My Puppet and I Are Here to Help Get You Through This: Mental Health and Creativity in a Pandemic
Laura Kay, Features Writer
Niki Hatzidis, Features Editor
September 2016
I’ve just been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. After years of my mental illness running rampant, I finally have a concrete diagnosis. I’ve just survived three years of grad school undiagnosed. I’ve muscled through countless breakdowns, close calls, and destroyed relationships. For the first time in my life, I finally feel a sense of clarity: I can get help.
As an actor, there is a pervasive idea that acting = suffering. I remember being told once by a fellow actor that they refused to take any medication for their mental illness because “they wanted to be able to access their pain.” I listened to that actor when I was young and naive and thought the same thing: I cannot be healthy and be an artist. Because I needed my pain in order to be “good.” I need to suffer to create something worthwhile.
When I wasn’t treating my mental illness, I wasn’t able to fully do anything, let alone hack it as a professional actor in NYC. I can’t tell you how many auditions I didn’t make it to because of a panic attack, or because I couldn’t bring myself to shower. I can’t tell you how difficult it was to walk in the room and display any level of confidence. I was unwell, and people could tell.
March 2020
I’m sitting in the conference room at Foresight Theatrical, the Broadway General Management company where I work as a Management Assistant. The Broadway League has just announced that Broadway will be shut down through April 12, and we’re planning a mandatory “work-from-home-trial-day” for tomorrow. Just to test our remote systems in the event of a larger shutdown or a stay-at-home order issued by the Governor.
A month without Broadway? Yikes. I think about my upcoming auditions for regional productions and the ones I had just been to--what would happen to those shows? Would they be postponed?
After work, I tell my co-workers I’ll see them on Wednesday. I go to the grocery store. I buy soup and toilet paper. And ramen. I ride the subway. It’s half-empty. I’m still convinced that things will be back to normal soon.
Early April 2020
I still haven’t gone back to work. And as the pandemic wears on, the Broadway shutdown extends again, and I stay holed up in my Brooklyn studio apartment with my cat, I am acutely aware that this is a terrifying time to be an artist.
There’s a tickle in my brain telling me to do something. To create something. But what?
I’m now taking medication for my BPD, and have been for several years. It took time to find the right combination and dosage, but now I’m on a regimen that works. Over the course of the past year or two, I took the time to learn about self-care. I read books. I saw a therapist. I started to amass a library of journals and self-care workbooks. I’ve let go of the idea that all art depends on the suffering of the artist. Some of it can, and some of it does. But mine doesn’t have to.
Everyone’s doing Zoom play readings. Broadway actors are teaching classes online and performing from their living rooms. I feel grateful for opportunities to meet digitally with Casting Directors and pop in on seminars and learn new things about the industry.
But, the creative bug still nags at me.
I talk to one of my best friends every day, and she’s worried. Her roommates have left NYC for the pandemic and she’s alone for the first time ever. She’s experiencing anxiety attacks. Another friend calls and tells me she lost her job and her health insurance and worries that she won’t be able to get her antidepressants or see her therapist.
I have a pink puppet named Petunia that sits on my bookshelf. I think to myself, “I should practice puppetry, I have the time.”
And then, it all comes together: I can make something! I know exactly what I’m going to make! It’s like the muses have smiled upon me. I can hear angels singing. I cry with joy. I go to my computer and start to write. I write 5 little episodes of a web series called “Petunia’s Playhouse.” Each episode is about a different self-care technique. And the whole time I’m thinking: people will listen to a puppet! If I can boil down these techniques to bare essentials, make them easy to access and practice, people might actually do them. And they might actually feel better.
Late April 2020
Now the fun part: how do I film a series in self-isolation? First and foremost, I need a set. I pat myself on the back for being a packrat and start pulling things out of drawers. I make stuff out of construction paper. I need tape. I write it on my supply list for my next store run but start to think of what else I can use in the meantime.
Then there’s the conundrum of filming: If I’m puppeteering, I need a monitor so I can see the puppet. I eventually find an app that connects my iPhone to my iPad and uses the iPad as a monitor and control center. I build my set, complete with backdrop. It’s too short. I can’t crouch behind it. I have a good cry about it.
I rebuild the set using a taller shelf in my apartment. I set up my command center. My cat knocks over the backdrop and everything goes flying everywhere. I reset. I take a breath. I give Petunia a hug. I tell my cat that I’m going to put her in jail if she doesn’t behave (where is jail? Unknown. But the threat seems ominous enough to get her to stop).
After I film the first episode, I have to learn how to edit it. I download Premiere Pro and watch YouTube videos on how to actually use the software. I accidentally delete the whole episode. My friend teaches me how to recover it and we share a good laugh. I learn how to do voice over on the fly.
Suddenly, my empty days are full of purpose. My apartment is a disaster as the set remains half-built, ready for future filming.
May 2020
The first two episodes of Petunia’s Playhouse are out in the world, and three more are on the way. I’m making future plans. I feel accomplished and incredibly proud of myself, and I realize something: I never could’ve done this if I didn’t put in all that work for all those years to get healthy mentally.
If I wasn’t in control of my mental illness, I would’ve given up at the first setback, or worse--the tiniest mistake would’ve triggered a downward spiral that would have lasting consequences.
The shut-down wears on, but I’m happy to be spreading a message of self-care and positivity during a time where I so easily could’ve reverted to old behavior. I hope others watch the series, heed its message, and find comfort in it. Or feel inspired to create something.
Most importantly, I hope those who need help seek it, and find strength in taking that first step towards mental health.
Watch Petunia’s Playhouse here, and visit the show’s website for mental health resources, helpful apps, and self-care book recommendations.
Laura Kay is an actor, writer, puppeteer & content creator in NYC. You can learn more about her at www.l-kay.com or by following her on Instagram @laurakay813