Part IV: Is It Better To Have Loved And Lost Than To Never Have Loved At All?

I had wished Marks death.

Not literally “I want Mark to die. Die Mark DIE!!!”, but there was one day when I was 19 years old and just started my very first acting class, when I was practicing my acting in the bathroom mirror. I was trying to make myself cry. I thought about Mark ever dying and how I would feel. I stood in front of the mirror, acted out a hypothetical moment of someone telling me such horrible news, and cried. I knew what I was doing was totally wrong, but, “SCORE!!!”  I was elated that I found a way to cry instantly if I ever needed to.

How ridiculous is that? THAT is what I beat myself up for, for 10 years. For being a dumb kid crying in front of a mirror and for hanging up on his drunk ass a few years later? 

It took me a few weeks to recover from my discovery that my therapist, Dr. Simon, was right. I was floored and sickened that I put my life on hold to beat myself up for THAT LONG over something so excusable. 

While waiting for Mark to be found and then grieving over his death, I gained weight, became addicted to Tylenol PM, drank a bottle of wine every night and passively tried to kill myself few times. I performed my Senior Cabaret, opened Hair at Cal State Fullerton, visited my brother in New York, performed Hair in Chicago that summer and graduated from college a semester late. In the midst of the Mark mayhem, I ignored all of my mail. Letter after letter urging me to file my papers with the admissions office in order to graduate in 1996 piled up on my bedroom floor.  By the time I tried to register for my diploma, it was too late. I had missed the deadline and was allowed to “walk” but my official graduation date was pushed to 1997. What a blow. I had worked so hard for four years to graduate on time, and it slipped right through my fingers. Needless to say, “walking” was not the highlight of my college career. I felt like a fraud on graduation day, like I didn’t belong with all of my best friends and classmates who actually opened their mail. 

I was furious that I had missed my graduation deadline and I had no one to blame but myself. I just wanted to be done with school and not have to walk down those theatre department hallways where I fell in love with Mark. I never wanted to step foot again on that Performing Arts lawn where he and I used to run into each other’s arms. Instead, I was forced to return to school and take a silly ballet class to stay a “student” and finish out an extra semester due to my lack of responsibility.

Yes, it was a terrible time in my life. Not only did Mark die, but all tons of shit hit the fan to make matters worse.

It was the night of our first preview (with an audience) for Hair and I had just buried Mark earlier that day. I showed up to the dressing rooms in my light pink funeral dress (hell no to black!) with puffy eyes and carrying a large tray of uneaten sandwiches from the reception. Again, I was surrounded with love and support from my friends, which was so wonderful yet something very strange and damaging happened.

I was in the dressing room when the Stage Manager announced:

10 minutes to places! Theresa, Alan wants to talk to you…

Alan was a Grad Student and one of the cast members of Hair. He and I did the “preshow” together which was this dark scene added to the top of the show by our nutty director who thought it’d be cool to start off Hair with an improvised scene that took place in a current day underground night club where the owner (Alan) and the waitress (Me) get into a huge screaming argument which then kicks everyone back to the 1960s and then Hair, the musical, begins.

I stepped out of the dressing room and had a chat with Allen in the hallway.

Theresa, I know this is a very sad time in your life, and maybe this isn’t the best time to tell you this but… (Shuffling his feet)… I’m in love with you. You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known Theresa, and I just can’t keep it in any longer. Especially now, seeing you in such pain, I just need to tell you that I am in love with you. Maybe when things calm down, you can give me a chance? Mark was a lucky guy, but I’m here now with my heart in my hands...

I stood there shocked, flattered, caught off guard, confused, kind of offended but cautious of his feelings and not at all interested in Alan. He was weird and I always got the creeps from him.

Oh wow. uh... I don’t know what to say…

You don’t have to say anything. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

No, I appreciate it, but you do realize I just buried Mark today, right? Like, 3 hours ago?

I do know, I’m sorry, it’s bad timing.

I’m very flattered. Thank you for being so honest with me. I’ll be honest with you too – I’m not interested in you like that. Sorry… I just can’t feel anything for anyone right now, and I never felt that way for you in the past, so I’m pretty sure I won’t feel that way for you in the future. But thank you for your warmth and honesty and I’m sorry I cannot return the affection.
 

He was cool with it. We parted ways.

A few minutes later, Alan and I were on stage, in our preshow scene in front of an audience of 500 people. 

This preshow scene always made me nervous. I had to play a tough cocktail waitress who gets into a screaming match with her manager (Alan) and I just never could figure out how to play that type of role. I was very young and inexperienced. I was always cast as the princess or the dumb cute girl, and I just had the hardest time mustering up a hard-edged underground drug addict waitress character, especially during the saddest time in my life! I had no energy. This worried Alan, the older grad student who had figured out his “craft” a long time ago. He was always trying to coach me into finding my anger to give the scene the weight it needed, and I just couldn’t deliver. On top of that, we had to IMPROVISE the scene. There was no script! I just had to whip up some dialogue out of thin air and create some kind of nasty screeching fight. Improv scared me. Nothing about this scene tickled me. I dreaded it.

So, there I was, hours after I just buried Mark, standing on stage in front of a full house, scared out of my mind and trying to act with grad student Allen who just professed his love to me. Our little improv scene ensued and he escalated it into a fight, I tried to “fight” back because that’s what the scene called for, we got into a lukewarm yelling match and then he turned to me with fury and screamed in my face WELL AT LEAST I'M NOT FLOATING IN SOME FUCKING RIVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I could not believe what just happened to me. Was he pissed off at me for not loving him back? 

I lost my shit. 

That fight scene that I was so scared of ended up being violent and terrifying. (just want Alan wanted)

I lost it so badly that a few hippies from the wings had to carry me off stage. I was kicking, screaming, sobbing, using every curse word I could think of, I was practically vomiting on my own tears I was so angry. He was yelling back all sorts of hurtful things about dying in a lake, floating in a river, drowning, being "fucking dead", it was terrible and it all happened in front of 500 paying spectators.

My friends had to calm me down back stage. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

What just happened to me?

My friends told me what happened: Alan made that whole story up about his love for me. It was his prep work for our preshow scene. He told me he loved me in the hallway, then acted hurt on stage and used my vulnerability about Mark to make the scene come alive. He figured out a way to pull my anger out of me for the sake of the scene. 

Faculty came down hard on Alan. He was pulled from the show. He was allowed to stay at Cal State Fullerton and earn his MFA, but he was not allowed to do any shows after that. 

He apologized. I said, Thanks for the apology, but Fuck You.

These bits of shrapnel: not graduating on time, the passive suicide attempts, demented grad student Alan, Mark's body not being in one piece, etc... these were easier to get over when compared to the years it took to understand the depth of my pain, but here I am, on the other side, and I have learned so much about myself and the beautiful journey of life...

Stay tuned for the final installment, where I get to talk about all the happy stuff!

Part III: Is It Better To Have Loved And Lost Than To Never Have Loved At All?

Time moved slowly as we waited for Mark to be found. It took about 10 days for Search and Rescue to find him. Funny thing is, his body was discovered in the very spot the where accident occurred. His best friend Jerry accompanied the rescue team in the helicopter, they flew over the lake and Jerry pointed to where he thought they were that night. A diver jumped out, swam to the bottom and found Mark’s body – or pieces of.

I was curious as to why it was a closed casket funeral and asked Mark’s Mother. 

What’s he wearing in there? I was picturing him in a blue suit with his sweet curly blond hair, hands folded, shiny black shoes.

I’ll never forget her exact words.

Oh honey, since you asked, I’m going to tell you the truth…he’s not wearing any clothes. He wasn’t found in one piece, so we gathered him up and wrapped him in a shroud.

I’ll never forget the horror and disappointment I felt. I guess she needed to get that off of her chest, but I really wish she hadn’t told me that.

Later I found out that Mark wasn’t in one piece because the on-coming boat that had Mark’s fate sealed in his future had struck Mark smack dab in the middle of his chest, killed him instantly and launched him into the water. At least he didn’t die in a panic, drowning and in pain. But wow, the thought of his body not being in one piece really disturbed me. It still does. At the time I was thinking, “What do you mean he’s not in one piece? Is he missing a thumb or an entire ARM? Is his head in there? Are all his toes still attached to his feet? What?”  I couldn’t bear to ask though. Best to just let it go. 

I spoke the eulogy. I proclaimed my love for Mark and how I had planned on marrying him and having his children, which is odd since we were broken up and the last time I spoke to him I was a complete bitch. I made myself into a victim who lost her one and only true love, which I knew deep down wasn’t completely true. Absolutely did I lose one of my soul mates and positively was I torn to pieces over his death, but I was also beefing up my pain to torture myself for being mean to him a few weeks prior. Of course, I didn’t know I was doing that at the time. I discovered all this in therapy 10 years later, and what a painful revelation that was to finally figure out that I had punished myself for so long. 

I subconsciously blamed myself for his death. Maybe if I wasn’t so cruel to him on the phone that night, he would have stayed in town to win me back. 

Mark's sister, Melanie, told me that they had met up for lunch before he left town. He explained to Melaine that he was embarrassed for drunk dialing me late that night, but  he still loved me and knew I was the one for him.  He wanted to marry me. She advised him to tell me all of this when he returns from Lake Havasu.  He agreed to that.

It’s a nice feeling knowing that he died loving me and that maybe I was on his mind if he had any time to reflect before he passed on, but I was left with unsettled, remorseful feelings which I subconsciously covered up by spending the next 10 years never letting myself fall for another man. I decided early on that I’ll most likely never get married and have children. I sabotaged every relationship and chose to date guys who were clearly not right for me. I searched and searched for a Mark replacement. Someone I could have that romantic, sweeping, sugary, incredibly unrealistic puppy love with and every time I thought I found it, it would fizz out very quickly and I’d end up in a heaping crying mess eating a pint of ice cream.  

I was in therapy for four years when I lived in New York. It took my therapist a long long time to convince me that I had been punishing myself.   

Punishing myself? For what??

 

You feel guilty that he died. It’s not your fault Theresa.

That’s insane, Dr. Simon. I know I didn’t kill Mark. Why would I think it’s my fault?

 

There were a few times that I tried to fire Dr. Simon. It pissed me off that he would not let this issue go. Luckily, he did not let me run away. He was holding the key to the truth and he was waiting for me to open that door.

This was the hardest thing I ever had to face, no wonder it took me so long to finally open my eyes and accept the truth: I put myself through hell, I never let myself move on,  the bottom line of my existence was sadness for nearly ten years. My love life was always in turmoil, I was pursing an acting career that repeatedly broke my heart, I was 15 pounds overweight, my insecurities were so terrible that I wouldn’t even let myself wear certain shoes or go to certain bars because I thought I wasn’t “cool” enough. I was a mess and this is why….

Stay tuned for Part IV...