Treehouse: Actor Reveals: 'They Did Me Dirty in High School, Now I Meditate and Organize My Contacts by Hype Level
You know, I graduated high school and all hell broke loose. But honestly?
It broke loose before that.
My entire class did me dirty. I’m talking about the kind of betrayal that makes you question everything you thought you knew about people, about loyalty, about who’s really in your corner when it matters. And I didn’t stick around to watch the aftermath. I ran. Straight to Los Angeles. Packed my shit and left the South behind like it was burning.
And out here? I started adapting this more… spiritual persona. Meditation. Manifestation. Crystals, maybe. The whole LA thing, right? Trying to find peace in the chaos, trying to center myself, trying to become this evolved version of who I was. But yeah, that’s not going to change or erase how they did me in high school. It doesn’t rewrite history. It doesn’t make what happened hurt any less. Oh well. That’s the reality. You can sage your apartment all you want, but some scars don’t just disappear because you’re burning incense and sitting cross-legged on a meditation cushion.
I’m from the South, where people smile to your face and stab you in the back with the same hand they use to wave at church on Sunday. So maybe I was training for this industry my whole life and didn’t even know it. Because out here? It’s the same game, just with better lighting and bigger budgets.
Meditating seems to help. Or not. Some days I sit there and I actually feel something—like I’m tapping into some higher frequency, some version of myself that’s above all the bullshit. Other days I’m just sitting there, eyes closed, replaying every moment from senior year, every whisper, every turned back, every person who chose the crowd over me. And I’m supposed to just… let it go? Breathe through it? Sure. I’ll try. But forgiveness isn’t mandatory, and forgetting isn’t possible.
Here’s what I do know—I’m also a writer. I’ve got scripts. I’ve got stories. I’ve got a voice that people tried to silence back home, and now I’m out here making sure it’s the loudest thing in the room. I’m auditioning. I’m in rooms with producers, with casting directors, with people who can actually do something. And if these producers don’t want to give me my own show, I’m going to pitch it myself. I’m going to star in it myself. I’m going to create the exact opportunity they said I wasn’t ready for.
And pertaining to relationships? I’m not in high school anymore. Thank God. But I learned my lesson. My friendships and relationships are transactional now. So much so that I have folders in my contacts—Parties, Library, Stylists, Auditions, Producers. It’s organized. It’s intentional. Them being around my energy is dependent on them sustaining their hype. If something goes wrong on their end—if they lose momentum, if they show me they’re not serious, if they give me even a hint of that high school energy—I don’t need to be fucking with them anymore. Sorry for the profanity, but this industry requires a hardball mentality. And I came pre-equipped, courtesy of everyone who thought they could break me back home.
So yeah, I ran off to Los Angeles. I’m just starting out in acting and modeling. I’m meditating, or trying to. I’m adapting, evolving, becoming. But I’m not pretending that any of this erases the past. It doesn’t. What it does do is give me fuel. It gives me a reason to succeed so loudly that everyone who did me dirty has to hear about it whether they want to or not.
I’m building something here. Something that’s mine. Something they can’t touch, can’t ruin, can’t take from me. And if they don’t want to give me a seat at the table? I’ll build my own damn table. I’ve done harder things than that.