1. My House of Cards was Crumbling and I Had to Make a Severe Move.
I was suffering from severe depression and didn’t know what to do with my life. Then out of the blue, an opportunity landed in my lap.
Bienvenue to the 1st article in my Medium publication, Inside Me Inside Paris, a work-in-progress memoir about my 2016 deep-dive into Paris & my journey to find my soul amidst the onslaught of depression…
April 2016:
My house of cards was crumbling from under my feet. It had been crumbling for a few years now. I was entirely unhappy, except for fillers like concerts, alcohol, weed, Facebook likes and meds that weren’t really working. I forgot how to get happy. For over twenty years I ascended the film business ladder, where every single aspect of my life hinged upon, eventually realizing I was on the wrong wall. Feeling out of place, not achieving the success I thought I’d be having at this point in my life, and feeling like maybe I wasn’t wired or meant to have it — which was to experience greatness — I’d often have thoughts of leaving the Earth rather than face being mediocre.
I was driving my fiancée Julia nuts with my roller coaster moods and the black cloud that hung over me. ALL THE TIME. Even I couldn’t stand living in my own skin. I told her often that I wanted to kill myself. We were together for nine years, but because it was so hard for me to see her endure my shit, I had to break it off. Then I went to Coachella.
I’m seeing a new therapist about all of this, filling up journal upon journal with my dark morbid and depressing thoughts. I never made an active move toward suicide up to this point, but I had a few ideas about how I might pull it off and being honest about it with Julia only deepened the chasm. She was in anguish trying to help me. While she was really my only genuine family, she couldn’t help me. No one could. I just wanted to be alone to swim in my own shit. Feeling completely worthless and not caring about life. No fucking idea where I was going or where I wanted to go.
May 5, 2016: Katia and her husband Thibaud are visiting from Paris and have invited me over their Malibu AirBnB for an evening soirèe. I don’t feel like going. I want to be in my deep dark space, in bed, by myself. But I haven’t seen Katia in a long time, and with her there’s always something magically interesting that can happen, so I manage to force myself to make the one hour drive to Malibu. Totally going through the motions, completely blah.
Their AirBnB is right off the Malibu shore. A gorgeous view. Thibaud is cooking pasta and we are drinking a nice Bordeaux red wine. Katia casually mentions, “I have an apartment in Paris that is opening up in July. Do you know anyone who might want to rent it out for short-term or long-term?”
I paused. “I don’t know.” Couldn’t really think of anyone in the moment. “How long can someone live in Paris without a visa? Just curious.”
“Three months,” Katia said.
“Three months...” I took a long sip of my wine. Then, on a whim, I said: “I’ll take it.”
Thank you very much for reading this memoir I’m workshopping. I’m a writer/photographer based in Burbank, California. Some of my work is visible on my on Instagram.
