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And all that time I was lying to my support group. I told the ladies, “Sure! I’m writing!” when I wasn’t. Yes, I could have filled all those newfound minutes with actual work, but I had no confidence in myself. I was a fraud. Who was I to pick up a pen and expect anything good to come out of it? I expected perfection as soon as the pencil hit the paper, and since that’s impossible, I couldn’t get myself to start. Then I felt guilty about not starting, which made me want to start even less. And with no game to bury the feelings, I got very depressed. No wonder I didn’t book any acting jobs in the last half of 2006. No one wanted to hire a clinically depressed person to sell snack foods.
