In high school, I poured everything I had and hoped for into art.
Every panic attack, every failed class, it was all kept within those precious seconds on stage, in front of the blinding lights of the house seats.
It was the only time I ever felt free. The only time I could be who I truly was, because as far as I could tell, no one else was really watching.
There are many things I miss about those moments.
But there is so much more that I don’t. Continue reading escaping “art”