Fired from the job that was my identity.
I knew it would be bad, but the breakdown I had was unlike anything I had every experienced, and I hope that none of you has to ever experience.
I called it the Black Pit of Despair and I am just beginning to really crawl out of it now. Nearly A year later.
I didn’t leave the house for months, would just spend my days lying in bed, numb.
Eventually I began to flip through the channels mindlessly.
Then I started re-watching Glee (Which helped incredibly for the first five seasons. Then I started the sixth season and hated Ryan Murphy for destroying everything he had worked so hard for in the previous seasons.)
Then, slowly, movies. Dinners with friends. Road trips.
Of course, now i’m back on heavy antidepressants and anti anxiety medication, and am seeing a shrink and a counselor.
And yet, through all of this, Out of Print has been doing quite well.
It did a university circuit and has played in several theaters around the world – the kind of theaters it was meant to be played in.
I must say that watching it now is it own bittersweet torture. What once was a celebration is now a funeral.
Hopefully, it will be available widely soon, and I can finally get those DVD’s made that I still owe my Kickstarter backers. (I haven’t forgotten you! I will make it happen! WITH special features…)
But I haven’t been offered the kinds of jobs I was hoping for.
And I really don’t know where to turn.
My confidence in myself – and in the universe – shattered when I lost the New Beverly.
I am trying to figure out who this new, slightly battered Julia is, and what she believes in.
Because New Beverly Julia is dead.