Throughout my entire school years, I was bullied. School wasn’t a good time for me. I used to go to sleep and wake up with pangs of anxiety. I felt sick — not in the vomity, upset-stomach kind of way — but with that deep gut feeling that today would just be another of the many I’d already endured.
When I got to high school, there was a lesson on my timetable called “Drama.” I didn’t know what it entailed. Just another subject, I thought. Dutifully, I attended.
We walked into the “classroom.” No chairs, no tables — just an open space, and a very excitable teacher, Mrs. Downs. She would become one of my favourites. Absolutely bonkers.
We sat down, and she explained what drama — or performing arts — was, what was expected of us, etc. etc. Then she threw us straight into our first of what would be countless improvs.
Those lessons were a literal escape for me… from me. In those improvs, I was someone else. I was spoken to like someone else. I was treated like someone else. No bullying. No judgement. Just absolute bliss.
I loved it so much that I’d “wag” school — but still turn up for performing arts before sneaking off again.
Mrs. Downs left after Year 7, and in came Mrs. Guy. I didn’t take to her at first — probably because I was so attached to Mrs. Downs — but I soon came around. She was equally as bonkers, and even allowed swearing… brilliant.
Around Year 8, I got introduced to The Citadel, a youth theatre in my town. Every Thursday night, 6 to 7, I think it was — extending to every night of the week as performance night drew near. Now, not only did I get to escape the bullying at school, but I also got to escape the realities of home.
Performing arts was a lifeline for me. It was the making of me. Everything I am now came from those years in performing arts — a space where Karl was cool, where Karl had real friends, a space where Karl had HIS people.
Performing arts doesn’t hold the same place in my life anymore — I don’t need it like I did then. But spaces like that, for people like me — lessons like that, where someone can step outside their reality even just for an hour — can sometimes be the only respite they get.
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