How Coming Out Made Me Whole: High Maintenance’s Katja Blichfeld Tells Her Story

It was mid 2009, President Obama was in the White House, and hopefulness was noticeable all around. I'd quite recently turned 30 and knew something great was going to transpire. At a grill in Los Angeles, where I was living and missing New York, I met a gregarious man in flip-flops and a seventies ski coat, with a guarantee of enterprise in his eyes. Ben ended up being an on-screen character around the local area from the East Coast. We fortified over our affection for outline satire and pot. Two or three evenings later, we were perched on his companion's patio, viewing the night sky and conjuring up a TV pilot about a developed man as yet living with his folks. Inside months, we were sharing a Brooklyn condo, living in a delighted billow of pot smoke and family life. 

We got hitched rapidly. I loved his disrespectful diversion, and our imaginative cooperative energy held my propensity toward nervousness under control. I felt a suspicion that all is well and good with him, a feeling of family—however we were in no rush for kids. It was cooperating that gave us happiness and energy. We made two or three low-spending shorts, and one day, on a bicycle ride over the Williamsburg Bridge, we thought of a thought for High Maintenance, an arrangement about New Yorkers associated by a weed-conveyance fellow, played by Ben. I'd been functioning as a throwing chief and quickly restricted in companions and additionally on-screen characters we'd seen perform in plays and needed to know better. I'll always remember the surge of hearing a performing artist talk the words I had composed when we shot the primary scene in a Brooklyn lodging room. 

A little while later, faultfinders were focusing—even as our wedded life lost its balance. Ben and I were presently spending almost all our waking hours together, and there was an airlessness between us, a feeling of codependency, which brought strain. We began squabbling, falling into a circle of belligerence and crying and making up. At that point we'd smoke pot to numb the torment and come back to messing about and composing contents.

A couple of years into High Maintenance, when we had signed our first script deal with a cable network and I should have been celebrating, something inside me shut off. One day, I could barely get out of bed and I couldn’t stop crying. I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety all my life, but this was different. Ben and my best friend, Russell, called a therapist and practically dragged me to her office. Between doses of Wellbutrin and my regular sessions, I was able to function. And yet a sense of dread lingered in the background of my thoughts like white noise.

Around this time, Ben was getting to be something of a Brooklyn big name. When we rode the tram or went out for supper, individuals would approach him, and I remained off to the side. He was the substance of our expert association, while a large portion of my work occurred in the background. Had I been in a more beneficial mentality, his acknowledgment wouldn't have disturbed me. All things considered, building up Ben's acting vocation was a piece of what we'd initially embarked to do. However I began to feel undetectable. One night I went out with a movie producer I'd met at a gathering. We discussed a potential joint effort over a greater number of beverages than I get a kick out of the chance to concede. It was late when we cleared out the bar, a chilly spring night. Rather than going home, I took after her into her taxi, and without precedent for a long time, I wound up in bed with a lady.
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