I thought this was an amazingly accurate way to describe any mental disorder one is struggling with.
If I’m honest with myself, there’s one true reason why I act. It’s not for the accolades, or the applause, or the eventual AFI award, it’s really quite a simple reason. I act so I can be someone else.
You see, I have a pet. It’s a shitty pet. It varies in size depending on the day. It stinks to high heaven. It won’t heel, sit or play dead. I can’t let it off the leash, because it just runs amok, causing havoc wherever it goes. It sniffs people’s crotches, dry-humps legs, scratches the couch, leaves ‘gifts’ on the bed, yowls all night and keeps me awake. It won’t come when it’s called, it’s not micro-chipped and it’s certainly not registered with the local council.
I can’t get rid of it. There’s no euthanising this sucker, or leaving it at the pound. I can’t give it away to a good…
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