Free I’m Over All That by Shirley Maclaine Page B

a square peg into a round hole . . . or hanging soap bubbles on a clothesline. There is no focus and no real curiosity in too many people. Yes, I’m over being a chatterer or the one being chattered at.

I’m Over Trusting the FDA
    I ’m over trusting the FDA if they ban the sale and manufacture of injectable vitamin C containing injectable magnesium chloride and injectable vitamin B-complex 100 . These two substances are routinely added to intravenous C to make the “Meyers Cocktail” used for conditions such as chronic fatigue syndrome, hepatitis, AIDS, mononucleosis, and flu.
    Why is the FDA doing this? Because vitamin C and magnesium and vitamin B complex can’t be patented and therefore won’t be taken through the standard FDA approval process. The approval process would have to be funded privately, which could cost billions. We need to have a choice of treatment that is not ruled by Big Pharma.

Ageing in Hollywood?! Get Over It
    I t’s good to have some modicum of self-awareness when one is faced with the reality of ageing in Hollywood. At least it makes it less lonely because you become more and more acquainted with your real longtime companion—yourself.
    So often I’ve wondered how I would define my identity if I weren’t a so-called icon, a Hollywood star of yesteryear (and sometimes now), a person whose image has been watched and whose words have been read by a shockingly great number of people. Take away all that, and who am I?
    I’ve seriously thought about this, and finally I realized that no actress ever really leaves Hollywood unless she finds God and gives up everything else. I’ve come close, but no cigar. Hollywood stars really are our American version of royalty, I suppose. Hollywood changes your DNA. You believe your own publicity. You are catered to in every possible way. You become publicly insecure because you want the public to love you, yet most of the time a successful star doesn’t feel he or she deserves that adoration. Success is not a panacea for needing to be loved. In so many ways, it is a surefire way to avoid the issue of self-love. Do we deserve love from others when we don’t even love ourselves?
    The money, the adoration, the power over others—it’s all ridiculous. The abuse of artistic freedom is scandalous. The unreal fantasy of it all renders you borderline schizophrenic. And when you get older and the phone stops ringing and you essentially are respected simply for having survived your long haul; when you are happy to do character parts as an extra added attraction in otherwise lackluster films, then you look back over the well-produced phantasmagoria of it all and ask yourself, “Did I behave reasonably well? Did I abuse my power? Did I keep many people waiting? Did I do it for money, for love, for my own personal growth, and to express my own identity?”
    My answer to these questions would be: I couldn’t not live a life of self-expression. That’s probably due to the repression of my middle-class childhood, which ignited in me the need to become different from those other folks down the block. Also, on some level, I knew I was fulfilling the thwarted dreams of both my parents. So does it all come down to family in the final analysis? Do we want to avoid living in the self-denying world that squelched our parents’ dreams?
    The real artists in Hollywoodland dare to explore their fathomless pasts in order to keep looking for who they are. Their frustration, neuroses, and bad behavior are linked directly to deep, deep insecurities, and if they can miraculously touch on a childhood terror that up to now they’ve conveniently covered up, they more than likely will produce a small or monumental masterpiece of art.
    Being involved in other people’s lives is exhausting when you’re in the twilight throes of figuring out your own life. I want to be as clear as I can about my own past and what I want for my future life. I would love to continue to act. It is fun