Number 22 | See an actual real life ballet …

Having been obsessed with ballet dancers from the age of four – but being not that great at it myself – I don’t understand why I’ve never been to see an actual ballet before. Now I work at a theatre and discovered that they were having Ballet Theatre UK come to perform ‘Alice in Wonderland’, there was no way I was not going to sign up to work that shift. See a ballet and get paid for it? That’s the dream!

And now I realise how trippy ‘Alice in Wonderland’ actually is. I read the book years ago but only remember what happened in the Disney film. My favourite character will always be the bong-smoking caterpillar though.

Seeing a real ballet was incredible. I loved it. The girl playing Alice was beautiful; I just wanted to watch all the girls on pointe all day long. I wish I’d taken ballet more seriously as a kid as then I might be better at it now. My immature side also came out just a tad, especially with the very obvious crotches on the male dancers.

This was my favourite conversation on the night (I say ‘conversation’; it’s me making stupid observations):

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Number 21 | Depression is an utter bastard …

I decided in a brief moment of seriousness to write about depression and how it affects me. Please be aware, this is mainly a huge stream of conscience written in the moment – today has not been great for me and I’m writing things as I think them, so it may not read well at all. But I’m trying to give a small insight into how I feel. I’m trying to put it into words, which is something I’ve not done before.

 

Feeling suicidal is a regular occurrence for me. That’s not great, I’m well aware of it. But it’s also not an “attention thing” – if I wanted attention, I’d tell people something great about me that we could talk about, do the whole humble brag thing like, “oh, this dress? You like it? I wasn’t sure how it looked …” when you know you look fucking awesome. If I truly wanted to be talked about and have people fawn over me, I would do that. I do not tell people I want to kill myself for attention. There is no way of saying, “I’m suicidal” without it seeming stupendously over-dramatic.

One friend I said it to – and she is lovely, don’t get me wrong – responded with, “and how am I supposed to deal with this?” Thanks for making me feel guilty about sharing with you.

When I feel depressed I do things that will make me feel worse. I go on things like Facebook, for no reason other than to see what’s going on with all the “friends” who have no interest in me; who are, quite frankly, a bunch of backstabbing cunts (that really, really hurt). To see pictures of my ex. It’s like, I’m already feeling bad. Let’s go the whole way and really feel bad!

So I do things that make me feel worse, yet I don’t want to feel worse. I deal with bad news by responding in a not-very-mature way. I recently auditioned for something and when I didn’t get it (mainly because I’m already involved in something else) I responded with, “Oh, but I would have quit that. Anyway, it’s fine, I won’t be around the theatre much.” I want people to ask why, to ask what’s going on, to ask IF I’M ALRIGHT. Because I’m not alright.

But when people do ask if I’m alright, that depresses me more, particularly on a good day.

Imagine this. You’re having a brilliant day, everything’s going great, and then someone says, “Hey, remember when your dog died and how upset you were?” Immediately you remember this. Maybe you were trying to forget about it. Maybe it had gone from your mind in that particular second because you were enjoying something. Maybe it was so long ago that you are now over it, or feel like you are. And now in the one question, it’s brought back everything you thought you didn’t feel anymore.  You feel sad. You remember how upset you were at that time and it spoils the moment for you now. This is how it works for me. I can be having an absolute blast and all it takes is for someone to ask me how I am … And that’s it. Because I remember that I’m not good. It makes me remember that I’m not good. Things might not even be particularly shit but there is something, a memory or something, that gets triggered.

I deal with things by talking about them to anyone who will listen (weirdly enough, not my parents). But I want to talk about the stuff that’s bothering me … My ex, say, or the current male friend who has decided he doesn’t want any contact with me at all, for reasons I don’t understand. These are the thing that are going round and round in my head on a constant loop and sometimes it gets too much. And that’s not even helpful talking. It’s just vocalising what’s in my head. Instead of screaming or whatever else I could do, I cry and then turn to what feels like my only other option – death.

I don’t want to go on like this, I don’t. Killing myself is the definitive way to make all the shit stop for good. And don’t give me the bollocks that I already know, about how it will destroy my parents or my friends. I know that, okay? A guilt trip is not what I need. But the point is, I don’t know what I need. Usually I just ride it out. Cry and overthink until I fall asleep, or something else comes along to distract me. It’s not a constant thing, and I don’t need to be supervised around sharp knives, or train tracks, or tall buildings. But I do keep giving myself “expiry dates” – right now, I can’t kill myself until after the production that I’m in finishes in October because I’ve told people I’m in it and I don’t want to let them down. But of course I’m also putting it off because I’m scared and I don’t want to kill myself at all. I tried cutting my wrists four weeks ago and it fucking HURTS. That was without going deep enough to make it bleed. The thing is, slashing my wrists was my definitive death option because it’s over pretty quickly and is quite reliable. So if that option is out because I can’t face pain, how else am I going to do it?!

So how do I sum up something I don’t even understand? Here’s exactly what happened today because an actual example is more helpful, to me anyway.

  1. Something comes up that makes me feel sad. Today it was a conversation about this friend who’s decided he wants no contact with me. I said I hate him. Of course I don’t hate him. I just want my friend back.
  2. I cry.
  3. I completed a job application.
  4. I searched for the employer on Linked In, mainly trying to find out if they were male or female (silly ambiguous names).
  5. I searched for my ex on Linked In, the only social network we’re connected on.
  6. I saw his picture. He’s also updated his profile.
  7. I go on Facebook and look at some of our mutual friends, mainly to try and find a picture of him. Why? I don’t know. When I did see pictures of him I scrolled right past them anyway.
  8. This made me think of how many things I would have been invited to (maybe) if these “friends” hadn’t decided to be dicks.
  9. I cried some more.
  10. I started writing this.

Although this post has been on my ‘to do’ list for a while, I couldn’t approach it while I was in a good mood because thinking of depression would bring my mood right down and I didn’t want that. I knew some opportunity would present itself sooner or later when I would feel like crap and that turned out to be today. Hence the post.

 

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say anymore. I don’t want to feel sad all the time but I also want to talk about it all of the time which then makes me sad. I want someone to ask me if I’m alright but then I don’t because that makes me think, “Ooh, actually, I’m not alright.” I want to kill myself but I also really, really don’t. I wish I could deal with bad things – even minor bad things – with a “don’t care” attitude. “He’s not worth it. “ “Men are dicks.” “That’s too bad but something else will come up.” I can say all of those things out loud but definitely don’t feel them deep down.

Depression does not make even the slightest bit of sense.

There is no real good way to end this post, so I’m just going to leave it at that. Thanks for reading.

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Number 20 | Do a zip wire …

I’m still not sure how to write that word … ‘zipwire’, ‘zip wire’, ‘Zip Wire’? Either way I did one of those today and it was epic!

My lovely dad came along to accompany me and be in charge of photo taking. I signed up to borrow a GoPro as well, to record my descent (and, presumably, my death should that happen).

The zip wire was basically a massive crane with a wire running from one end of Victoria Park to about midway; quite obvious, but amazing how many dog walkers and joggers passing by didn’t even give it a second glance. The men running it (of course they were men) were exactly the type you’d expect – “outdoorsy”, wholesome sorts, with tans, shorts and lots of hair. Calling each other “dude”. Those sorts of men.

Once I was strapped into my harness (“Just step into it like it’s a big pair of trousers”) it was time to step inside The Cage. Along with three other participants with were strapped into the cage, our harnesses hooked SAFELY onto the railings. Blonde Haired Man was in the cage with us, making lots of “jokes” about how they’ve never had any injuries so far. As the cage was hoisted up the crane, it was blowing slightly in the breeze – it was scary enough in the tiny amount of wind we had, so I could only imagine how terrifying it would be in really windy conditions. As we got to the top and looked down at the park (BAD IDEA) it reminded me of the scene in ‘Jurassic Park: The Lost World’ when the little kid gets into the safety cage with Eddie, well above the trees, and is able to watch two Tyrannosauruses run at their camper van underneath … Anyway …

I was the last person to leave the cage, with the instruction of, “Just sit on the edge then push yourself off.” The harness, sadly, doesn’t allow you to sit all the way down, you kind of just hang there. Rather than pushing myself off, I pretty much fell out of the cage, clinging onto my safety rope for dear life until actually I realised I don’t need to hang on. Apparently the cable can hold six tonnes, which is always reassuring.

Once I got to the other end, crashing into the podium like the graceful beast I am, it was time to get unhooked. Sporty Man unhooked my harness and safety cable and told me to go down the ladder, where John will undo the harness. I went down said ladder (easily the scariest part of the whole experience), turned to John and aid, “Are you the guy who’s going to undress me?” Very much not what I meant. I got unhooked, I said thank you and I walked back to join my dad and get an ice cream from the ice cream van, because I am an adult and can do that.

I also raised £128 for the Y, so that’s a good thing too.

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Number 19 | Watch Harry Potter’s latest adventure …

After buying tickets A YEAR AGO, I finally got to go and see ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’ in London!

The ticket buying itself was a hilarious process. For a start I did it while at work, joining the online queue and having it running in the background ALL DAY until I finally got to the checkout point at around 4pm. Then you get five minutes on each page to make your selection and pay. I wanted two tickets at the mid-level price (as apparently so did everyone in the world) for both part one and part two … When I got to the end, I’d ended up buying two top-price tickets for part two only. Bugger.

But that was a year ago and now it was THE DAY ITSELF. After a debacle that involved getting split up on the Tube (my friend Sarah got on a train, I got shoved out the way and shouted after her I would meet her at the end … Only that didn’t really happen and there was quite a lot of phoning and texting going out to find out exactly where she’d gone) we went for dinner at Planet Hollywood (which was lame) and a walk around Covent Garden Market (which was nice, when it wasn’t raining). We had eventually killed enough time to go and join the line snaking its way around the theatre. Our bags were searched and we were warned in advance that any food would be confiscated. Somehow I manage to sneak in a box of Milk Duds, whereas Sarah got her special bag of M&Ms taken away (haha!). We joined the merchandise queue, bought some unnecessary stuff and eventually made our way into the auditorium.

I’m not allowed to say anything about the show itself – the hashtag #keepthesecrets is posted up everywhere – but I can say it was AMAZING. And funny. And tragic. And brilliant. The choreography was outstanding and the acting was first rate, even from all the children (and I am not a fan of child actors). There were some terrific special effect moments, too. I need to go back and see part one now, desperately.

EVERYONE NEEDS TO SEE THIS SHOW. Bravo to everyone involved.

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