The “Subscribathon!” was an excellent encapsulation of what that first year of running a business did to me.
On the outside, from 2012 through 2013, I was on top of the world. Privately, I collapsed completely. I was trying to juggle too much (running Geek & Sundry, maintaining an acting career, keeping up with the electric bill to keep my cats cool, and remembering to call my grandma EVER). And sure, the overwork contributed to it, but the real thing that made my world fall apart was the realization that season six of The Guild, which we produced with Geek & Sundry, needed to be the last.
The momentum of the show had stalled between moving from Xbox to YouTube. MMO video games and World of Warcraft had dipped in popularity. The show released months later than it should have because I didn’t have the bandwidth to make it faster. All those factors impacted the fans. And views. Which in turn, made it hard to ask someone to fund a seventh season at a price point that had become unrealistic in the “Everyone has a web series in their garages now!” market.
The project had started to wind down.
Problem was, I had focused myopically on The Guild for six years. My work was my life. Conversations at parties I attended during those years went something like this:
“Hey, Felicia! Haven’t seen you in a while!”
“Yeah, I’ve been working.”
“You’re the hardest-working person I know.”
“I know!”
“Seen any movies?”
“No.”
“Any TV?”
“Not really.”
“Have you checked out my new web show?”
“No. But I’m finishing a new season of The Guild! It’s great, Codex goes to—”
“Sorry to interrupt, I have to get a drink.”
I understood. I thought I was a total bore, too.
Work-play balance is, in retrospect, something that can EASILY get out of whack. Especially if you’re self-employed, you never turn it off. Your fate is in your own hands, so you can’t let up. Taking a weekend away for your birthday? Is your present to yourself RUINING YOUR LIFE?! I don’t think I could have achieved what I did with The Guild if I didn’t have an insane-woman drive, but I made the mistake of transferring my self-worth wholly and completely. I was so excited that I’d found fulfilling work that I BECAME it. Felicia Day WAS The Guild.
There wasn’t a day or night for six years where I wasn’t obsessed with my show. Let’s see what people are thinking on Twitter. And Facebook and Tumblr. Then I’ll check the forums. Yikes, we’re due for another music video, better start writing. Damnit, I forgot to send out the newsletter. And did that contract for the DVD close yet? Why is the website down?! On and on and on. When it looked like the show might end for good, you’d think I’d have been ecstatic. “Yeah! Mojitos for a year!” Instead, I panicked. Because I was facing a world where there’d be nothing of ME left.
That anxiety, plus the stress from working too hard on my start-up, pushed me to the edge of my own mind. I know that sounds after-school-special dramatic, but seriously, guys, I lost it. Big-time.
It wasn’t the first time I’d struggled with depression and anxiety. At the height of The Guild success in 2010, after season three and our viral “Do You Wanna Date My Avatar” music video, I sat down to write the next season and cried for four months straight. The pressure of everyone’s praise got to me. Not in a “Wow, they like what I did! Let’s do more!” way, but in a “Wow, they like what I did. People are expecting great things now. I don’t know what to give them to top it. Let me curl up and die now, please!” way.
I love it when people tell me I’m doing the wrong thing, or that something isn’t possible, or just straight dismiss me. That lights my fire in a perverse way, like a two-year-old who deliberately touches the hot stove after you tell them not to. But compliment me or expect something big? That’s the perfect way to destroy my confidence. There’s a crazy people pleaser inside me screaming, They won’t like you if you mess up. You set the bar too high. They’re all waiting for you to fail! And you’re definitely going to. Good luck, stupidhead!
I gave myself horrendous writer’s block and almost ended the show because of my depression. Season four got written, but the ugly way, like too many layers of nail polish piled on top of each other. I’d start writing, then throw everything out and start from scratch. Over and over again. (Any writing book will tell you this is the WORST THING TO DO. I’ll reinforce it here: don’t do that.) Every time I’d get halfway through the script, I’d panic.
I don’t know what Bladezz is doing here, I don’t think the storyline makes sense. I’ll have Codex get the job instead. But that breaks my whole outline. What do I do now? I don’t have any ideas!