Me Too

Usually when I'm going to write something, I write it from what feels to be a spontaneous and unplanned place. This one is different. To be honest, I feel my heart pounding a little faster and I honestly feel scared to write what I am about to write.

Since the Weinstein horrors have been surfacing I have kind of been undesirably forced to look at the parts of my past that resonate with the sour notes being played by these public revelations on some of the realities of the world of show business.

What I am mostly scared about, is not about telling the truth about some of the resonating things that I have been through, but what I am more scared about is the lack of caring and the negative reactions that I might get for publicly divulging how I have been a victim of sleazeballs that were not respectful of my naive and youthful mind, brain and body.

Lucky for me, I've always had the makings of a strong and self-protective soul that for whatever reason knows its worth and value. Unlucky for me, that was only a latent potential that wasn't always as realized as it is now.

Normally, I am of the folks that chooses to go with the classic deep denial line of "I don't care what people think about me" style of portraying myself, but the consideration of even writing this note is challenging that protective layer of denial. Again, I am scared of what people will think about me when they read this. Even worse, I am scared that people won't even read this.

And that's a clue into one of my primary fears. The fear that no one really cares about me. The fear that people will call me a drama queen. The fear that people will tell me that I am only sharing this because I have nothing else going on in my life and that I am doing it for attention. The fear of people thinking that I am just doing this to jump on the hip #metoo wagon. The fear that I'll be blamed or punished in any way for revealing what I am about to reveal. The fear that I am going to be accused of writing in a way in which I believe myself to be more important than I am and that I am just manipulating people into caring about me. And believe me, I cold go on with the list of fears. But I won't. I won't thanks to Anthony Rapp daring to go forth in sharing his story.

I will, however, explain a little bit of why I feel so afraid: First, because I am thoroughly trained in expecting people to belittle the pain of most of my vulnerable confessions, especially when they are not seen as a "good enough" reason to be stirred by the event. Second, because for whatever reason I feel that people only care about popular or renowned people. Regular folks like me have no business publicly sharing stuff like this because it doesn't serve anything other than playing a victim and making everyone around uncomfortable. That kind of public confession should be reserved to celebrities, because underneath it all, we regular people just don't matter enough.

Well today I am deciding, as I have been deciding little by little for all of my life, that I matter enough to share my story. And here it is...

Pardon the redundancy, but due to a large combination of events, along with my temperament, personality and life experiences, I was a teenager that arrived at the point of profoundly feeling like I really didn't matter. It's a long story, which I am open to talking about, and in fact have been for most of my life, but without much success in creating many significant and mature dialogues about it.

I always loved to sing. It was one of the few things that made me feel important and like I mattered at least a little bit. Whenever I would sing as a kid on my family summer vacations, my uncles and cousins would praise my voice. Not so much because it was great, but because they just thought everything that their visiting cousin did was cool. But it didn't matter, I loved to sing and I wanted to believe that I was good. Which honestly, I kind of was, except I couldn't keep up with the singing stars of my youth, my voice would horribly crack when I attempted to sing the really high and loud notes. But again, it didn't matter, I was still celebrated.

Those summer vacations, and a handful of oohs and aaahs as a reaction from strangers hearing me sing, made me feel like I had a gift. But even beyond that, I really, really just loved to sing and I kind of liked the way I made myself feel when I would sing my favorite songs as a child.

Long story short, the combination of my love of singing and my idea that few others thought I was good along with my feeling of not mattering because I was nobody, led me to a path of pursuing a career in which I believed I was going to be an important international singing superstar. I decided that to matter I had to be famous and that to be famous I had to study singing and acting in college.

So I did.

Come to find out, I really wasn't as good as I thought. I mean, I was, but I was not experienced enough and lacked the confidence in the face of reality. I went from being one of the only people who could sing in a small suburb in the Dominican Republic, to being one among many who had been playing the leading roles in their high school musicals. Something that the pretty much none of the high schools I had attended down in the Dominican Republic had.

So I went from being a big fish in a little pond, to being a small fish in a much bigger pond. And I didn't even go to a big or well-known school. In fact, I ended up going to a school that very few people know and that to this day has a relatively small theater and music department.

My first audition to get in the musical was horrendous. I was so nervous, clueless and insecure that I basically screamed the whole song, rolled my eyes to myself the whole time and was incredibly awkward in my entrance and exit. There was nothing I gave that said "promising," at least in my eyes.

But I'm not the type of person that tanks something and then goes "oh well, this must not be for me." Fortunately I have a little more perseverance than that. And I also have days when I can admit that I am responsible for my failures. And this was one of those days. I knew I had tanked my audition and I didn't really expect to get a part in the musical of my freshman semester. I had a feeling my name would not be on the callback or casting list on the days to come.

I accepted my defeat gracefully and when the musical went on, I of course went to see it. I loved it so much I wrote a great review for it. It had been so nice to see all these people up there doing what I always wanted to be doing. Singing for an applause. Singing for recognition. Singing for the sake of loving singing. I wanted to do that so bad. And I was so proud and happy for them to have done that for themselves.

Fast forward to my second semester in college, and I had already made some progress, definitely not enough to be in these musicals either, but enough to be in the ensemble of the children's musicals, which I didn't even make. To this day, I don't know if it had anything to do with my horrendous first impression or if it had to do with there not being enough room for me. The point is, I was involved in the shows as a stage hand and although I was dying to be a member of the performing cast, I was happy to be so up and close with the whole cast. I was a silent, yet also often vocal cheerleader wishing all the performers the best and admiring the work they did as actors, dancers and singers. I was fully collaborating and participating in the productions, but still silently struggled with my sense of not mattering, especially since I was nothing but a stage hand. So I know how it feels for people who have jobs that people consider menial. Especially when it's paired with the level of low self-worth and self-esteem that I was silently struggling with. It's not pretty, but you push through it and "you do for the love of others what you wouldn't do for yourself" as someone I respect very much says.

Now it's next year, I'm a sophomore now - I've had a whole summer to get better, a whole summer to work on my singing, my acting, not much on my dancing, because I never though that was going to happen for me so I didn't bother much, but it didn't matter, because many leading roles, which were what I wanted did not require dancing. Well, many except the one that we put on that year which was a heavy tap dancing show. Needless to say, I didn't get a lead. But guess what? I made it into the tap-dancing ensemble because they didn't have enough men! Something that any small theater school attendee knows all about. Most of these people are women. And the guys either don't sing, don't dance at all or don't really strive to get into musicals.

So there I was, tap dancing through rehearsals, scared shitless, half dissociated, and extremely uncomfortable trying to push through my total inability to tap dance. It was embarrassing. Not that many people noticed, because if the school I went to was good at something, it was at reinforcing my sense of loneliness and not-matteringness that I had already been going through. Like many theater youngsters, most of these people where fixated on themselves. If I have more than three stories in the banks of my memory of a fellow thespian noticing my struggles and offering me help, I'd be shocked. But maybe they were there and I missed them in my cloud of self-loathing and phony confidence. I don't know.

At this time, my school had three major theater authorities, Laura, who was my favorite. Milton, who was the Academy Award Winning celebrity professor of acting, and Phil who was in charge of the musicals. There was also Christy, from the music department. At the time, she played the piano for auditions. And incidentally, she had rejected me in my entry audition for the school, on the basis of me not even knowing the most basic of music notation. By the way, Laura was the one who accepted me into the school as an Acting student, she even got me a partial scholarship based on my talent.

I hate this part in writing, when I feel like I am about to get to the meat of what I want to share, and I find myself meandering and losing steam. But I am doing my best here to push through. The inner saboteur keeps telling me to scrap all of this and just go for that walk that I intended to go on before I stopped on the way out to start writing this. But I know this aspect of me too well, and I will push through and get what I need to off my chest. Because I matter, dammit.

If my memory doesn't fail me, it is now the second semester of my sophomore year, around the time of auditions for the season's shows. Milton, the one that gets away with telling me in front of the whole class that I look like a bum, that is asking me what the fuck I am doing, gets in the bathroom where I am going to pee and locks the door behind him. This creepy, intimidating, namedropping and crass figure is now directly behind me, slides his hand across my chest through the inside of the top of my shirt and says "Oh Gabriel!" in the creepiest possible way. I can't remember if he kissed my neck or not, but I am pretty sure he did. I had no clue of what to do. I wasn't as scared as I was paralyzed and shocked. I had no idea what to do other than to say "Milton! What are you doing?" to which he reacted with a smile first, and then by stepping back when he saw how unwelcome he was. I was grossed out. I told some of my peers and they had not much more of a reaction than "Really? What the fuck?" which was pretty much all I wanted at the time. So it was all good. Or so I thought. But I don't think so. I don't think I'm OK with what happened that day. I can tell because as I wrote that, I feel my body flooded with adrenaline and disdain and anger. I was violated that day and that was not OK.

Was I an adult? Yes. Did I keep it from going further? Yes. Was this still assault and violation? Yes. I wasn't consenting. I was a vulnerable student and this man took advantage. I am disgusted as I write this, because I would never want something like this to happen to anyone else under similar circumstances. It's abuse of power, it's crossing a boundary and it's not OK.

And I wish I could stop there. But Phil, the married man, who I hope is now healthier and more mature also made a pass at me. In some ways even worse because he kissed me on the lips in the small costume room by the black box theater in which the first musical that I wrote the review for took place. This other creep, who I hope with all my heart is now reformed, used to make inappropriate remarks into my ear about details of my sex life that I would regrettably share with a peer with a big mouth at the time and then he would disgustingly lick the inside of my ear. He did this once or twice, I can't really remember, but he did it once and that was bad enough.

The incident in the costume room happened shortly before auditions took place too. I don't know if that was just a coincidence or these power abusers just knew that the students were more vulnerable around that time because they wanted to get in the shows so bad or what the case was, but whatever the case was. He made some inappropriate remark, he was married and had introduced all of us to his husband whom he "loved" and would tell sweet jokes about, he knew I had a girlfriend and he still took advantage of a time when we were alone and he reached in to kiss me. I kissed him back out of feeling cornered and also dying to get a leading role and I immediately realized what I had done and retreated. Remorse set in instantly and I felt cheap and horrible for longer than I suspect I allowed myself to admit to myself.

I survived most of my teens and twenties by way of dissociation and denial. And I know I am not alone in this which is part of why I am sharing these experiences with all of you. I thought I wasn't impacted but again, I feel a rush of adrenaline and what I suspect to be a cocktail of brain chemicals releasing the suppressed trauma. So in that way, I hope this ends up to be a healing experience and not one of further trauma.

I ask that if you are helped or relate to this story or know anyone who would, that you share that with me and that you share it with anyone else. And if you went to school with me and went through anything similar, that you be brave and share with me either in public or in private so that I can feel less alone in these things. This really wasn't fun and although I wouldn't say this is the reason why I've backed off tremendously from pursuing a career as an actor and singer in show business, I have to admit that these experiences have had a negative impact on my view of the industry. Especially now with all the Weinstein stuff.

It's a power abuse issue, it's a corruption issue, it's pervasive in all fields where humans are involved. And I know that. I hate that I constantly feel like I have to defend my right to express what I've been through by working really hard for not wanting to come off as a victim. "I know I am not alone in this," "I know this issue is pervasive in all industries," "I know that fill in the blank with a statement that makes me sound like less of a victim and makes me sound like my sharing is not just for the service of my own ego." All of those caveats and statement qualifiers are stemming from the same issue that I began talking about in all of this. That feeling of not mattering, of not being important, of not being worthy. It's a horrible disease that I know most of us struggle through, and this time I don't say that to soften the blow that I might be giving to those who feel uncomfortable by my sharing, but more because I know it to be true now that I am in the position of being a teacher who has power. A power that I respect and treat with great caution because I know how prone to abuse it we are. And that is why I tread very cautiously with my students and I do everything I can to make them feel safe, seen, important and respected. So if there is a silver lining to all of this, it might be that. I don't know.

Lastly, at the risk of sounding contradictory, I wouldn't want to pretend like I have never made anyone feel uncomfortable or hurt anybody or been abusive of any power I might have in any given circumstance, but I do want to say that I find it extremely important that we all share with loved ones the things that we go through and the things that we feel we put each other through. People can't read our minds and unless we share what is happening in there, no one can know.

That is why I do this too. So that people can know. And sometimes it’s not easy. These two accounts I shared happened well over a decade ago. So I understand all these actors and actresses coming out now sharing their stories on the heels of the bravery of each other. Another reason why I think it's important to share your story. You never know who you might be inspiring.

OK, I think it's time for that walk now. I need it.

Thanks for listening.