Invisible

I feel invisible. Here in LA, the only time someone pays you attention is if you’re already successful; or seem so. While this may seem like a stereotype, it has largely proven true. Social networking is dictated by what you can do for someone else.

Most of my days spent outside of a dull office job are spent writing, doing coverage for friends or occasionally working on set. Since I moved to LA, I’ve written more than ever. While that’s great, it’s also sort of isolating. Creating so much can also feel exhausting when you come down from the high of an intensive writing session. I look up from my computer in the local coffee shop, and nobody is even paying me attention. I am just another coffee shop writer in a city full of such writers. I walk home, along Sunset Boulevard and truly feel like just another broken dream.

Few look at me like they did in NY, or especially Paris (where I was considered very conventionally attractive with my pale complexion, light green eyes & dark brown hair). Nobody talks to me at bars or shows when I try to make a social effort. In fact, last night I sat at a table all alone until the bar tender took pity on me and engaged me in conversation. Making matters worse, I am a 6 in a sea of available and DTF 10s. Men do not ever say anything to me beyond “where’s the bathroom.” I have grown more introverted because I feel invisible, fragile and so alone. Half those who committed to attend my birthday flaked on me- par for the course in LA. You’re cool until someone finds better plans. I remain grateful for those who did show up but I can’t be clingy and expect to be with them at all times. I need to branch out.

But how do you meet people in a city where socialization is based not on common interest but on what you can do for someone else? I am not wealthy or connected. While I think I have a lot to offer both potential friends, partners or professionals, my social currency is less valuable in LA. I’m not a good enough bull shit artist to succeed here in that respect. I’m a straight shooter riding along a curvy road, and one that feels destined to terminate at a dead end.

LA feels like a dead end. It feels hopeless on most days but I still get up and write. I read over my work and know that I am good enough to be here. Even if I am invisible. Even if I am socially worth less at the moment. Even if I am not important enough to socialize with those I have common interests with (like my former mentor or other friends I made in the industry). I am flaked on all the time by industry folks & managers who pretend to be interested in me and my career only to find someone better. If LA were a single disorder, it’d be ADHD. Yet I keep writing, keep trying to make this work.

I may be invisible, but that’s all I’ll ever be if I don’t try to be something more. I’m good enough to be here. I’m not going anywhere until someone else out here realizes that too.

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