This is one of the most difficult, most distressing, most desperately secret things I have dealt with over the last four years. It is almost impossible for me to put into words, and even more unimaginable that anyone would understand - however I do now feel that I need to put it into a format that my friends may be able to comprehend - to speak out and be bold, as I have done during the course of my recovery from a debilitating and destructive mental illness, and in doing so take this overshadowing fear of what was, and try to see what could be instead.
I was a dancer, at the start of my career. That's what I wanted to be, from watching Cats at ten years old, and for a long time it seemed like the only option available to me. I couldn't sing for toffee, and knew nothing at all about acting. But dancing was fun, and people told me I was good at it - Baby Perfectionist Me liked to be told she was good at things - and I could see myself going far with it.
I don't remember when it stopped being fun. Probably around the same time I started to forget how to be happy - impossible to pinpoint an exact moment. It was gradual, and dependent on circumstance. If I got everything right, AND was pointed out by the teacher as the end of the class, it was my true calling in life and the best thing in the world and I was almost happy. If I got everything right and did not get pointed out at the end, I'd panic. I hadn't worked hard enough, clearly I was secretly rubbish and people were just being polite. You can imagine how I felt on an off day, when I forgot moves, fell out of my turns and bumped into everyone around me.
Depression makes no exceptions. It's grasp reaches everything. To begin with - when you first realise there is a problem - it feels like there isn't a way out. There isn't a happy place, no respite from self-loathing, and there is nothing - nothing in the world - that will bring you joy. And if there is - well, then you don't deserve it.
I turned my joy into self-harm. It's still difficult for me to call it that - but that was what it was. I knew where to hurt myself most - in my dance lessons. I would consciously, deliberately, look in the mirror and loath. I would look at other people and say "if you were any good, you'd look like them." I would set myself impossible goals and constantly tell myself how awful I was, because I was utterly convinced that that was what I deserved.
When I left college, and had my first major meltdown, I stopped everything. I didn't go anywhere near a stage for about a year. Things crept back into place slowly - singing was always going to take a while - but I've been so incredibly lucky to have worked on some of the shows on my CV. I'm beginning to find my feet as an actress - which, in truth, is where my strength and longevity as an artists lies.
Dancing frightens me. I could give you a thousand excuses to not go to class, and it's really because I'm utterly terrified. It frightens me because I know how wonderful I could feel while dancing, and it frightens me because I know how cruel I can be to myself. I cannot fully concentrate on the dance itself, when I'm in class now. I'm constantly monitoring my mental state. Altering cruel thoughts, becoming aware of when my old Am Dram teacher pops up to tell me how terrible I've become and how disappointed she is, and conjuring bouncers to forcibly remove her from the room. Years of developing a certain mental attitude when I walked into a dance class is going to take twice that time to undo. I'm determined, though to do it. I want my joy back. And I want it back unconditionally. I want to not be the best dancer in the world...and love it anyway.
I recently bought myself my first ever Month membership to Pineapple. I promised myself to only do classes I liked. I love theatre Jazz. I know the music, I can assume a character, it's fairly simple but full of life. I feel like I did - like I should. One day I will get that back with tap, jazz technique, ballet, all the things that used to bring me joy. I am confident that the love is still there - and when I uncover it, it will have been worth every agonizing, exhausting, courageous minute.
Monday, 30 March 2015
Monday, 9 March 2015
The Artist's Way Week Five check in
Another very long and very stressful week, but I managed to keep on top of my exercises this time! Hooray!
And my goodness, am I noticing some changes! I do still have my panics, but when I do, the recovery is quicker - I am becoming more assertive, more clear about what my boundaries are, I have a higher level of respect for myself and my wellbeing. Last week I really felt the morning pages were a bit of a chore and while that has happened a couple of times this week, on the whole I felt they were a productive outlet and helped me get my head together for the day ahead. I missed one day. I got in to my friend's house at 1am from Gainsborough and got up at 5.40 for work - the maximum lie in I could allow myself. I tried to do the pages at work but it's hard to free-think when you have a bulletin scheduled every 5 minutes.
I almost missed my artist's date. I need to protect this time more! I went to a restaurant and had wine and ice cream - I also took my artist on a bus ride on the top deck at the front. It was glorious. Massage is booked for next week.
I have been using my prayer and affirmations, when I remember, and I have to say they have had a profound effect on my general level of peacefulness. I do feel better about myself when I have done my affirmations, in particular, and if I'm feeling anxious at night speaking my prayer aloud helps to dispel any worries or lurking panics that may stop me sleeping. I may make some post-it notes with a suggested morning/evening routine on them and stick them by my bed to help me remember that these things do actually help.
My creative ambitions are becoming clearer, more solidified. I am having more thoughts about my Fundraiser in particular, and beginning to wonder more about the Peter Pan adaptation. I need to start actioning these things - a project-in-action to do list, if you will - and just get the ball rolling with these!
And my goodness, am I noticing some changes! I do still have my panics, but when I do, the recovery is quicker - I am becoming more assertive, more clear about what my boundaries are, I have a higher level of respect for myself and my wellbeing. Last week I really felt the morning pages were a bit of a chore and while that has happened a couple of times this week, on the whole I felt they were a productive outlet and helped me get my head together for the day ahead. I missed one day. I got in to my friend's house at 1am from Gainsborough and got up at 5.40 for work - the maximum lie in I could allow myself. I tried to do the pages at work but it's hard to free-think when you have a bulletin scheduled every 5 minutes.
I almost missed my artist's date. I need to protect this time more! I went to a restaurant and had wine and ice cream - I also took my artist on a bus ride on the top deck at the front. It was glorious. Massage is booked for next week.
I have been using my prayer and affirmations, when I remember, and I have to say they have had a profound effect on my general level of peacefulness. I do feel better about myself when I have done my affirmations, in particular, and if I'm feeling anxious at night speaking my prayer aloud helps to dispel any worries or lurking panics that may stop me sleeping. I may make some post-it notes with a suggested morning/evening routine on them and stick them by my bed to help me remember that these things do actually help.
My creative ambitions are becoming clearer, more solidified. I am having more thoughts about my Fundraiser in particular, and beginning to wonder more about the Peter Pan adaptation. I need to start actioning these things - a project-in-action to do list, if you will - and just get the ball rolling with these!
Sunday, 1 March 2015
The Artist's Way Week Four Check in
Well! Two weeks later, I'm eventually at the end of week Four. I am gaining so much more clarity in terms of what it is my life is made of - I'm slowly losing the sense that there is too much going on, that I can't achieve what I want - I can see more clearly where I want to be, where I WILL be in a few years time.
Once again I completed all my morning pages. At first I tend to think "Ugh this takes so long, they're not doing anything" and then I get past the superficial talk of how tired I am and the things I'm grumpy about, and get to some big realisations about how I really feel about things. It's such a relief to be able to write like that and not have anyone want to look at it or analyze it, or even to know I don't have to read it back myself.
I didn't do an artist's date, for I am a naughty human. I did try to give myself time to have some peace - quiet walks without music in (limiting music was part of my reading deprivation), keeping my train journeys for watching out of the window instead of working, and I have noticed a big shift in my attitude to the need for peaceful time in my day. It was a long and stressful week but I don't think I got as wound up as I would have normally done - I felt more aware of why I was feeling down or anxious and thus was able to address it straight away.
I'm going to start to eat better. That was my "thing that I haven't changed yet." It's a comfort thing, it's an insecurity thing, it's a fear-of-nothing-changing thing, but I am so fed up of never feeling completely physically well. I had a lot of "I can't do this any more" realisations this week, in particular with regard to carrying instruments/stands/costume around on public transport. I am very close do doing my back in and I really can't let myself do that any more. Once I'm able to drive it will be fine - until then I need to think more carefully about what I'm prepared to carry about.
Ah, but the reading deprivation was HARD! I caught myself out SO many times, especially with Facebook, of all the useless things. I do like to read the odd article when they come up. I think what I need to do is allow myself some internet time, 30mins each couple of days perhaps, or even less, simply scrolling and reading buzzfeed articles. If I know there's time set for it, I'll be less inclined to do it.
I cleared out my wardrobe, too, and threw away more than I ever have done before. I am really looking forward to swapping in my winter clothes for summer and buying a couple of new bits too. I just need to throw the bin bag away and I'll be done!
Once again I completed all my morning pages. At first I tend to think "Ugh this takes so long, they're not doing anything" and then I get past the superficial talk of how tired I am and the things I'm grumpy about, and get to some big realisations about how I really feel about things. It's such a relief to be able to write like that and not have anyone want to look at it or analyze it, or even to know I don't have to read it back myself.
I didn't do an artist's date, for I am a naughty human. I did try to give myself time to have some peace - quiet walks without music in (limiting music was part of my reading deprivation), keeping my train journeys for watching out of the window instead of working, and I have noticed a big shift in my attitude to the need for peaceful time in my day. It was a long and stressful week but I don't think I got as wound up as I would have normally done - I felt more aware of why I was feeling down or anxious and thus was able to address it straight away.
I'm going to start to eat better. That was my "thing that I haven't changed yet." It's a comfort thing, it's an insecurity thing, it's a fear-of-nothing-changing thing, but I am so fed up of never feeling completely physically well. I had a lot of "I can't do this any more" realisations this week, in particular with regard to carrying instruments/stands/costume around on public transport. I am very close do doing my back in and I really can't let myself do that any more. Once I'm able to drive it will be fine - until then I need to think more carefully about what I'm prepared to carry about.
Ah, but the reading deprivation was HARD! I caught myself out SO many times, especially with Facebook, of all the useless things. I do like to read the odd article when they come up. I think what I need to do is allow myself some internet time, 30mins each couple of days perhaps, or even less, simply scrolling and reading buzzfeed articles. If I know there's time set for it, I'll be less inclined to do it.
I cleared out my wardrobe, too, and threw away more than I ever have done before. I am really looking forward to swapping in my winter clothes for summer and buying a couple of new bits too. I just need to throw the bin bag away and I'll be done!
Tuesday, 24 February 2015
Week 4...I messed up!
Well, Week four got shunted forward slightly. By slightly, I mean I sort-of-almost-skipped it. A combination of work-related extras, life-related anxieties and not finding time for my reading/exercises meant I learned too late about reading deprivation, was going to have to cram my written exercises...I thought it best to just begin Week Four yesterday, which is what I have done.
I DID do all my morning pages still, though, which is good! It wasn't completely wasted.
I have really come to realise, especially in this week when I didn't do any exercises/artist's date/me time, what a disservice I do myself by not looking after myself properly. The creeping feeling that I need to eat better and exercise more is becoming stronger and stronger, and the yearning for some quiet time in my day, or to do yoga, is so much more noticeable. I am going to try a simple avoidance of crisps and chocolate for the rest of this week, I think, and the week after - I will try to include, in my check-ins, a record as to whether I am feeling any better.
I am finding the reading deprivation - and for me, this extends to the reading of Facebook, Twitter, and simply to letting my mind wander off in an unproductive direction for hours on end - really, really hard. I am constantly catching myself. Constantly. Especially when it comes to focussing my mind, now we're into the evening and I'm tired, I am starting to struggle in the latter end of my to do list because it is taking quite an effort to stay focussed and I just don't have the energy for it. I AM achieving more in the precious little time I have to myself, and this is hugely beneficial in the evenings when there is so much preparation to do for the next day, and it is nice to have to time for observation on trains or on walks to and from places. I will start to itch to put my headphones on and dance eventually, though, and that is one of my biggest time-wasters.
I reviewed all my Artist's Way work so far yesterday and created a sheet full of activities and pass-times that make me feel better spiritually and artistically to draw on when I have an afternoon free or am looking for inspiration for an Artist's date. I also wrote my Artist's prayer, and it goes as follows:
I speak to you, the magic in the universe.
I present myself as a vessel for that same magic.
I open myself to the magic of creativity, and offer myself as an artistic instrument.
I surrender all that is harmful and doubtful, and I open myself wholly, in heart and mind, to new ideas.
I trust in your reach, infinite possibility and power for good.
I trust in my own strength to do your work.
I ask that you help me live my life by curiosity and possibility.
I ask that I will never be restricted by feelings of doubt, worthlessness, or despair.
I ask that I be healed by my art, and that my art possesses the power to heal others.
Help me to be a loved and loving creature,
And help me to move through this life, and into the next, with the sense of having been touched by magic.
I have been struggling with the word "God" for some time now. It too closely resonates with my Christian past, and everything I have come to reject from that particular branch of faith. I do not want a deity to lean upon, or hide behind - I have made my peace with the openness of that particular question, and I choose to believe in Love and Hope. And what word can there be for that, if not Magic? My prayer appeals to all that is well and wonderful in the world, in a hope that I might spread that Love and Hope.
Until Sunday.
I DID do all my morning pages still, though, which is good! It wasn't completely wasted.
I have really come to realise, especially in this week when I didn't do any exercises/artist's date/me time, what a disservice I do myself by not looking after myself properly. The creeping feeling that I need to eat better and exercise more is becoming stronger and stronger, and the yearning for some quiet time in my day, or to do yoga, is so much more noticeable. I am going to try a simple avoidance of crisps and chocolate for the rest of this week, I think, and the week after - I will try to include, in my check-ins, a record as to whether I am feeling any better.
I am finding the reading deprivation - and for me, this extends to the reading of Facebook, Twitter, and simply to letting my mind wander off in an unproductive direction for hours on end - really, really hard. I am constantly catching myself. Constantly. Especially when it comes to focussing my mind, now we're into the evening and I'm tired, I am starting to struggle in the latter end of my to do list because it is taking quite an effort to stay focussed and I just don't have the energy for it. I AM achieving more in the precious little time I have to myself, and this is hugely beneficial in the evenings when there is so much preparation to do for the next day, and it is nice to have to time for observation on trains or on walks to and from places. I will start to itch to put my headphones on and dance eventually, though, and that is one of my biggest time-wasters.
I reviewed all my Artist's Way work so far yesterday and created a sheet full of activities and pass-times that make me feel better spiritually and artistically to draw on when I have an afternoon free or am looking for inspiration for an Artist's date. I also wrote my Artist's prayer, and it goes as follows:
I speak to you, the magic in the universe.
I present myself as a vessel for that same magic.
I open myself to the magic of creativity, and offer myself as an artistic instrument.
I surrender all that is harmful and doubtful, and I open myself wholly, in heart and mind, to new ideas.
I trust in your reach, infinite possibility and power for good.
I trust in my own strength to do your work.
I ask that you help me live my life by curiosity and possibility.
I ask that I will never be restricted by feelings of doubt, worthlessness, or despair.
I ask that I be healed by my art, and that my art possesses the power to heal others.
Help me to be a loved and loving creature,
And help me to move through this life, and into the next, with the sense of having been touched by magic.
I have been struggling with the word "God" for some time now. It too closely resonates with my Christian past, and everything I have come to reject from that particular branch of faith. I do not want a deity to lean upon, or hide behind - I have made my peace with the openness of that particular question, and I choose to believe in Love and Hope. And what word can there be for that, if not Magic? My prayer appeals to all that is well and wonderful in the world, in a hope that I might spread that Love and Hope.
Until Sunday.
Sunday, 15 February 2015
The Artist's Way Check-in week 3
End of week three and I have to say, I have felt terrible this week - as per my little tantrum post on Thursday! I have done all my morning pages - I have had a couple of "guh, do I want to do them this morning?" but they have proved invaluable for my wellbeing - I think if I'd skipped them, I would have really struggled. My anxiety has been particularly difficult to get under control. My pages this week have ranged from the very mundane to angry and sad - a lot is coming to the surface at the moment. I know, in my experience, that when embarking on a course or a project such as this I tend to slump at around this point - when things begin shifting - and have a bit of a panic and a meltdown. I'm taking it as a good thing...(??!!?!)
Whilst I haven't had the burst of writing I had last week, things are starting to seem possible. I've taken a couple of baby steps towards things I never thought possible, or didn't allow myself to think possible. Despite my panics, I am actually beginning to solidify some confidence in what I can do and what I can create. I have gotten some sorting done and plans for more, and now I feel like I WILL be able to see the project through as opposed to just fantasising, sighing, and resigning myself to "eh, I'll never actually do that." I really went about setting a running order for my fundraiser, I told my friend I was interested in collaborating on some workshops with her, I made some notes on a song to choreograph to - lots of little first-steps.
I sort of accidentally did my artist's date this week, and my week became such that my arranged time for an artist's date became taken up by something else - so HOORAY another artist's date but I'm not sure I can claim credit! I ended up with a couple of hours to myself so I went to the Southbank Centre, lounged on a sofa and spent some time people watching and writing a poem for the King Lear programme. I feel a great enjoyment in the writing in a way that isn't pressurised or stressful - I'm much more open to going "Ok, I'm not quite happy with that bit, but let's move on - I'll take a fresh look at it later and something better will come." It feels much more natural, an expression rather than an exertion. It was great being in a space that was at once quiet and full of people - I sat where there was a kind of gentle bustle, it was very soothing.
In terms of synchronicity - which I have to say, the concept of which I'm not sure I really understand - I have found myself thinking, "ah, that worked out well" on several occasions, just in the trivial, everyday comings and goings, and one or two bigger, happy coincidences too.
One of the things I got very fed up with this week was people constantly suggesting that the root of my anxiety/depression lies in my "difficult" choice of career. I come across it often when I try to tell people I'm not feeling well and they go "well, you have chosen a difficult lifestyle" like that explains away everything - I deal with rejection incredibly well, I think. I do auditions, then forget about them, I've made it a habit, I promised myself early on that I'd never put all my eggs in one basket, I vowed that I'd not tear myself up over "why aren't I getting jobs" and that aspect of my career is not difficult to deal with for me. It's an easy handle for people, and I lost patience with the things I AM struggling with being brushed under the rug because people think they know. Acting is just freelancing. Thousands of people freelance, and face the same rejection.
One thing I am finding difficult is being lonely - something that has cropped up over and over in the last few weeks of morning pages and exercises is how much I'd like to meet a close companion or partner to share my life experiences with. It's not something I have any experience of at all, which I feel horribly ashamed about, and I have a lot of insecurity about the way I'd be in a relationship like that, whether or not I'd be a good and loving partner. It's difficult because It's not the sort of thing you can force or arrange - you can only do so much. I feel if I did meet someone I'd have so many worries about how I should be behaving and not knowing how I should be feeling that I'd just mess it all up, and that's a pretty distracting thing to have at the back of your mind when you're trying to get to know someone.
Once again, I am looking forward to doing more work - especially eager to move forward from this difficult week - and seeing what comes of the next lot of exercises. I will probably also try and go back, collect some important points from previous exercises, to refresh and remind me of what I have learned.
Whilst I haven't had the burst of writing I had last week, things are starting to seem possible. I've taken a couple of baby steps towards things I never thought possible, or didn't allow myself to think possible. Despite my panics, I am actually beginning to solidify some confidence in what I can do and what I can create. I have gotten some sorting done and plans for more, and now I feel like I WILL be able to see the project through as opposed to just fantasising, sighing, and resigning myself to "eh, I'll never actually do that." I really went about setting a running order for my fundraiser, I told my friend I was interested in collaborating on some workshops with her, I made some notes on a song to choreograph to - lots of little first-steps.
I sort of accidentally did my artist's date this week, and my week became such that my arranged time for an artist's date became taken up by something else - so HOORAY another artist's date but I'm not sure I can claim credit! I ended up with a couple of hours to myself so I went to the Southbank Centre, lounged on a sofa and spent some time people watching and writing a poem for the King Lear programme. I feel a great enjoyment in the writing in a way that isn't pressurised or stressful - I'm much more open to going "Ok, I'm not quite happy with that bit, but let's move on - I'll take a fresh look at it later and something better will come." It feels much more natural, an expression rather than an exertion. It was great being in a space that was at once quiet and full of people - I sat where there was a kind of gentle bustle, it was very soothing.
In terms of synchronicity - which I have to say, the concept of which I'm not sure I really understand - I have found myself thinking, "ah, that worked out well" on several occasions, just in the trivial, everyday comings and goings, and one or two bigger, happy coincidences too.
One of the things I got very fed up with this week was people constantly suggesting that the root of my anxiety/depression lies in my "difficult" choice of career. I come across it often when I try to tell people I'm not feeling well and they go "well, you have chosen a difficult lifestyle" like that explains away everything - I deal with rejection incredibly well, I think. I do auditions, then forget about them, I've made it a habit, I promised myself early on that I'd never put all my eggs in one basket, I vowed that I'd not tear myself up over "why aren't I getting jobs" and that aspect of my career is not difficult to deal with for me. It's an easy handle for people, and I lost patience with the things I AM struggling with being brushed under the rug because people think they know. Acting is just freelancing. Thousands of people freelance, and face the same rejection.
One thing I am finding difficult is being lonely - something that has cropped up over and over in the last few weeks of morning pages and exercises is how much I'd like to meet a close companion or partner to share my life experiences with. It's not something I have any experience of at all, which I feel horribly ashamed about, and I have a lot of insecurity about the way I'd be in a relationship like that, whether or not I'd be a good and loving partner. It's difficult because It's not the sort of thing you can force or arrange - you can only do so much. I feel if I did meet someone I'd have so many worries about how I should be behaving and not knowing how I should be feeling that I'd just mess it all up, and that's a pretty distracting thing to have at the back of your mind when you're trying to get to know someone.
Once again, I am looking forward to doing more work - especially eager to move forward from this difficult week - and seeing what comes of the next lot of exercises. I will probably also try and go back, collect some important points from previous exercises, to refresh and remind me of what I have learned.
Thursday, 12 February 2015
The Artist's Way - Olbigatory Week 2.5 panic
I have hit Thursday with quite the most massive crisis of confidence I've had in years in a massive, messy rebellion of the basic principals that goes a little bit like this:
God I don't FIT anywhere. I am even supposed to BE anywhere? I literally have no definition to what I am or what I do with my life. I specialise in nothing. Jack of all trades, master of none. Specialist skills wandering around vaguely after everyone else thinking "How do they know all this?" and feeling out of my depth. Not so much a crisis of confidence as a crisis of Identity - I have nothing that defines me and it's AWFUL! I have WASTED my time as a human being! What am I doing with my life? Literally just flitting around being mediocre at everything? There's so much I enjoy and so much I'm OK at doing and not a lot that's either one or the other! How the hell do I choose? I am running out of time, I'm getting on for 25, and I am just little fragmented bits of stuff with not even consistent personality traits. And it's completely hilarious that I'm suddenly trying to START trying to get my life together now. I'm supposed to be top of my game NOW, not in however many years time it's going to take to actually achieve anything. Just a lump of flesh and bone pretending to be "creative", definitive proof that some people were just born to be shit no matter how much work they put it. Someone has to be bottom of the pile. Hi everyone! Feel free to overtake, I've got a speed limit.
Right.
So as you can see, I have hit something of a slump. Working with a CBT thought diary kind of process - there's plenty of evidence that I am, in fact, a basic idiot with limited capacity for knowledge on any subject and essentially imagination-less.
I am most certainly not a specialist in anything. I used to get angry when people implied that I wasn't a proper actor if I'd not been in anything they knew, but now I see their point. You might be an actor, but you haven't established yourself until you've proved your skills on a widely-received platform. You're not a poet until you've got several collections you can produce, or well known on the spoken word circuit. You're not a singer/songwriter until you've got a following of some kind, people who want to see you perform. It has occurred to me that creativity only becomes valid when it is appreciated - otherwise what is the point? It's just an indulgence. I certainly have not achieved any kind of status in my art - I don't even have a definitive look, a way I do my hair or make up - I'm far too normal to be a proper artist. I won't establish myself as an individual because I'm too bland, too trying, too stupid to figure out how to do half the things I'd like.
However.
Evidence against, sparse though it is, is nevertheless there. I do keep getting acting jobs, which in itself is a kind of demand - people want to work with me, something about me (Who knows what it is) suggests potential, and I feel in my heart that I do my job for the right reasons - I do feel artistic joy when I work, despite all the challenges I come against, and enough of a sense of "Ah, THIS is why I do this" to make me want to continue and reassure me that I DO have some artistic sense. I am highly skilled in my own way - I am good at auditioning, which is rare, from what I've seen and heard - it has taken a lot of practise to enjoy my auditions, but it's a skill I can draw on for the rest of my life.
It is true that one of my biggest bug bears is that fact that I neglected my interests at school in favour of schoolwork, but I have worked hard and almost caught up - I am getting to know better and better every day what I want out of life and what I want to achieve, but I have this constant fear that it's too late, that I could have done more by now, that I can't do what I want now because I should have started earlier. I do feel stupid sometimes for carrying on, really stupid - the thought of exposing myself and my work is even more terrifying because it won't be "here I am, I know what I'm doing", it'll be "Here I am, right at the beginning, and I know this is not as good as it should be PLEASE TRY NOT TO HATE ME TOO MUCH." The only thing I can do, short of time travel to go back and work harder, earlier, is to just keep working and hope I can get back to where I should be.
God I don't FIT anywhere. I am even supposed to BE anywhere? I literally have no definition to what I am or what I do with my life. I specialise in nothing. Jack of all trades, master of none. Specialist skills wandering around vaguely after everyone else thinking "How do they know all this?" and feeling out of my depth. Not so much a crisis of confidence as a crisis of Identity - I have nothing that defines me and it's AWFUL! I have WASTED my time as a human being! What am I doing with my life? Literally just flitting around being mediocre at everything? There's so much I enjoy and so much I'm OK at doing and not a lot that's either one or the other! How the hell do I choose? I am running out of time, I'm getting on for 25, and I am just little fragmented bits of stuff with not even consistent personality traits. And it's completely hilarious that I'm suddenly trying to START trying to get my life together now. I'm supposed to be top of my game NOW, not in however many years time it's going to take to actually achieve anything. Just a lump of flesh and bone pretending to be "creative", definitive proof that some people were just born to be shit no matter how much work they put it. Someone has to be bottom of the pile. Hi everyone! Feel free to overtake, I've got a speed limit.
Right.
So as you can see, I have hit something of a slump. Working with a CBT thought diary kind of process - there's plenty of evidence that I am, in fact, a basic idiot with limited capacity for knowledge on any subject and essentially imagination-less.
I am most certainly not a specialist in anything. I used to get angry when people implied that I wasn't a proper actor if I'd not been in anything they knew, but now I see their point. You might be an actor, but you haven't established yourself until you've proved your skills on a widely-received platform. You're not a poet until you've got several collections you can produce, or well known on the spoken word circuit. You're not a singer/songwriter until you've got a following of some kind, people who want to see you perform. It has occurred to me that creativity only becomes valid when it is appreciated - otherwise what is the point? It's just an indulgence. I certainly have not achieved any kind of status in my art - I don't even have a definitive look, a way I do my hair or make up - I'm far too normal to be a proper artist. I won't establish myself as an individual because I'm too bland, too trying, too stupid to figure out how to do half the things I'd like.
However.
Evidence against, sparse though it is, is nevertheless there. I do keep getting acting jobs, which in itself is a kind of demand - people want to work with me, something about me (Who knows what it is) suggests potential, and I feel in my heart that I do my job for the right reasons - I do feel artistic joy when I work, despite all the challenges I come against, and enough of a sense of "Ah, THIS is why I do this" to make me want to continue and reassure me that I DO have some artistic sense. I am highly skilled in my own way - I am good at auditioning, which is rare, from what I've seen and heard - it has taken a lot of practise to enjoy my auditions, but it's a skill I can draw on for the rest of my life.
It is true that one of my biggest bug bears is that fact that I neglected my interests at school in favour of schoolwork, but I have worked hard and almost caught up - I am getting to know better and better every day what I want out of life and what I want to achieve, but I have this constant fear that it's too late, that I could have done more by now, that I can't do what I want now because I should have started earlier. I do feel stupid sometimes for carrying on, really stupid - the thought of exposing myself and my work is even more terrifying because it won't be "here I am, I know what I'm doing", it'll be "Here I am, right at the beginning, and I know this is not as good as it should be PLEASE TRY NOT TO HATE ME TOO MUCH." The only thing I can do, short of time travel to go back and work harder, earlier, is to just keep working and hope I can get back to where I should be.
Sunday, 8 February 2015
The Artist's Way - Week 2 Check-In
Week two of my work on The Artists's way work and I've noticed quite a huge shift. I did all my morning pages again this week - The first half hour or so is so crucial to me in terms of setting my mood for the rest of the day - If I wake early and can't get back to sleep I can end up thinking myself into a panic attack, or into tears, and the morning pages have REALLY helped me curb that. I find it so much easier to arrange my day in terms of the tasks I have to do, just to purge my worries and expectations before I'm even out of bed so I can focus on the tasks at hand.
The content of the pages themselves have come as something of a surprise to me - when I've a mild annoyance, I'm vicious in my language. I express a lot of anger and occasionally bitterness with out actually becoming angry or sinking into despair, which is a huge relief. There is a lot of longing in them - More than I'm aware of, or more than I LET myself be aware of, which is probably more the case. The positive and the hopeful outweighs the Negative but quite a substantial amount though, which is another welcome surprise. I have learned a lot about the way I see the world, and gained a small amount of confidence in the way I handle problems, which was fairly non existent before.
Something pretty crazy happened - I've penned about five sets of lyrics. I can't believe I'm even typing that. It feels sort of numb to me - it wasn't a huge achievement or a big event but just part of my day to day workings - it felt simple to do, and the basic principals of Creativity being a natural human activity are suddenly resonating very strongly with me.
I wrote one about my old tap shoes at the circus - they were in tattered little bits and I lived in fear that they'd fall apart on stage - and afterwards just burst into tears because it suddenly hit me hard, rally hard, how much I missed dancing. It's choking me up now just thinking about it. I did myself some big psychological hurt in my dance lessons, my own quiet, private form of self harm when things were really bad, and I do think somewhere underneath all that is my 10-year-old self watching Cats and thinking "I want to do that." I put my tap shoes on and danced a bit, just improvised, which I tried a couple of times before years ago and it just felt awkward and forced. This time I could have carried on for years. I am afraid of that hurt - the capacity to do it is there, and I know how horrific it can get. I need to dance more, is what I inferred from this week, entirely and completely by accident.
For my Artist's Date I did some guided meditation. It was a much needed break in a hectic week - it highlighted my need to clear my mind as often as I can, ESPECIALLY when I'm busy.
My gut instinct is to just carry on. Carry on with all I'm doing and keep building my faith in myself and in all the arts I love and really try and repair my broken love for dancing. It will not be the same dancer now - The dancer then was constantly comparing and trying to meet expectations and did not love herself. The person who dances now comes to it with the open heartedness of a little child running away from everything else in the world. I need to go back to dancing.
The content of the pages themselves have come as something of a surprise to me - when I've a mild annoyance, I'm vicious in my language. I express a lot of anger and occasionally bitterness with out actually becoming angry or sinking into despair, which is a huge relief. There is a lot of longing in them - More than I'm aware of, or more than I LET myself be aware of, which is probably more the case. The positive and the hopeful outweighs the Negative but quite a substantial amount though, which is another welcome surprise. I have learned a lot about the way I see the world, and gained a small amount of confidence in the way I handle problems, which was fairly non existent before.
Something pretty crazy happened - I've penned about five sets of lyrics. I can't believe I'm even typing that. It feels sort of numb to me - it wasn't a huge achievement or a big event but just part of my day to day workings - it felt simple to do, and the basic principals of Creativity being a natural human activity are suddenly resonating very strongly with me.
I wrote one about my old tap shoes at the circus - they were in tattered little bits and I lived in fear that they'd fall apart on stage - and afterwards just burst into tears because it suddenly hit me hard, rally hard, how much I missed dancing. It's choking me up now just thinking about it. I did myself some big psychological hurt in my dance lessons, my own quiet, private form of self harm when things were really bad, and I do think somewhere underneath all that is my 10-year-old self watching Cats and thinking "I want to do that." I put my tap shoes on and danced a bit, just improvised, which I tried a couple of times before years ago and it just felt awkward and forced. This time I could have carried on for years. I am afraid of that hurt - the capacity to do it is there, and I know how horrific it can get. I need to dance more, is what I inferred from this week, entirely and completely by accident.
For my Artist's Date I did some guided meditation. It was a much needed break in a hectic week - it highlighted my need to clear my mind as often as I can, ESPECIALLY when I'm busy.
My gut instinct is to just carry on. Carry on with all I'm doing and keep building my faith in myself and in all the arts I love and really try and repair my broken love for dancing. It will not be the same dancer now - The dancer then was constantly comparing and trying to meet expectations and did not love herself. The person who dances now comes to it with the open heartedness of a little child running away from everything else in the world. I need to go back to dancing.
Sunday, 1 February 2015
The Artist's Way: Week One Check-in
So my first week of following the exercises in The Artist's Way went reasonably well, I think. I did all of my Morning Pages and am finding them extremely helpful - I don't think it will take much persuasion to continue doing them. I am finding out a lot about what I need as opposed to what I think I need as a person, which is something I wasn't expecting - I am still not convinced that they will lead to much great creative work, but they are helping me to focus my mind and form my daily to do lists without too much umming and ahhing.
I was planning to go and walk by the river for my Artist's date, but it as freezing cold and raining and I thought "Freezing cold and raining will make me sick and stressed, not relaxed and happy", so I employed plan B. I lit my salt candle, my fairy lights and did an hour of relaxation-centred yoga practise in the morning, then I took the time to dig out all the pamper kits from years past and have a nice long bath - exfoliating/moisturising (which I never have time for) and creating a spa-like atmosphere for a couple of hours. I then sat and watched the film I'd promised to myself, Grand Budapest Hotel, which was charming and thoughtful and beautiful to watch.
I really feel the benefits today - I do feel calmer and more focussed, and more loved. I tell myself there is never time for relaxation yoga, or long baths, or watching films, but I felt more accomplished afterward than I usually do having been working all day. I took several hours just to myself, taking my mind to a calmer, freer place. I had time to reflect on personal projects I want to do and what I'd achieved recently. I feel ready for the new week, and ready for more work on my Artist's Way exercises.
I will be scheduling which exercises I will do on which day this week, as I found last week it was difficult to find time to do all of them and indeed I am doing my check-in a day late. It is a shame I didn't do it last week, as I felt some of my later exercises were rushed. However, the Monster Hall of Fame was hugely helpful. Addressing the monsters and their behaviour was cathartic and soothing - I felt protected and stood-up-for by my own sense of self worth. I think this course will most definitely help me streamline what I really want from my life as a creative soul - I am afraid of not sticking to it, and letting life get in the way, but I have just enough trust in myself to see in through. And indeed - it is that almost-overwhelming worry that I will not end up achieving what I set out to do that holds me back from just DOING. Hopefully, that course will help me increase my trust in my abilities.
I was planning to go and walk by the river for my Artist's date, but it as freezing cold and raining and I thought "Freezing cold and raining will make me sick and stressed, not relaxed and happy", so I employed plan B. I lit my salt candle, my fairy lights and did an hour of relaxation-centred yoga practise in the morning, then I took the time to dig out all the pamper kits from years past and have a nice long bath - exfoliating/moisturising (which I never have time for) and creating a spa-like atmosphere for a couple of hours. I then sat and watched the film I'd promised to myself, Grand Budapest Hotel, which was charming and thoughtful and beautiful to watch.
I really feel the benefits today - I do feel calmer and more focussed, and more loved. I tell myself there is never time for relaxation yoga, or long baths, or watching films, but I felt more accomplished afterward than I usually do having been working all day. I took several hours just to myself, taking my mind to a calmer, freer place. I had time to reflect on personal projects I want to do and what I'd achieved recently. I feel ready for the new week, and ready for more work on my Artist's Way exercises.
I will be scheduling which exercises I will do on which day this week, as I found last week it was difficult to find time to do all of them and indeed I am doing my check-in a day late. It is a shame I didn't do it last week, as I felt some of my later exercises were rushed. However, the Monster Hall of Fame was hugely helpful. Addressing the monsters and their behaviour was cathartic and soothing - I felt protected and stood-up-for by my own sense of self worth. I think this course will most definitely help me streamline what I really want from my life as a creative soul - I am afraid of not sticking to it, and letting life get in the way, but I have just enough trust in myself to see in through. And indeed - it is that almost-overwhelming worry that I will not end up achieving what I set out to do that holds me back from just DOING. Hopefully, that course will help me increase my trust in my abilities.
Sunday, 7 September 2014
Love yo' self Day 4
Only I would choose to break away from looking in mirrors while doing a show centred around mirrors.
"Mirror mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?"
Snow White - one of the the oldest and best loved fairy tales of all - one of Disney's first, hundreds of adaptations all over the world. Age 3, life lesson learned: IF YOU LOOK IN A MIRROR AND LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, YOU MUST BE VERY VAIN AND EVIL, LIKE THE WICKED QUEEN.
Wow.
"Don't be vain" crops up time and again in mythology. Self-love, according to the old tales, can only lead to arrogance and delusions of power - both of which are undeniably bad things - but what I do think has happened is that enjoying one's reflection has been damningly tied to very negative character traits. I know several people who celebrate themselves and their bodies without going around poisoning people they think are prettier than them with spiked fruit. One of our most basic teachings is being challenged here, but it needs to be challenged - because we've ended up with generations of people feeling that enjoying the way they are and liking how they look somehow makes them a bad person.
Life without mirrors so far has been pretty eye-opening and not a little revealing of what really happens in the back of my head when I go to look in the mirror. I'm suddenly very aware, in the moment when I decide to take a look or not, that the reason is I'm going to look for something to criticise. It's a little obsessive-compulsive, in a way. My love for myself is horribly conditional. "If I look like I've lost weight, then I'll love myself. If I look like I've put it on, I'll hate myself." My anxiety has been quite difficult to handle the past couple of days, and I do think it's partly down to the fact that I've taken this huge habit, this excuse to love myself or not, away. I want to love myself no matter what. I want to love myself whether I'm overweight or underweight or in-the-middle, whether I lose a leg or start getting wrinkles or go blind. There shouldn't be any conditions, and there are - that's what needs to change.
The bathroom mirror is conveniently at waist-height, the sly thing, so that one is particularly difficult to ignore (it's obviously a family mirror, so I can't really cover it up) and I keep slipping up there. I will try, if I catch myself looking, to ignore whatever it is I'm thinking and breathe in what I see and accept it with the sense of unconditional acceptance I'm after. I'm certainly more aware already of how I'm feeling physically - what's achy, am I hungry, am I thirsty, do I need fruit or to eat a big meal - I'm finding it easier to listen to what my body needs, as opposed to what I think it needs.
Until next time, \
P
"Mirror mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?"
Snow White - one of the the oldest and best loved fairy tales of all - one of Disney's first, hundreds of adaptations all over the world. Age 3, life lesson learned: IF YOU LOOK IN A MIRROR AND LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, YOU MUST BE VERY VAIN AND EVIL, LIKE THE WICKED QUEEN.
Wow.
"Don't be vain" crops up time and again in mythology. Self-love, according to the old tales, can only lead to arrogance and delusions of power - both of which are undeniably bad things - but what I do think has happened is that enjoying one's reflection has been damningly tied to very negative character traits. I know several people who celebrate themselves and their bodies without going around poisoning people they think are prettier than them with spiked fruit. One of our most basic teachings is being challenged here, but it needs to be challenged - because we've ended up with generations of people feeling that enjoying the way they are and liking how they look somehow makes them a bad person.
Life without mirrors so far has been pretty eye-opening and not a little revealing of what really happens in the back of my head when I go to look in the mirror. I'm suddenly very aware, in the moment when I decide to take a look or not, that the reason is I'm going to look for something to criticise. It's a little obsessive-compulsive, in a way. My love for myself is horribly conditional. "If I look like I've lost weight, then I'll love myself. If I look like I've put it on, I'll hate myself." My anxiety has been quite difficult to handle the past couple of days, and I do think it's partly down to the fact that I've taken this huge habit, this excuse to love myself or not, away. I want to love myself no matter what. I want to love myself whether I'm overweight or underweight or in-the-middle, whether I lose a leg or start getting wrinkles or go blind. There shouldn't be any conditions, and there are - that's what needs to change.
The bathroom mirror is conveniently at waist-height, the sly thing, so that one is particularly difficult to ignore (it's obviously a family mirror, so I can't really cover it up) and I keep slipping up there. I will try, if I catch myself looking, to ignore whatever it is I'm thinking and breathe in what I see and accept it with the sense of unconditional acceptance I'm after. I'm certainly more aware already of how I'm feeling physically - what's achy, am I hungry, am I thirsty, do I need fruit or to eat a big meal - I'm finding it easier to listen to what my body needs, as opposed to what I think it needs.
Until next time, \
P
Thursday, 4 September 2014
Love yo' self day 1: Breaking the habit
In a fit of exasperation, I put the following status up on Face-ache this morning:
"I am going to experiment. Thank you, people who keep telling me "you've lost weight? That's amazing! I'm so fat and ugly." I really appreciate you unloading your body consciousness off onto me, while I'm trying to break the habit of obsessively checking my reflection in the mirror for any sign of weight gain that I've had since I was 16... As if weight gain is the ultimate sin. Funny how if you lose too much weight people start to tell you you're looking too thin?
SO. Until this time next month, I am breaking away from mirrors. I will cover up my full length mirror, and carry on eating when I need to and exercising as much as I like. I am ELIMINATING unhealthy body scrutiny for a whole month. I will try to stick a short blog up every day with my findings, and various arguments against body shaming of ANY kind. STOP YOUR HATING! If you don't like something, change it. If you're happy to way you are and someone tells you you shouldn't, tell them to *drum roll* Fuuuuuuck off."
When I was sixteen and doing my BTEC in Musical Theatre, my year had an obsessive, intense, all-consuming obsession with being Skinny. Ribs and abs scored major brownie points. (You weren't allowed to eat the brownies, though. Hurr hurr hurr). I've been on the curvy side all my life, and never really noticed or minded, as a child. It wasn't until a classmate of mine came into school and went "Mum says if you can pinch an inch, you're too fat." And thus it began.
I spent the last six months of my first year at college living off pinches of fruit, and every spare waking moment looking in the mirror. Measuring, comparing, pinching, learning to hate - though at first I thought the act of starving myself was an act of utmost care. Inevitably - because I don't have the sort of body that works best at so low a weight - I put all the weight back on and then some, and the sense that I had somehow failed - as a dancer, as a female, as a human being - was overwhelming and crushing.
Living to look a certain way is torture. Exercising and dieting with a sole goal of weight loss is torture. Everyone fluctuates from day to day. So weighing yourself is torture.
My personal aim is to once again reach that childlike state of unconditional acceptance. This is my body, I know how it works, I am grateful for it. I want to stop looking in the mirror and wondering how others see me, and start looking inside for how I see myself. At the beginning of this year I stopped exercising to lose weight, and started exercising because I enjoyed it and to take care of my body as a whole, and it's done wonders for my mental health.
So, my rules (and anyone else's rules if you want to join in) are simple -
*Cut the compulsive mirror-checking. Completely. For one month. I may use a hand mirror to do my makeup for shows because otherwise I'll end up looking like Ronald McDonald.
*Eat what you need to eat. As much or as little to get you through the day, so long as it's balanced.
*Drink more water. EVERYONE CAN ALWAYS DRINK MORE WATER. Even fishies.
*Exercise in a way that compliments my lifestyle and interests. I think I'd rather stab my eyes out with a bassoon than go for a run, but I could Zumba for days and be happy the whole time. So I shall do more twerking and less jogging.
I will try and keep this blog rolling over the month. You can look forward to such titles/structured rants as:
"BUT IT'S A COMPLIMENT!!"
NO, YOU SHOULDN'T SHAME SKINNY GIRLS EITHER
ALL WOMEN ARE REAL WOMEN, DOVE, YOU ARSEHOLES
Namaste xxx
"I am going to experiment. Thank you, people who keep telling me "you've lost weight? That's amazing! I'm so fat and ugly." I really appreciate you unloading your body consciousness off onto me, while I'm trying to break the habit of obsessively checking my reflection in the mirror for any sign of weight gain that I've had since I was 16... As if weight gain is the ultimate sin. Funny how if you lose too much weight people start to tell you you're looking too thin?
SO. Until this time next month, I am breaking away from mirrors. I will cover up my full length mirror, and carry on eating when I need to and exercising as much as I like. I am ELIMINATING unhealthy body scrutiny for a whole month. I will try to stick a short blog up every day with my findings, and various arguments against body shaming of ANY kind. STOP YOUR HATING! If you don't like something, change it. If you're happy to way you are and someone tells you you shouldn't, tell them to *drum roll* Fuuuuuuck off."
When I was sixteen and doing my BTEC in Musical Theatre, my year had an obsessive, intense, all-consuming obsession with being Skinny. Ribs and abs scored major brownie points. (You weren't allowed to eat the brownies, though. Hurr hurr hurr). I've been on the curvy side all my life, and never really noticed or minded, as a child. It wasn't until a classmate of mine came into school and went "Mum says if you can pinch an inch, you're too fat." And thus it began.
I spent the last six months of my first year at college living off pinches of fruit, and every spare waking moment looking in the mirror. Measuring, comparing, pinching, learning to hate - though at first I thought the act of starving myself was an act of utmost care. Inevitably - because I don't have the sort of body that works best at so low a weight - I put all the weight back on and then some, and the sense that I had somehow failed - as a dancer, as a female, as a human being - was overwhelming and crushing.
Living to look a certain way is torture. Exercising and dieting with a sole goal of weight loss is torture. Everyone fluctuates from day to day. So weighing yourself is torture.
My personal aim is to once again reach that childlike state of unconditional acceptance. This is my body, I know how it works, I am grateful for it. I want to stop looking in the mirror and wondering how others see me, and start looking inside for how I see myself. At the beginning of this year I stopped exercising to lose weight, and started exercising because I enjoyed it and to take care of my body as a whole, and it's done wonders for my mental health.
So, my rules (and anyone else's rules if you want to join in) are simple -
*Cut the compulsive mirror-checking. Completely. For one month. I may use a hand mirror to do my makeup for shows because otherwise I'll end up looking like Ronald McDonald.
*Eat what you need to eat. As much or as little to get you through the day, so long as it's balanced.
*Drink more water. EVERYONE CAN ALWAYS DRINK MORE WATER. Even fishies.
*Exercise in a way that compliments my lifestyle and interests. I think I'd rather stab my eyes out with a bassoon than go for a run, but I could Zumba for days and be happy the whole time. So I shall do more twerking and less jogging.
I will try and keep this blog rolling over the month. You can look forward to such titles/structured rants as:
"BUT IT'S A COMPLIMENT!!"
NO, YOU SHOULDN'T SHAME SKINNY GIRLS EITHER
ALL WOMEN ARE REAL WOMEN, DOVE, YOU ARSEHOLES
Namaste xxx
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
"Tall and sexless" - On Beth 'Baby' Warren and the perils of being the Eldest Child.
Of all F. Scott Fitzgerald's women - any of his characters, in fact, regardless of gender - very few are naturally blessed with the dying art of Common Sense. America in the 20s was not a time or place for studying life too closely. One cannot party hard when one is sitting down to three hours of family negotiations to stop everyone killing each other. And party hard they did - I must admit, when being told to study The Great Gatsby at A Level I thought I'd hate it, because it shares this "to-solve-this-we-shall-party" philosophy with another book I found mind-numbingly tedious (coughPride and Partying Prejudicecough). It must be said, the goings-on in Fitzgerald's soirees are much spicier.
[Note to self ~ Subject for future blog post: Ten novels which could have been improved with Champagne.]
For Dick and Nicole Diver of Fitzgerald's last full novel Tender is the Night, the stakes are much higher in the gamble that is extravagance. Nicole's fragile mental health cannot cope with the additional layer of delusion the wealthy folk of the 20s adorned themselves with. There could be no hope for a schizophrenic living among people who thought it somewhat fashionable to maintain beauty and brokenness.
A good job, then, that Baby Warren is different from the outset. Dick somewhat scathingly labels her the "dutiful sister" but that is what she is, through and through. Baby's life has not been devoid of hardships - she was engaged to be married to a soldier who was then killed in action, and thrown over by the man she tried to love again. She has not let those things beat her into the arms of drink or delusion, as we see happening with Dick and Abe. Terribly unfashionable of her, terribly boring. Her Father subtly but tellingly mentions her in a throwaway comment as "an older girl... and there was a boy who died. but Nicole..." But Nicole indeed. The sort of child that everyone paled in comparison to - bright and beautiful, with the charm and promise of fun that fit so well with the new era on the horizon.
Baby is in an impossible position. She can see her sister's deterioration, whereas Dick sees only his own. But what sway does anyone have over the lives of their brothers or sisters? In my experience, very little indeed - and it is especially difficult for the Eldest to find their place in the balance once the youngest turns 18 and the family structure is broken. Any advice or support we might provide will never, ever hold the gravitas our Mothers had, yet our duty to Be There is unquestionable. Our siblings may need us, but they don't always want us, and we in turn just cannot give them what they need. We have something to prove to our siblings in a way that goes far beyond the natural, trivial power struggles that go on between peers at school - The first child needs to earn their status, be it in attitude or their work to avoid being forgotten when something newer and cuter comes along - and any child born thereafter needs to earn the right to their own personality. My poor sister had a hell of a time, having to follow someone as rigidly well-behaved, studious and boring as me. I will never, ever forgive the teachers at our secondary school for doggedly referring to her as 'Paula's sister' for the first couple of years.
This sense of status is not an expectation, but a necessity, and totally natural behaviour as human beings. There is a sense of pecking order within us whether we like it or not. And as was the case with my sister's school days, when stupid people get put in positions of power assumptions are made and egos are bruised, which makes us fight harder.
Baby is accused of meddling when the Diver's marriage and Nicole's health both begin to disintegrate. I would call it intervening. That is our primary function, as Older Siblings. To observe. We have had the advantage - and, at times, disadvantage - of watching you grow up, little ones. We have begun to not understand the reasons for your tantrums. We have played along when our parents lied about Santa, and felt guilty about it. We have watched you swig a beer and found it a little frightening. Most of all, we have been deeply and inexplicably hurt when you sought advice from someone who isn't Us. We may grumble and get annoyed, younger siblings, but we have watched over you in the most agonizing way possible - seeing the inevitable break ups, break downs, and general upsets in between, seeing them all coming from a mile off but we were not able to do anything because, ultimately, it is none of our business. If we choose to, we can do what Baby did and jump in if and when the situation gets out of hand. We will fix it for you and then you will tell us to bugger off and leave you alone, as Nicole does. You can swan off to anywhere in the world, lose contact and drink your inheritance, and you can come to our door bedraggled and hungry and, because we are helpless to really help you, we will let you in and give you tea and cake. We Eldest can do absolutely nothing, except, perhaps, know you better than you know yourself.
Tender is the Night runs from March 20th - April 13th at the Lord Stanley in Camden. Wednesday - Saturday at 7.30pm with a 5pm show on Sundays. Tickets can be bought from http://www.theatrecollection.net/
[Note to self ~ Subject for future blog post: Ten novels which could have been improved with Champagne.]
For Dick and Nicole Diver of Fitzgerald's last full novel Tender is the Night, the stakes are much higher in the gamble that is extravagance. Nicole's fragile mental health cannot cope with the additional layer of delusion the wealthy folk of the 20s adorned themselves with. There could be no hope for a schizophrenic living among people who thought it somewhat fashionable to maintain beauty and brokenness.
A good job, then, that Baby Warren is different from the outset. Dick somewhat scathingly labels her the "dutiful sister" but that is what she is, through and through. Baby's life has not been devoid of hardships - she was engaged to be married to a soldier who was then killed in action, and thrown over by the man she tried to love again. She has not let those things beat her into the arms of drink or delusion, as we see happening with Dick and Abe. Terribly unfashionable of her, terribly boring. Her Father subtly but tellingly mentions her in a throwaway comment as "an older girl... and there was a boy who died. but Nicole..." But Nicole indeed. The sort of child that everyone paled in comparison to - bright and beautiful, with the charm and promise of fun that fit so well with the new era on the horizon.
Baby is in an impossible position. She can see her sister's deterioration, whereas Dick sees only his own. But what sway does anyone have over the lives of their brothers or sisters? In my experience, very little indeed - and it is especially difficult for the Eldest to find their place in the balance once the youngest turns 18 and the family structure is broken. Any advice or support we might provide will never, ever hold the gravitas our Mothers had, yet our duty to Be There is unquestionable. Our siblings may need us, but they don't always want us, and we in turn just cannot give them what they need. We have something to prove to our siblings in a way that goes far beyond the natural, trivial power struggles that go on between peers at school - The first child needs to earn their status, be it in attitude or their work to avoid being forgotten when something newer and cuter comes along - and any child born thereafter needs to earn the right to their own personality. My poor sister had a hell of a time, having to follow someone as rigidly well-behaved, studious and boring as me. I will never, ever forgive the teachers at our secondary school for doggedly referring to her as 'Paula's sister' for the first couple of years.
This sense of status is not an expectation, but a necessity, and totally natural behaviour as human beings. There is a sense of pecking order within us whether we like it or not. And as was the case with my sister's school days, when stupid people get put in positions of power assumptions are made and egos are bruised, which makes us fight harder.
Baby is accused of meddling when the Diver's marriage and Nicole's health both begin to disintegrate. I would call it intervening. That is our primary function, as Older Siblings. To observe. We have had the advantage - and, at times, disadvantage - of watching you grow up, little ones. We have begun to not understand the reasons for your tantrums. We have played along when our parents lied about Santa, and felt guilty about it. We have watched you swig a beer and found it a little frightening. Most of all, we have been deeply and inexplicably hurt when you sought advice from someone who isn't Us. We may grumble and get annoyed, younger siblings, but we have watched over you in the most agonizing way possible - seeing the inevitable break ups, break downs, and general upsets in between, seeing them all coming from a mile off but we were not able to do anything because, ultimately, it is none of our business. If we choose to, we can do what Baby did and jump in if and when the situation gets out of hand. We will fix it for you and then you will tell us to bugger off and leave you alone, as Nicole does. You can swan off to anywhere in the world, lose contact and drink your inheritance, and you can come to our door bedraggled and hungry and, because we are helpless to really help you, we will let you in and give you tea and cake. We Eldest can do absolutely nothing, except, perhaps, know you better than you know yourself.
Tender is the Night runs from March 20th - April 13th at the Lord Stanley in Camden. Wednesday - Saturday at 7.30pm with a 5pm show on Sundays. Tickets can be bought from http://www.theatrecollection.net/
Tuesday, 25 February 2014
Facewho?
Good morning.
Rigorous as these past couple of weeks have been, what with starting rehearsals for a new show, instrument lessons and getting back on the dance bike, it was quite possibly a rare display of impeccable timing on my part which prompted me to take a hiatus from Facebook two weeks ago on Thursday. I've been quiet on Twitter, too, although that was more from a lack of time in the first place.
As it was, things on my particular News Feed were getting a little fraught. I have noticed more than once that when we are faced with disaster or tragedy, quite often the very best of people shines through in the heat of the moment (Except for those who slow down to get a good look at accidents. You people are THE WORST). The recent (extreme and unusual) floods have turned the local community into a swarm of Blanche Dubois-es. Helpless, lost, and miserable, relying On the Kindness of Strangers to ensure that they, at the very least in some cases, can sleep under a roof at night.
In the same way that truth of heart and strength of compassion flourishes during such times, that little blue button with it's innocuous-looking 'f' peering up at you from your iPhone presents you with the opportunity to say "What's on your mind?"
Putting that inviting little phrase into the Status box was the Worst. Idea. Ever.
Aside from the scaremongering that comes with any potentially perilous situation, what with facts being misunderstood then misquoted then misquoted again then put as someone's status, we had those who, if we are being brutally honest, felt they hadn't quite gotten enough of the action. Some of those very lucky folk in the area who did not have water lapping at their door or creeping up on them via the overflowing toilet ("That's where it gets you! Sandbags are no good when it comes up through the loo!" - My Dad) were feeling Left Out. A Thing is happening! It is not happening to me! I must fix this!
It's one of the many facets of human weakness. We want to be included. It's in our nature, and responsible for many a mountain that started life as a molehill. The thing is with Facebook, it's a very passive-aggressive way of causing a fuss. No one has a good old-fashioned argument any more. I scream, you scream, we say what we feel, we remind ourselves we're basically flawed creatures incapable of being perfect at all times, we make up and eat ice cream. Facebook provides a forum on which to say, frankly and tactlessly, things we would never in a million years dream of saying to someone's face.
[Note: I have been one of the worst Facebook offenders. I know my stuff, y'all.]
I had people who I knew to be very lovely suddenly complaining that people would "Shut up about these floods, already!!!!1!!" followed by a long list of comments from those who had lost their homes and were certainly not going to shut up about it.
And, my favourite, the knights in shining armour - the ones who we would LOVE to admire for their community spirit and large hearts, their unbound generosity and all-round good-guy-ness. We'd love to say "You're great! You inspire me! I'm gonna go help too!" But we find it difficult to love them for their deed when you discover a self-made Facebook shrine to their day of good deeds which takes you three hours to scroll through, complete with comments including "The Army are useless! The police are idiots! Look at all the things I gave away! LOOK AT THEM! Aren't I fantastic? Look, I've even included tinned kidney beans because I'm just That good. SHAME ON YOU ALL FOR NOT GIVING AWAY YOUR FOOD TOO. Here, have several selfies of me pulling distressed faces at the water."
The best and most effective acts of kindness, having been lucky enough to have received many myself, are spontaneous, quiet, and sincere. And do not require publicising.
Facebook is important to me because it allows me to keep up to date with dear friends who are not close by, in some cases not even in the same country. It's great for finding people you used to know, keeping track of loved ones when things get busy, and sharing information without having to ring round everyone. But that's it. That's all it's meant to be. It isn't a lifestyle. People spend every waking moment refreshing their newsfeed. I'll be back on Facebook on Thursday, most likely with a link to this nonsense, and then I'll most likely forget about it again, because I have realised that I am no less without it - I certainly am not missing out on any excitement, I'm following the news with more clarity and when people want to talk to me, they have to call and have a proper conversation.
Let's not only be able to say what's on our minds when Facebook asks us too. It's a lot harder to connect with someone face-to-face, but the results are infinitely more satisfying.
Rigorous as these past couple of weeks have been, what with starting rehearsals for a new show, instrument lessons and getting back on the dance bike, it was quite possibly a rare display of impeccable timing on my part which prompted me to take a hiatus from Facebook two weeks ago on Thursday. I've been quiet on Twitter, too, although that was more from a lack of time in the first place.
As it was, things on my particular News Feed were getting a little fraught. I have noticed more than once that when we are faced with disaster or tragedy, quite often the very best of people shines through in the heat of the moment (Except for those who slow down to get a good look at accidents. You people are THE WORST). The recent (extreme and unusual) floods have turned the local community into a swarm of Blanche Dubois-es. Helpless, lost, and miserable, relying On the Kindness of Strangers to ensure that they, at the very least in some cases, can sleep under a roof at night.
In the same way that truth of heart and strength of compassion flourishes during such times, that little blue button with it's innocuous-looking 'f' peering up at you from your iPhone presents you with the opportunity to say "What's on your mind?"
Putting that inviting little phrase into the Status box was the Worst. Idea. Ever.
Aside from the scaremongering that comes with any potentially perilous situation, what with facts being misunderstood then misquoted then misquoted again then put as someone's status, we had those who, if we are being brutally honest, felt they hadn't quite gotten enough of the action. Some of those very lucky folk in the area who did not have water lapping at their door or creeping up on them via the overflowing toilet ("That's where it gets you! Sandbags are no good when it comes up through the loo!" - My Dad) were feeling Left Out. A Thing is happening! It is not happening to me! I must fix this!
It's one of the many facets of human weakness. We want to be included. It's in our nature, and responsible for many a mountain that started life as a molehill. The thing is with Facebook, it's a very passive-aggressive way of causing a fuss. No one has a good old-fashioned argument any more. I scream, you scream, we say what we feel, we remind ourselves we're basically flawed creatures incapable of being perfect at all times, we make up and eat ice cream. Facebook provides a forum on which to say, frankly and tactlessly, things we would never in a million years dream of saying to someone's face.
[Note: I have been one of the worst Facebook offenders. I know my stuff, y'all.]
I had people who I knew to be very lovely suddenly complaining that people would "Shut up about these floods, already!!!!1!!" followed by a long list of comments from those who had lost their homes and were certainly not going to shut up about it.
And, my favourite, the knights in shining armour - the ones who we would LOVE to admire for their community spirit and large hearts, their unbound generosity and all-round good-guy-ness. We'd love to say "You're great! You inspire me! I'm gonna go help too!" But we find it difficult to love them for their deed when you discover a self-made Facebook shrine to their day of good deeds which takes you three hours to scroll through, complete with comments including "The Army are useless! The police are idiots! Look at all the things I gave away! LOOK AT THEM! Aren't I fantastic? Look, I've even included tinned kidney beans because I'm just That good. SHAME ON YOU ALL FOR NOT GIVING AWAY YOUR FOOD TOO. Here, have several selfies of me pulling distressed faces at the water."
The best and most effective acts of kindness, having been lucky enough to have received many myself, are spontaneous, quiet, and sincere. And do not require publicising.
Facebook is important to me because it allows me to keep up to date with dear friends who are not close by, in some cases not even in the same country. It's great for finding people you used to know, keeping track of loved ones when things get busy, and sharing information without having to ring round everyone. But that's it. That's all it's meant to be. It isn't a lifestyle. People spend every waking moment refreshing their newsfeed. I'll be back on Facebook on Thursday, most likely with a link to this nonsense, and then I'll most likely forget about it again, because I have realised that I am no less without it - I certainly am not missing out on any excitement, I'm following the news with more clarity and when people want to talk to me, they have to call and have a proper conversation.
Let's not only be able to say what's on our minds when Facebook asks us too. It's a lot harder to connect with someone face-to-face, but the results are infinitely more satisfying.
Thursday, 13 February 2014
Theatre Review: The Final Revelation of Sherlock Holmes.
Last night's performance of Dick Backard had to be cancelled - the threat of the tube strike had scared away any prospective audience members (six, that we knew of), and considering our A Capella "trio" would, in fact, have been sung by one person plus whatever I could improvise, it was probably a blessing in disguise for all involved... Amusing though it would have been watching one person sing three harmony lines. Also, audience participation doesn't quite work when there are more people on stage than there are in the seats. Awkward.
I was lucky enough, however, to be invited along to The Final Revelation of Sherlock Holmes at the Pleasance Theatre, accompanied by Lisa of that most marvellous group of ladies, the Baker Street Babes.
(Warning: Oh, look! A tangent! *Jumps on*)
The play is something of a hidden gem for Holmesians, written back in the 70s. Similar in it's basic set up to The Secret of Sherlock Holmes, Act 1 is a window into the domestic life of our two favourite Victorian gents, Act 2 delves into the darker reaches of Holmes' mind, seeking to explore, to an extent, the torture of genius.
The production as a whole was balanced excellently. It is terribly easy with any two-hander for the action to become too static, or for the set to distract from what is being said. Director Danny Wainwright and Designer Ele Slade sidestep this potential issue very well indeed. The set - arranged on the revolve so that the seemingly sparse 221b exteriors fully masks the living room within - is fairly simple, a few chairs, a couple of desks. However, there was still a sense of cosiness and the feeling that this is a room which had been lived in - the clutter on the desk, the toppled books on their shelves, set the scene without being too noisy.
And what a celebration of Doctor Watson! Played with that awed curiosity coloured by years of frustration by James McGregor, there is not a Holmesian in the land who will not stand and cheer when any Watson says something along the lines of "I am a qualified Doctor, you know."
We must ask ourselves why on earth Watson puts up with Holmes, and there are two answers. The first is that Watson must be, as he was portrayed for many years, a first class idiot. We establish early on that this is not the case. The other, as Holmes points out both in the Canon and various incarnations, is that he is simply a Good man. McGregor's Waston encompasses all that keep us coming back to the Holmes stories - dedication to his profession, patience with his friend, sporting humour, and a desire to know and learn. The reason why Holmes, the most unsociable man in literature, has been the catalyst for so many friendships is that Watson demonstrates, time and again, how to be a good friend.
And then, of course, there's Holmes himself. It's difficult to say too much without giving things away here - however it must be said that, as once again we saw in The Secret, we are allowed a little further into the heart of this "great brain" than we would be in a Canonical production. Nico Lennon's Holmes is twitchy and restless, curling and uncurling himself out of his armchair like a cat with springs for paws. As mentioned, a few of Holmes' personal quirks come up in the course of the play and Lennon handles them well - awkward and petulant at times, but never too much, and never without the dignity with which he regards himself. Holmes is a man who carves out his own world - he is not an adapter. At least, not without Watson's guiding hand. And, as a final nod to a man who created his own profession, dips in and out of private police cases at will, and picks up and puts people down when it suits his need for information, we see no limit to his infamous stubbornness is the play's twist...
...Which I will NOT reveal here, because you must all go and see it.
I will say that the references to it being set in 1930 jarred me to begin with. Hang in there. All will be revealed. Because it IS 1930, we get a Tango. There, all better now.
In short, The Final Revelation of Sherlock Holmes is close enough the the general familiarity of Holmes as a public figure for someone who hasn't read the books to enjoy, yet jam packed full of the wit, case references and, ultimately, the battle for friendship that is so well loved by Holmesians. Excellent acting and direction compliment a funny, engaging script. Go and see it. Running until 2nd March at The Pleasance Theatre, nearest tube Caledonian Road.
I was lucky enough, however, to be invited along to The Final Revelation of Sherlock Holmes at the Pleasance Theatre, accompanied by Lisa of that most marvellous group of ladies, the Baker Street Babes.
(Warning: Oh, look! A tangent! *Jumps on*)
The play is something of a hidden gem for Holmesians, written back in the 70s. Similar in it's basic set up to The Secret of Sherlock Holmes, Act 1 is a window into the domestic life of our two favourite Victorian gents, Act 2 delves into the darker reaches of Holmes' mind, seeking to explore, to an extent, the torture of genius.
The production as a whole was balanced excellently. It is terribly easy with any two-hander for the action to become too static, or for the set to distract from what is being said. Director Danny Wainwright and Designer Ele Slade sidestep this potential issue very well indeed. The set - arranged on the revolve so that the seemingly sparse 221b exteriors fully masks the living room within - is fairly simple, a few chairs, a couple of desks. However, there was still a sense of cosiness and the feeling that this is a room which had been lived in - the clutter on the desk, the toppled books on their shelves, set the scene without being too noisy.
And what a celebration of Doctor Watson! Played with that awed curiosity coloured by years of frustration by James McGregor, there is not a Holmesian in the land who will not stand and cheer when any Watson says something along the lines of "I am a qualified Doctor, you know."
We must ask ourselves why on earth Watson puts up with Holmes, and there are two answers. The first is that Watson must be, as he was portrayed for many years, a first class idiot. We establish early on that this is not the case. The other, as Holmes points out both in the Canon and various incarnations, is that he is simply a Good man. McGregor's Waston encompasses all that keep us coming back to the Holmes stories - dedication to his profession, patience with his friend, sporting humour, and a desire to know and learn. The reason why Holmes, the most unsociable man in literature, has been the catalyst for so many friendships is that Watson demonstrates, time and again, how to be a good friend.
And then, of course, there's Holmes himself. It's difficult to say too much without giving things away here - however it must be said that, as once again we saw in The Secret, we are allowed a little further into the heart of this "great brain" than we would be in a Canonical production. Nico Lennon's Holmes is twitchy and restless, curling and uncurling himself out of his armchair like a cat with springs for paws. As mentioned, a few of Holmes' personal quirks come up in the course of the play and Lennon handles them well - awkward and petulant at times, but never too much, and never without the dignity with which he regards himself. Holmes is a man who carves out his own world - he is not an adapter. At least, not without Watson's guiding hand. And, as a final nod to a man who created his own profession, dips in and out of private police cases at will, and picks up and puts people down when it suits his need for information, we see no limit to his infamous stubbornness is the play's twist...
...Which I will NOT reveal here, because you must all go and see it.
I will say that the references to it being set in 1930 jarred me to begin with. Hang in there. All will be revealed. Because it IS 1930, we get a Tango. There, all better now.
In short, The Final Revelation of Sherlock Holmes is close enough the the general familiarity of Holmes as a public figure for someone who hasn't read the books to enjoy, yet jam packed full of the wit, case references and, ultimately, the battle for friendship that is so well loved by Holmesians. Excellent acting and direction compliment a funny, engaging script. Go and see it. Running until 2nd March at The Pleasance Theatre, nearest tube Caledonian Road.
Friday, 7 February 2014
On Panic, and understanding, and maybe we can fix this.
Good Morning.
I am panicking today. Not a hysterical, flapping, screaming panic, but the kind of silent, painful, creeping panic that is so so much worse. In my mind, everything I'm doing is wrong, I cannot satisfy myself that any task is done right (even though most of them HAVE been done right) and I can see absolutely no way in which anything will ever get any better. I will continue to accidentally mispronounce things, forget to fill the dishwasher and feel slightly awkward whenever I speak to someone new until I spiral into a big useless mess, my parents will pass on and my sister will move out and I will be alone and penniless in a cold, desolate bungalow in a road full of pensioners. Today, this morning, that is all I can see in my future. Yesterday, I was happily making plans to backpack around New Zealand.
My senses are heightened to terrifying, razor sharp precision. I can't bear hearing my own voice being fed back into my headphones with a half-second delay - on any other day it is mildly off-putting and I just shift my earpiece to block the sound. Today I cannot be rid of it. Today my own voice being fed through a tube to Ipswich and back again is frightening and though I lift away the source of the feedback I can hear the whisper of an echo still, can feel the vibrations through the foam on the edge of the headphones.
The slightest noise behind me makes me jump and whip round in my chair. The slightest shift in light, and I'm convinced someone is standing behind me, peering over my shoulder. My eyes pick out the tiniest blemishes on the computer screen and suddenly these minuscule specks are huge, obstructive, I spend my shift swiping at them. The fear manifests itself in a physical, feel-able pain. It feels like someone is trying to bore a hole between my eyes, all the while tightening the vice around my chest.
I lose my sense of time. I mentally try and plan a whole lifetime of work to be completed in two weeks. I set impossible tasks in impossible timeframes and mock myself when, inevitably, I fail. I sit down at my desk at 6am, and am gripped with cold fear when suddenly it's 10 o'clock at I've only done the work I was supposed to do. I become completely blind to the fact that I was in near-constant acting work last year, and that this year is looking the same way, and that I've lived in France and worked in a circus and was part of a project to bring theatre to rural Romania. But because I'm not a clarinet virtuoso/amazing cook/multi-linguist/someone's partner, I have failed.
If you're still reading and haven't brushed this off as a self-indulgent rant (which it partly is, and I do feel a bit better now, thank you) you most likely have some concept of that what it really going on. You may recognise these things yourself, have experienced them first hand perhaps, or have had someone close to you go through something similar.
Mental illness is at it's most destructive when it is not understood. And often, it is most difficult for the patient themselves to grasp what is happening to them.
Every one of us has said or done things when we've been angry, upset or disappointed that has been hurtful to others. Imagine for the moment that, for no reason apparent to you at that time, you live in a constant state of misery. You think you're doing what you love, but you feel so numb you cannot remember the last time you really enjoyed yourself. You can't stand it when people try to talk to you but you yearn for company when they stop. You cannot give an answer when people ask what's wrong and you snap, you cry, you say incredibly stupid things and eventually, the people around you quite rightly leave you alone and get on with being happy.
The problem lies, as with any illness, in symptom recognition. for years people have campaigned for more awareness of the symptoms of the various types of cancer, a heart attack, a stroke. People are now prepared years in advance for any of these things to happen and as a result many illnesses are caught early, many lives are saved.
I cannot recall "getting" depression. I wonder if I would be able to, if someone had sat us down in a classroom at school and spent half an hour talking to us about how to lead a happy life. A few NLP and positive thinking exercises during form time. How much quicker would I have come to the conclusion that actually, things don't have to be this way - if only I knew then that bawling my eyes out every single day for a reason I could not provide was a red flag, instead of assuming I must just not be working hard enough.
Why do our children not know how to listen to their own minds? Why are they not being told how to recognise signs of potential mental illness in themselves and others? How many years of unhappiness, broken relationships, even suicides could have been prevented if only those people had been educated properly? If we are going to strip the taboo of mental illness in it's many forms, we need to start before the damage is done. We need to reach out to the children who will take in the knowledge, so that they can grow up with the tools to deal with difficult emotional times. We need to instill knowledge of what to do if you are despairing early on, where it will be held for life, and it will NOT be a surprise when suddenly, years of illness down the line, one of them looks back at the amazing times they could not enjoy and the friendships they could not appreciate, and only then, perhaps too late, learns that help can be sought and changes can be made.
I am panicking today. Not a hysterical, flapping, screaming panic, but the kind of silent, painful, creeping panic that is so so much worse. In my mind, everything I'm doing is wrong, I cannot satisfy myself that any task is done right (even though most of them HAVE been done right) and I can see absolutely no way in which anything will ever get any better. I will continue to accidentally mispronounce things, forget to fill the dishwasher and feel slightly awkward whenever I speak to someone new until I spiral into a big useless mess, my parents will pass on and my sister will move out and I will be alone and penniless in a cold, desolate bungalow in a road full of pensioners. Today, this morning, that is all I can see in my future. Yesterday, I was happily making plans to backpack around New Zealand.
My senses are heightened to terrifying, razor sharp precision. I can't bear hearing my own voice being fed back into my headphones with a half-second delay - on any other day it is mildly off-putting and I just shift my earpiece to block the sound. Today I cannot be rid of it. Today my own voice being fed through a tube to Ipswich and back again is frightening and though I lift away the source of the feedback I can hear the whisper of an echo still, can feel the vibrations through the foam on the edge of the headphones.
The slightest noise behind me makes me jump and whip round in my chair. The slightest shift in light, and I'm convinced someone is standing behind me, peering over my shoulder. My eyes pick out the tiniest blemishes on the computer screen and suddenly these minuscule specks are huge, obstructive, I spend my shift swiping at them. The fear manifests itself in a physical, feel-able pain. It feels like someone is trying to bore a hole between my eyes, all the while tightening the vice around my chest.
I lose my sense of time. I mentally try and plan a whole lifetime of work to be completed in two weeks. I set impossible tasks in impossible timeframes and mock myself when, inevitably, I fail. I sit down at my desk at 6am, and am gripped with cold fear when suddenly it's 10 o'clock at I've only done the work I was supposed to do. I become completely blind to the fact that I was in near-constant acting work last year, and that this year is looking the same way, and that I've lived in France and worked in a circus and was part of a project to bring theatre to rural Romania. But because I'm not a clarinet virtuoso/amazing cook/multi-linguist/someone's partner, I have failed.
If you're still reading and haven't brushed this off as a self-indulgent rant (which it partly is, and I do feel a bit better now, thank you) you most likely have some concept of that what it really going on. You may recognise these things yourself, have experienced them first hand perhaps, or have had someone close to you go through something similar.
Mental illness is at it's most destructive when it is not understood. And often, it is most difficult for the patient themselves to grasp what is happening to them.
Every one of us has said or done things when we've been angry, upset or disappointed that has been hurtful to others. Imagine for the moment that, for no reason apparent to you at that time, you live in a constant state of misery. You think you're doing what you love, but you feel so numb you cannot remember the last time you really enjoyed yourself. You can't stand it when people try to talk to you but you yearn for company when they stop. You cannot give an answer when people ask what's wrong and you snap, you cry, you say incredibly stupid things and eventually, the people around you quite rightly leave you alone and get on with being happy.
The problem lies, as with any illness, in symptom recognition. for years people have campaigned for more awareness of the symptoms of the various types of cancer, a heart attack, a stroke. People are now prepared years in advance for any of these things to happen and as a result many illnesses are caught early, many lives are saved.
I cannot recall "getting" depression. I wonder if I would be able to, if someone had sat us down in a classroom at school and spent half an hour talking to us about how to lead a happy life. A few NLP and positive thinking exercises during form time. How much quicker would I have come to the conclusion that actually, things don't have to be this way - if only I knew then that bawling my eyes out every single day for a reason I could not provide was a red flag, instead of assuming I must just not be working hard enough.
Why do our children not know how to listen to their own minds? Why are they not being told how to recognise signs of potential mental illness in themselves and others? How many years of unhappiness, broken relationships, even suicides could have been prevented if only those people had been educated properly? If we are going to strip the taboo of mental illness in it's many forms, we need to start before the damage is done. We need to reach out to the children who will take in the knowledge, so that they can grow up with the tools to deal with difficult emotional times. We need to instill knowledge of what to do if you are despairing early on, where it will be held for life, and it will NOT be a surprise when suddenly, years of illness down the line, one of them looks back at the amazing times they could not enjoy and the friendships they could not appreciate, and only then, perhaps too late, learns that help can be sought and changes can be made.
Saturday, 18 January 2014
Wine and a singing lesson while I type about BBC Sherlock
Well, not a singing lesson, actually, but Tony Pedretti's Group 3 practise session 2. It goes really quite a way along toward the tinkly end of the piano. I am really quite tipsy. I have high hopes for this vocal workout.
I've had lots of exciting auditions - one of which was for a newly-thought-out production of a gutsy Shakespeare, which I've yet to hear from but got so much out of the audition and had such a fun three and a half hours of geekery it was worth going, even if I don't get it. I'm supposed to be shooting a short film tomorrow - only my second, so suitably terrified - however, I get murdered. I am more exited for the murder-acting than I really should be.
I want to briefly put my tuppence in on reflection upon some of the reactions I've seen to Sherlock S3, just because there have, of course, been some strange and tactless rants going about that I'm not all that keen on, and not for the most obvious reasons.
I am not the sort of person who goes to view or experience something with the attitude of "Impress me." Not even with a take on something so dear to my heart as Theatre. Or Sherlock Holmes. Give me what you have, Thing I'm About To Watch, and I will sit there and give it my due attention and take it or leave it depending on how it affects me.
What I want to get down to is how can anyone possibly be so viciously - and some responses I've seen have been very viscous indeed - comparing BBC's Sherlock to any other version.
It's set in the present day. Granada were canonical, and went Victorian. Rathbone had forays into WW2 era. Johnny Lee Miller's Holmes joins Cumberbatch's in the present day but, in a departure from all mentioned above, is solving crimes in the States.
Our environment affects us in ways we cannot imagine. From how we dress to the accent we talk in to how we see the world. Sherlock Holmes, as lovers of the book know him, is not what we see in Cumbers or Miller or Rathbone or Downey Jr and though Jeremy Brett's dedication gave us the closest version we could hope for in terms of the Holmes of the Canon - Brett himself says Holmes is better read, and he is right, before any of us indulge in 90 minutes of Sherlock thrice every 2000 years, why not indulge ourselves in those tantalising tales that started everything? Why HAVE they survived? These stories are over a hundred years old. People are STILL buying them. They know who Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson are, they know half the stories without even realising.
A character from a book, so fascinating, so closed and enigmatic as Holmes - how can he be pinpointed? Conan Doyle may know how. He would have had a handle on Holmes that none of us could ever understand, as his creator - but we do not have him to guide every adaptation, to advise every actor that comes on the scene.
All we have is curiosity. What if Sherlock Holmes lived in the present day? Would his mannerisms, his language, his methods, be different to the man from the books, swathed in Victorian society? Of COURSE he would. Benedict Cumberbatch is not playing a Victorian man wandering around 2013 London. If he was, he would not be challenging himself as a professional actor. He is playing a man called Sherlock Holmes, brought up in the late 70s/early 80s, living in the age of social media, who happens to possess mental ability based on those displayed by the Holmes of the books. To sit down in front of the telly and expect Holmes as you have imagined him in the books would be not only setting yourself up for a fall, but denying yourself the possible enjoyment of what is an entertaining, interesting, and beautifully shot piece of television.
The Downey Jr films are about as far away from Holmes as it is possible to get, in terms of how I see the Holmes of the books. My sister treats me with tickets to see them because we have a hilarious time, with me going "WHAT IS THIS NO WAIT WHY IS HE DOING THAT" and laughing the whole time and she just likes all the explosions. It's a given they were never going to be pure Holmes. It's a gritty Hollywood action adventure. They tick that box supremely. I come away bemused, perhaps, but not angry.
At the other end of the scale, anyone who knows me would let you know in no uncertain terms of my great admiration for Jeremy Brett. I trawl Amazon for his non-Holmesian works. There is ALWAYS a Brett-Holmes disk in my DVD player. He brought the detective that fascinated me in childhood truly to life in such detail it takes my breath away, as it does for many people. But his Holmes is still his opinion - what we see in the beautiful series from Granada Television is Jeremy's understanding of who Sherlock Holmes is. What about David Burke and Edward Hardwicke as Doctor Watson? Two supremely different, but no less interesting, opinions of the man Conan Doyle created on paper.
If you want pure Holmes, stick to the books. That's fine, and safer. But remember, the human race would not have gotten very far if we never asked What If...and the Arts would not exist at all.
Go open minded into any new thing you experience, ESPECIALLY if it means a lot to you. If you like it, celebrate. If you don't, shrug your shoulders and go back to something you DO like.
Chin chin.
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
New Year's Musings
Happy New Year to all, I raise a glass of bubbly to your collective good health.
Or I would, if I wasn't still at work.
I might anyway, in the spirit of rebellion!
Or I would. If I had any Champagne.
I raise my carton of apple juice to you.
Let us get this out of the way, I have never liked this time of year, really. When we went to family get togethers regularly I was too young to appreciate the company (Or the alcohol) and nowadays our house gets invaded by my sister's mates, and there is invariably one who will miss the strike of 12 because they are being sick into our bath.
Let me also say that there is something to be said for making the choice to start afresh. Because really, there isn't - what's done is done, and time pushes forwards, not backwards. "This too shall pass" and all that, which is a good thing to remember in the very best of times, not only the very blackest days. And so, I think, this New Year's Eve will be different.
It is noticeable, when the sheen of festive childish excitement starts to dwindle, that Christmas and New Year are strange times because of the frantic energy at opposite ends of the pole. At one end, as I mentioned, the child-like glee, frantic and straining under the right to be excited. At the other, I have seen for the first time - total misery, in some cases. Not necessarily from myself, but from those around me. When I started at work my first question was "CAN I DECORATE THE OFFICE AT CHRISTMAS." Not instead of people nudging me to count down the days I have been regaled with stories of what a chore it is to spend the money, how they hate their family, WHY they hate their family, and how generally hard-done-by they are to have a family and people to buy for in the first place.
I had a very good year. I got a new job to support my acting work, and then was almost solidly employed in one show or another. I beat off depression and got off my medication - now I am feeling, as the children have their right to happiness, that I have had bestowed upon me the adults' right to be unhappy.
I do not have, for the first time, a solid plan for 2014. This scares me and I am dreading it a little. I need to make a showreel. I need to move out. I need to find a new agent. I need to find a first voiceover agent. I need to go back to talk therapy and get my mind back on track. I am terrified.
And I am possibly the most hopeful I have ever been. If there is one thing I know it is that I persevere. I will work for myself and put myself first, and while that particular habit has been a curse at time I also believe - crucially - in magic. I am an artist. Art is not supposed to be pleasent, although I derive so much joy I sometime forget this. I go to the theatre to laugh and cry and be shocked freely and without danger. I act to be in the worst kind of danger possible, to be unhealthily infatuated and destructively angry and unimaginably happy in a place where those frightening but more interesting aspects of the human nature are displayed without reserve.
2014 is nothing more than the next scene in my play, if you like. I do not need to force my happiness or success - just like times of suffering do not need encouragement to crop up, as every person will know. And this is what I think about the people I heard declaring their hatred for Christmas or New Year, as I, admittedly, tend to do every December 31st. I wonder how many stand on the edge of November 30th and think, "I don't know how Christmas will be this year. Let's see." And go into it with no expectations that the Turkey will be ruined, or relatives will die, or the kids won't like their presents.
Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself.
And so, in closing, I would like to publicly acknowledge my own New Year's Resolution - because I'm an old-fashioned lass when it comes to tradition - I will go through this year, as much as possible, without expectations.
Or I would, if I wasn't still at work.
I might anyway, in the spirit of rebellion!
Or I would. If I had any Champagne.
I raise my carton of apple juice to you.
Let us get this out of the way, I have never liked this time of year, really. When we went to family get togethers regularly I was too young to appreciate the company (Or the alcohol) and nowadays our house gets invaded by my sister's mates, and there is invariably one who will miss the strike of 12 because they are being sick into our bath.
Let me also say that there is something to be said for making the choice to start afresh. Because really, there isn't - what's done is done, and time pushes forwards, not backwards. "This too shall pass" and all that, which is a good thing to remember in the very best of times, not only the very blackest days. And so, I think, this New Year's Eve will be different.
It is noticeable, when the sheen of festive childish excitement starts to dwindle, that Christmas and New Year are strange times because of the frantic energy at opposite ends of the pole. At one end, as I mentioned, the child-like glee, frantic and straining under the right to be excited. At the other, I have seen for the first time - total misery, in some cases. Not necessarily from myself, but from those around me. When I started at work my first question was "CAN I DECORATE THE OFFICE AT CHRISTMAS." Not instead of people nudging me to count down the days I have been regaled with stories of what a chore it is to spend the money, how they hate their family, WHY they hate their family, and how generally hard-done-by they are to have a family and people to buy for in the first place.
I had a very good year. I got a new job to support my acting work, and then was almost solidly employed in one show or another. I beat off depression and got off my medication - now I am feeling, as the children have their right to happiness, that I have had bestowed upon me the adults' right to be unhappy.
I do not have, for the first time, a solid plan for 2014. This scares me and I am dreading it a little. I need to make a showreel. I need to move out. I need to find a new agent. I need to find a first voiceover agent. I need to go back to talk therapy and get my mind back on track. I am terrified.
And I am possibly the most hopeful I have ever been. If there is one thing I know it is that I persevere. I will work for myself and put myself first, and while that particular habit has been a curse at time I also believe - crucially - in magic. I am an artist. Art is not supposed to be pleasent, although I derive so much joy I sometime forget this. I go to the theatre to laugh and cry and be shocked freely and without danger. I act to be in the worst kind of danger possible, to be unhealthily infatuated and destructively angry and unimaginably happy in a place where those frightening but more interesting aspects of the human nature are displayed without reserve.
2014 is nothing more than the next scene in my play, if you like. I do not need to force my happiness or success - just like times of suffering do not need encouragement to crop up, as every person will know. And this is what I think about the people I heard declaring their hatred for Christmas or New Year, as I, admittedly, tend to do every December 31st. I wonder how many stand on the edge of November 30th and think, "I don't know how Christmas will be this year. Let's see." And go into it with no expectations that the Turkey will be ruined, or relatives will die, or the kids won't like their presents.
Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself.
And so, in closing, I would like to publicly acknowledge my own New Year's Resolution - because I'm an old-fashioned lass when it comes to tradition - I will go through this year, as much as possible, without expectations.
Thursday, 26 December 2013
New Year's Eve eve eve eve eve eve
Evening,
I am out of work and very twitchy indeed. Have been practically living at the radio recently which has been great in terms of company and money, but it's not Opening Number for Act Two.
Things are wobbly to the max. The dark days are not good for me at all. This is my first winter without anti-depressants in two years, and I can feel it in a big way. Christmas eve night, I actually had a panic attack.
It's not anything big - just a selection of small, annoying circumstances that wouldn't have been a problem at all if they hadn't all come at once.
Christmas was lovely, calm as usual with lots of food and alcohol, but I'm definitely getting itchy feet. A change is near and needed.
I am out of work and very twitchy indeed. Have been practically living at the radio recently which has been great in terms of company and money, but it's not Opening Number for Act Two.
Things are wobbly to the max. The dark days are not good for me at all. This is my first winter without anti-depressants in two years, and I can feel it in a big way. Christmas eve night, I actually had a panic attack.
It's not anything big - just a selection of small, annoying circumstances that wouldn't have been a problem at all if they hadn't all come at once.
Christmas was lovely, calm as usual with lots of food and alcohol, but I'm definitely getting itchy feet. A change is near and needed.
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Good morning!
Desperately, painfully tired this morning. I'm supposed to be meeting someone forthe first time lunch this afternoon, preventing me from going home to sleep - mind you, I have to be back for Faust by 3.30, so there's be no point anyway. By the time I got home I'd only have a couple of hours before having to leave the house again.
I'm going to head over to Innerspace today, and see if I can sleep in their quiet room or, if the weather's ok (which according to the Weather program at work, is highly unlikely) I can just curl up under a tree in Embankment gardens and sleep there for an hour or two. And hope no one mugs me.
The aforementioned lady with whom I'm supposed to be having lunch has not actually gotten back to me on the subject, which is frustrating. I honestly don't mind if people can't make things - it happens, and it would be hypocritical to get irritated over it - but I wish she'd let me know. Hmm. We shall see.
In other news, rehearsals are going very well in general. First run through of Faust tonight and first complete run of Comic Potential on Thursday - so excited that everything is coming together now. It's been a bit bumpy on both fronts but we should manage.
Desperately, painfully tired this morning. I'm supposed to be meeting someone for
I'm going to head over to Innerspace today, and see if I can sleep in their quiet room or, if the weather's ok (which according to the Weather program at work, is highly unlikely) I can just curl up under a tree in Embankment gardens and sleep there for an hour or two. And hope no one mugs me.
The aforementioned lady with whom I'm supposed to be having lunch has not actually gotten back to me on the subject, which is frustrating. I honestly don't mind if people can't make things - it happens, and it would be hypocritical to get irritated over it - but I wish she'd let me know. Hmm. We shall see.
In other news, rehearsals are going very well in general. First run through of Faust tonight and first complete run of Comic Potential on Thursday - so excited that everything is coming together now. It's been a bit bumpy on both fronts but we should manage.
Sunday, 6 October 2013
Post audition glow
Shenanigans at the Radio already this morning. I have to re-do the demos I did last week (he noticed my edit in one of them, damn it) and I have a choice of two sets of headphones - one pair doesn't work, and the other pair are broken. Was that gramatically correct? Eesh.
It'll be a busy one today. Two classes at Pineapple then Faust then Orchestra. I shan't attempt to hide my smugness, I'll enjoy every second. I'm doing lots of Yoga at the moment - I try to go to Pineapple about three times a week and do a yoga class every time. One of my very dear Twitter pals suggested I do more - It is helping with the "being in the moment" issues I'm currently struggling with, and also doing yoga before or after a good jazz or ballet class, I'm finding, does wonders for muscle recovery and general soreness.
We finished setting Comic Potential yesterday afternoon! It has suddenly struck me that there is really not all that long to go before the show itself. Terrifying and exciting. I need to run my lines for CP every night before bed this week I think - I know Faust completely now, and now the dates are creeping closer I need to focus more on CP anyway. I saw Carla's costume design and love it. Red blouse, black skirt and jacket, red killer-bitch heels. YES. I love playing the evil ones.
I enjoyed my audition Sunday morning, too. It was for a production of Medea - another greek Tragedy, and a wonderfully chilling story. I saw Headlong's modernised production a few months ago at Richmond and thought it was brilliant.
The creative team seemed very friendly. Lots of eye contact without being intimidating, and they were attentive to my pieces. I did Titania from A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Storybook from Faust. (You'll never use monologues in auditions, they said!) I thought it went well, and that's enough for me - it's up to them now.
It'll be a busy one today. Two classes at Pineapple then Faust then Orchestra. I shan't attempt to hide my smugness, I'll enjoy every second. I'm doing lots of Yoga at the moment - I try to go to Pineapple about three times a week and do a yoga class every time. One of my very dear Twitter pals suggested I do more - It is helping with the "being in the moment" issues I'm currently struggling with, and also doing yoga before or after a good jazz or ballet class, I'm finding, does wonders for muscle recovery and general soreness.
We finished setting Comic Potential yesterday afternoon! It has suddenly struck me that there is really not all that long to go before the show itself. Terrifying and exciting. I need to run my lines for CP every night before bed this week I think - I know Faust completely now, and now the dates are creeping closer I need to focus more on CP anyway. I saw Carla's costume design and love it. Red blouse, black skirt and jacket, red killer-bitch heels. YES. I love playing the evil ones.
I enjoyed my audition Sunday morning, too. It was for a production of Medea - another greek Tragedy, and a wonderfully chilling story. I saw Headlong's modernised production a few months ago at Richmond and thought it was brilliant.
The creative team seemed very friendly. Lots of eye contact without being intimidating, and they were attentive to my pieces. I did Titania from A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Storybook from Faust. (You'll never use monologues in auditions, they said!) I thought it went well, and that's enough for me - it's up to them now.
Saturday, 5 October 2013
Sleep, Rope and Dr. Theatre
Yesterday was pretty amazing.
For the most part.
I overslept, which, to the credit of my phone alarm, has never happened bar ONCE (and even then I managed to not be late for work) - unfortunately I woke up at half ten, and rushed to get to my rehearsal which had started a half hour before. I was mortified of course, but luckily the Faust/Gretchen final scene in the prison had yet to be set, so they'd spent time working on that.
When I watched it back, I was blown away. Tom and Iulia are both such amazing actors. I really hope I come out of this project a more open person, and better at what I do from working with them. I feel more unbalanced already, which I think is a good thing - I know I settle into a comfortable place very easily, and once I'm there it's pretty difficult to move me. But in a way that was why I took the BDSM Faust job, I wanted something to really push me in ways I hadn't considered.
Anyway I got to try on a corset, which was pretty cool - I've always wanted one, and I think now would be a good time to invest - and a pretty good excuse as well - it was green satin. Really beautiful. I was looking at some pretty black ones last night before my internet cut out, I'm definitely going to get one of those.
The play I saw in the evening was fabulous. I know the playwright through my old college principal - they're both lovely guys and having seen some of the writer's other work he truly deserved to have the play done on a large scale. It hit a chord with me - dealing with nostalgia of bygone days, the elderly and fading - I have always had an appreciation for those bygone eras before technology took over and when there was a proper etiquette with regard to how to speak to people.
Off to an audition, then rehearsal for Comic Potential.
For the most part.
I overslept, which, to the credit of my phone alarm, has never happened bar ONCE (and even then I managed to not be late for work) - unfortunately I woke up at half ten, and rushed to get to my rehearsal which had started a half hour before. I was mortified of course, but luckily the Faust/Gretchen final scene in the prison had yet to be set, so they'd spent time working on that.
When I watched it back, I was blown away. Tom and Iulia are both such amazing actors. I really hope I come out of this project a more open person, and better at what I do from working with them. I feel more unbalanced already, which I think is a good thing - I know I settle into a comfortable place very easily, and once I'm there it's pretty difficult to move me. But in a way that was why I took the BDSM Faust job, I wanted something to really push me in ways I hadn't considered.
Anyway I got to try on a corset, which was pretty cool - I've always wanted one, and I think now would be a good time to invest - and a pretty good excuse as well - it was green satin. Really beautiful. I was looking at some pretty black ones last night before my internet cut out, I'm definitely going to get one of those.
The play I saw in the evening was fabulous. I know the playwright through my old college principal - they're both lovely guys and having seen some of the writer's other work he truly deserved to have the play done on a large scale. It hit a chord with me - dealing with nostalgia of bygone days, the elderly and fading - I have always had an appreciation for those bygone eras before technology took over and when there was a proper etiquette with regard to how to speak to people.
Off to an audition, then rehearsal for Comic Potential.
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