Voices in My Head

By @imdaisycabret
Voices in My Head

An insight into my brain. -- A collection of poetry (or... A collection of ramblings) (Poems about the darker moments that we all don't want to talk about) (And poems written to inspire, to help get over the 'Voices in Your Head')

Chapter 2

Waiting Room (The Audition)

An air of tension hits you right as you walk in —

A sign-in sheet is visible, you shakily write your name.

“Oh my stars,” you think, “I’m actually here”

“I’m about to slip into another’s shoes

In front of people I’ve never seen before.”

The waiting room is a location I know all too well

Lines of girls who have prettier hair than me

Who are taller than me

Who can hit the high notes better than me

Who (seem to be) calmer than me…

My brain likes to make fun of me, taunting me —

Saying, “These girls are better than you!”

But I’m learning to ignore them, and just focus on me.

The waiting room is awful —

Especially when you can almost taste the nervousness in the air.

No matter for what kind of production, the nerves are flying

And they don’t stop, even when you get out of the audition room.

It’s worse the longer you wait —

Your heart is beating out of your chest

Your brain spins out of control, going a million miles per hour

Calculating everything that could go wrong

(Which isn’t helpful, since you should be running your lines)

As you see the others walk out of the room —

You can tell how their audition went…

Well, your brain thinks it can.

To the brain, a totally normal smile

Automatically means that they got the part!

And you, well, you failed before you even walked in the room.

(Which, from experience, is a lie)

To the brain, a sigh of disappointment

Automatically means that they were ripped apart

And you’re next, so you better watch out!

(Trust me, this is also a lie)

These thoughts are pointless —

They aren’t going to help when you’re performing your monologues —

Or, as I like to call them —

Pieces of my soul

An actor’s job is to breathe life into their roles

A monologue. A scene. A film.

It doesn’t matter what kind.

To successfully breathe life into fiction

A real-life part of you will always be there

And more often than not, it’s the most terrifying experience in the world.

Auditions are one of these terrifying experiences.

The waiting rooms don’t help at all with these nerves.

But every single time, in that waiting room…

The same conclusion is met —

Be proud of the work you’ve done.

Your art? You’ve been working on it for months.

Maybe you’ve been working on this piece for years!

Who knows!

Art is not meant to be perfect

No matter how much my brain wants it to be.

Life isn’t perfect either —

So why should fiction be?

This reminder comes to me at the same point in the waiting room

Every. Single. Time.

And even though 99.9% of the time I’m worrying about the end product —

This reminder always calms me down, no matter how nervous I am.

By the time your name is called, and you go into the audition room —

You’re still nervous as anything, but a sense of calm washes over you.

You’re directed to the marker in the middle of the room

In front of terrifyingly intimidating-looking people

Who are there to seemingly judge your every move.

But that reminder…

Be proud of the work you’ve done

That’s what’s gotten me through all of these situations

And it has gotten me through other scenarios as well.

Life isn’t perfect

And neither is fiction

And that’s one hundred percent okay.

So, whatever happens in the audition

Even if you feel like it’s not going your way —

Don’t despair, because it’s not the end of the world.

Feelings of nerves and failure

Aren’t going to make your art better.

The work you’ve put in

And the piece of your soul that you’ve shared…

That will always be something to celebrate.

No matter what happens in that room —

Be proud of the work you’ve done.

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