Danny and the Deep Blue Plea

Tomorrow I'm doing a cutting of a scene from Danny and the Deep Blue Sea by John Patrick Shanley, who, by the way, tends to write plays with characters that intimidate me. But why? Because I feel that they're so different from me?

Tennessee Williams doesn't intimidate me. Arthur Miller doesn't intimidate me. Maybe it's because he's contemporary. Contemporary playwrights are very daunting to me. But that's not what this post is about at all.

This scene is extremely layered. Not that Williams and Miller aren't, but Williams and Miller are layered in ways where I can read it and go, "Yes, I know this. I know what this is about." And the layers are within me. I think this Shanley piece is about fear more than anything else. Fear of being alone and fear of being hurt. And shame. And forgiveness and connection and being trapped by life and situations. There's nothing particularly intimidating about all those things. I've managed them before and I've managed them in layers.

Why does this scare me so much? I feel like I don't have a grasp on what the heck I'm doing with this scene. In The Children's Hour I knew, the core of the scene is about shame in a hidden secret that needs forgiveness. In Dolores, I knew, the core of the scene is about the conflict between loving and hating a sibling who's majorly screwed up. I know both of those things very, very well.

I know being afraid of being alone. I know being afraid of being hurt. I've never wanted to push someone away, though, have I? From fear of being hurt? I guess I've distanced myself from people and just stopped talking to them. Making eye contact. That sort of thing. But I've never hurt them to protect myself. I know why people do it, but I don't know it. Do I?

God dammit, what do I do? What do I do with this fucking scene? I feel so detached which I guess means I'm overwhelmed. Or resisting something. I was bound to fail sometime, I guess. And Alan will help me. And I'll talk about what it feels like to hate myself and hate being alone by myself and what it feels like to think you won't even be able to have sex with your husband because you can't look at a boy you've messed around with without shame. And I'll talk about...what? I don't know.

I don't know. I guess I'll just try my best to live the question.

The question is: What is this and what do I do to be it?

We'll find out tomorrow.


* Addendum: Maybe she's scared of screwing everything up. And I know that.