Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning

 Farewell 2012.  We're leaving this year and into another as of tonight, but you'll always be there.  For worse, or for better.  I'm going to see it for all of the good things.  I'm going to relive them to make me smile.

2012 was Britain's year.  There is no doubt about it.  The Olympics, the Diamond Jubilee, another heir to the throne is on its way next year.  We all came together in the Summer and celebrated our culture with pride.  Anyone who didn't can naff off.

2012 was, despite how I'm feeling, a good year for me too.  I left school on a high.  The end of my formal education was marked with tears - but they were good tears, sad to be leaving and overjoyed that I'd had a wonderful time.  I started a new job.  I got into (now Royal) Central School of Speech and Drama.  I fulfilled  a childhood dream and got to play Annie in Annie!!  Something that I'd long since given up on.  I had my name mentioned in the newspaper for the first time - and it wasn't because something had gone wrong!!  It was for my performance as Annie!!  So I'll be sorry to leave 2012 behind, but bring on 2013 for me to be in a right frame of mind.

 So what are my New Years Resolutions?  Well, same as anyone really.  Lose weight.  Lose the dickheads in my life.  Be more upfront.  Do more spontaneous stuff.  Get out and about and see the sights.  Laugh more.  Breathe more.  Drink more.  Properly get into sewing.  Finish writing a novel.  Get that high E.  Get into a routine that allows me to have a tidy bedroom and study.  Take a Photograph that I'm really very proud of.  Get pretty.  Live.

So, two reasonably contradicting statements right there.  I'll leave it to you to look them over and see what you think.  Personally, I have my own theories.  

And here are some more Harry Potter quotes.  I'm a Pothead and I don't care who knows it.  Well, you know what I mean.  The messages in it really speak to me, no matter what people say about J.K Rowling writing ability.  These ones I am going to think on in the new year.  I've already set that I've had a voice. Now I am going to be corny and say that I have a choice too.  

We'll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne.  

I wish you a very happy and successful 2013.  If it's not for you then don't worry.  We can't all have a good year.  That would be boring.  Some of us sometimes have to wait our turn.  But it's always just around the corner.  Hang in there.  

As for me?    I don't care how long it takes me to get there.  But I will get there.  I'm headed towards the Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.

So come with me, where dreams are born and never planned, just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings forever in Never Neverland

When she was just a girl she expected the world, 

But it flew away from her reach,

So she ran away in her sleep,

Dreamed of para-para-paradise

Para-para-paradise

Para-para-paradise

Everytime she closed her eyes,

Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh

When she was just a girl she expected the world,

But it ran away from her reach,

And the bullets catch in her teeth

Life goes on

It gets so heavy

The wheel breaks the butterfly

Every tear, a waterfall

In the night, the stormy night,

Away she'd fly

She dreamed of para para paradise

Para para paradise

Para para paradise

Whoa oh oh oh oooh oh oh oh 

So lying under those stormy skies 

She said oh oh oh I know the sun must rise

This could be para para paradise

Para para paradise

Para para paradise

Whoah oh oh oh oooh oh oh oh

And that goes on four times.  It's continuously playing in my body.  In the radio.  Through the window.  It goes through the door.  Strangers hum it.  Birds whistle it.  Trees whisper it. Dreams dance it.  It won't leave my head.  It's playing.  It's always playing.  

I read over my blogs and eugh I'm such an idiot.  I knew this anyway.  I have so much to be thankful.  There's nothing really there to be sad for and yet there it is.  It's always there, like that song now is.  I think of it like a blanket.  I just seem to wallow in it.  It's comfy because it's what I'm used to but that doesn't mean that it hurts me.  I'm sorry.  I wish that I could be more inspiring, more influential, I wish that I could help people.  I'd like to hold childrens hands when they're upset.  To help them to smile and to have fun.  To take them to Neverland.  But then I'd take them home again.  I'd like to pick them up when they fall, to brush down cut knees.  I'd like to stop them from falling down at all.  I'd like them to love me and to believe in me.  My purpose would be looking after them.  

And when I get to doing that, I'd like to find a very scared little girl with pointy knees and elbows, brown hair with a fringe, hazel eyes and dozens and dozens of freckles,  Then I'd like to pick her up and tell her that it's all going to be ok.  I'd tell her to squeeze her eyes tightly shut against the nightmares and to open her eyes again years later.  

Yes, that is what I would tell myself.  

'Tink!! You drunk my medicine!! Tink? What's the matter? So it was poison....'

Ok, so Christmas is over now and I am now able to drop the Christmas grin.

I feel terrible.  I have been spoiled rotten - you've no idea.  And what makes me feel even worse, is rather than being tucked up in bed full of delight, I am surrounded by bottles of stuff with vodka in and just crying.  What a fucking bitch I am.  I don't even know why the hell I am like this?  How can I be so fucking selfish?  I am such a twat.  My family have been lovely to me.  I had my friends around yesterday yesterday yesterday and they were lovely to me.  I took Katie out round Green Glades Shopping Centre (a.k.a The Disney Store) yesterday yesterday and she had a great time with me.  So everything has been lovely, and I am just this dark cloud over everything.  No, not a cloud, they're flying to high.  It's more like water.  I'm just drifting along the waves, cold and slow.

 So, because I know that I am being a complete and utter shithead, I'm keeping my trap shut and I find that always having a bottle in your mouth kind of prevents you from talking.  Not that anyone is still awake.  I'm down here by myself at the moment.  Thank God.  I'm also trailing through looking at happy statements.  So, to continue with my theme of water here's one for you:

And I guess that that's kind of true.  Think Job in the Bible.  The big man up there better let up soon for me though.  My Mum has said to me that she wishes that she'd never sent me to my secondary school, and instead pushed for me to be pulled out (so many contrasts right there.  It's like a tug of war.) but I tell her not to worry.  Because I went somewhere and had an utterly shit and crap time, I was more able to appreciate my Sixth Form.  Well, that was how it was supposed to happen.  

Ah no, I'm getting all sentimental and bullshitty living in the past.  It's because these hypothetical cheesy bullshitty fake waves that have got me, keep on pulling me back and surround me so that I'm always repeating the same thing.  

                                     I think that I perhaps need to find somebody with a boat.

                                                                                xx

Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always to try to be a little kinder than is necessary?

Met up with a guy today who said to me, 'you realise that we're spending our last day together?'  Ahh yes, today's the day, isn't it?  Well, it is the opinion of me that perhaps people are taking things a little too literally. The end of the world.  Is that the end physically?  Or is there a more sinister end?  I don't think that the world will end tomorrow in the way that most of you think it will.  I think that there is perhaps more concern for the ending of our spiritual world.

Now, I'm not talking about theists and from a Religious point of you.  But let's look around us.  Today on the radio people were screaming for heads to roll from the BBC over this Jimmy Saville case.  Why?  It happened years ago.  The culture was different then.  The job roles in the BBC have changed considerably since the 1970's and the people who occupy them.  The people who chose to broadcast programmes last year about the good side of Jimmy Saville  did not have concrete evidence brought to them about the darker side of Jimmy Saville and instead only hearsay.  And why report it to BBC?  Why not the Police?  Ahh yes. Because the BBC has money to give you payoffs.  I'm sorry if I'm being cynical, but I think that some people were genuinely in trouble and genuinely distressed and other scumbags have jumped on the bandwaggon for money and noteriatry.  And that, to me, in unacceptable.  For example, take Kerry Katona.  She complained that when she first met Jimmy Saville, he 'leered' at her and her bandmates.  Well, what do you expect?  You named your band Atomic Kitten.  Kitten being a young pussy.  What's more, you wore stupid slutty clothing - of course he's going to leer at you all.  That's the intention that you were marketing at the time.  And still are.  ANYWAY, the point of the matter is that people want people punished - exposed and fired and made to live a crappy existence.

That's the problem with our culture today.  So often at work I hear customers say to one another, 'Who's to blame here?'  And sometimes it's not a question of blaming.  Ce La Vie.  What will be will be.  We all want something out of nothing now.  Buy one get one free.  That price is far too expensive.  I want this.  I want that.  I need this.  I need that.  You have not given me what I want - heads will roll.  I'm sorry, but whatever happened to kindness?  I still see children have it.  It's really quite remarkable.  A toddler (who I did not know) offered me one of her sweets.  A child gave her mother a cuddle.  They want to share and to make everyone happy.  When did we lose this ideal, guys?  When did we decide to become selfish bastards who only care for themselves?  Why should we have to say it's a dog eat dog world out there?  Why can't we say that we will help and support people?

The end of the world might be tomorrow - but it's not too late to change.  I am going to make a promise to be a little kinder to everyone.  To be more understanding, forgiving, and more willing to accept that there is not always someone to blame.  I hope that you all decide to do the same.

It's true that a smile can make someone's day.  I once wished someone well and she gave me a hug because she was so thankful for a kind gesture from a stranger.  We don't know each others stories.  It might be easy and give you a few seconds of joy to tell a scared little girl to fuck off, but trust me - if you say it enough then that little girl will grow into someone who hates her life.  So let's smile at one another.  Let's help one another.  Let's be supporting, encouraging and love one another.  Because deep down, we're all Lost Boys.

Join like drops of water

In a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut Tinker Bell up in the drawer.
If he thought at all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled. He tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed. A shudder passed through Peter, and he sat on the floor and cried.
His sobs woke Wendy, and she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly interested.
"Boy," she said courteously, "why are you crying?"
Peter could be exceeding polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. She was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied with some satisfaction. "What is your name?"
"Peter Pan."
She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.
"I'm so sorry," said Wendy Moira Angela.
"It doesn't matter," Peter gulped.
She asked where he lived. 
"Second to the right," said Peter, "and then straight on till morning."
"What a funny address!"
Peter had a sinking. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.
"No, it isn't," he said.
"I mean," Wendy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess, "is that what they put on the letters?"
He wished she had not mentioned letters.
"Don't get any letters," he said contemptuously.
"But your mother gets letters?"
"Don't have a mother," he said. Not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one. He thought them very over-rated persons. Wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy.
"O Peter, no wonder you were crying," she said, and got out of bed and ran to him.
"I wasn't crying about mothers," he said rather indignantly. "I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying."
"It has come off?"
"Yes."
Then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for Peter. "How awful!" she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap. How exactly like a boy!
Fortunately she knew at once what to do. "It must be sewn on," she said, just a little patronisingly.
"What's sewn?" he asked.
"You're dreadfully ignorant."
"No, I'm not."
But she was exulting in his ignorance. "I shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was tall as herself, and she got out her housewife, and sewed the shadow on to Peter's foot.
"I daresay it will hurt a little," she warned him.
"Oh, I shan't cry," said Peter, who was already of the opinion that he had never cried in his life. And he clenched his teeth and did not cry, and soon his shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased.
"Perhaps I should have ironed it," Wendy said thoughtfully, but Peter, boylike, was indifferent to appearances, and he was now jumping about in the wildest glee. Alas, he had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to Wendy. He thought he had attached the shadow himself. "How clever I am!" he crowed rapturously, "oh, the cleverness of me!"
It is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit of Peter was one of his most fascinating qualities. To put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
But for the moment Wendy was shocked. "You conceit," she exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; "of course I did nothing!"
"You did a little," Peter said carelessly, and continued to dance.
"A little!" she replied with hauteur; "if I am no use I can at least withdraw," and she sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets.
To induce her to look up he pretended to be going away, and when this failed he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot. "Wendy," he said, "don't withdraw. I can't help crowing, Wendy, when I'm pleased with myself." Still she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly. "Wendy," he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."
Now Wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bed-clothes.
"Do you really think so, Peter?"
"Yes, I do."
"I think it's perfectly sweet of you," she declared, "and I'll get up again," and she sat with him on the side of the bed. She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.
"Surely you know what a kiss is?" she asked, aghast.
"I shall know when you give it to me," he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble.
"Now," said he, "shall I give you a kiss?" and she replied with a slight primness, "If you please." She made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand, so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain around her neck. It was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.

She was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good- natured, she thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect. `Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. `Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?' `That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat. `I don't much care where--' said Alice. `Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat. `--so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation. `Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.' Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. `What sort of people live about here?' `In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, `lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw, `lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.' `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.' `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice. `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."
"Why not?"
"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"
"You sound like Hermione."
"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."
But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.
That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.
And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.
Except --
"So -- back again, Harry?"
Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.
"I -- I didn't see you, sir."
"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.
"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."
"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"
"It -- well -- it shows me my family--"
"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."
"How did you know -- ?"
"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"
Harry shook his head.
"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"
Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want..."
"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.
"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"
Harry stood up.
"Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared.
"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_qlEgc13I0

There's a saying that everytime you breathe in Neverland a grown up dies.

                                                        Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
                                                             And never brought to mind?
                                                       Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
                                                                And auld lang syne!
                                                          For auld lang syne, my dear,
                                                                For auld lang syne.
                                                       We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
                                                               For auld lang syne.


Dear Grandad,

I miss you.  I'm sorry that I wasn't perfect for you.  But I know that you loved me.  And I know that you always loved me.  I remember you taking me into the study at your old house in Tenterden and showing me all of your books.  You let me play with the toy Celtic bus even though it was probably worth a fortune on Antiques Roadshow and you found me paper to put in your shredder.  I remember I once shredded your post from that morning by accident, and you just laughed and spent ages sellotaping it back together. 

I'm trying to teach Katie all about you.  I want her to know what I wonderful Grandfather she has.  I want her to love you as much as I love you.  I want her to be proud of you.  I want her to know you as best as she can seeing as she was only a baby when you died.  At the moment I just show her pictures, but as she gets older I'll start telling her more stories. 

Let's see, other memories.  When I was moving house when I was about three or four - I was devestated.  Mainly because the family who used to live there had a dog, and I was terrified that the dog would still be there when I moved in.  Dogs scared me senseless at the time (silly me), but I was also upset because that was my home.  Other people didn't have to move, so why should I?  The idea that this new house was so much bigger than our old one was lost on me.  But I digress.  Me and Caroline were sitting looking solemn and you came in and smiled at us. 
'I can take my teeth out.' 
Caroline, who knew everything because she was six months older than me, flicked back her fiery red hair and corrected you quite firmly.  No you couldn't.  The idea was quite absurd. 
So you sneezed, and your teeth came out in your hands. 
We spent the rest of the afternoon trying to sneeze and get our teeth to fall out too.  All sadness of moving house quite forgotton.  So thank you for that. 

I think that's one of the only memories I have of you before your accident.  And for that I am so sorry.  But I remember that day so clearly, as if it were yesterday.  I remember it because I was looking forward to watching The Simpsons England Episode on TV.  I can't watch clips of that in adverts without crying anymore.  The Mum answered her phone whilst driving.  I lectured her, but she told me to be quiet.  Then we were speeding on the wall to the William Harvey.  We were there for ages before you were wheeled in.  Until that moment we'd (me and Caroline) been told that you'd been hit by a car and were coming into the hospital.  But until I saw you in that headbrace, it didn't fully click in.  Those orangeyred headboxes that you were wearing to stop you from becoming paralyzed is something that you see in Casualty or Holby City - not right in front of you.  And not on your Granddad. 

I'm so sorry.  You must have been so scared.  And you changed that day as well.  You were so active before your accident.  And so on the ball all the time.  The next thing we know, you are diagnosed with dementia.  Is it wrong that I blame the man who was driving the car at the time?  Who hit you and goodness knows how many miles an hour while you were on a pedestrian ( I think) crossing.  I think that you would tell me that I need to forgive him.  I'll try, Granddad.  I'll try. 

Towards the end, when I was about fourteen, I remember seeing you in hospital.  You were so weak and frail, and I could tell that you were so unhappy and embarassed.  Your dressing gown had come open leaving you exposed in your underwear.  We all pretended not to notice while you struggled with your frail shakey hands to do it up again.  You were quite proud.  Not in a bad sense.  But I know that it would have made it worse if we'd done it up for you as if you were a child.  I think when you managed to do it up, you felt a small gleam of triumph - you'd achieved something, despite everything.  It might have been a small thing to me at the time, but now writing this I realise that it could have been really quite big for you. 

Some people thought that you had gone since you'd been diagnosed with dementia.  They thought that you were just a shell of a man that they once knew.  But I knew that you were still my Granddad.  You still ate far too many sweets and slipped them to me behind Grandma's back - even though she'd said five seconds beforehand that I wasn't to have any because it was dinner time soon.  You still gave me far too much money as a gift whenever I left.  Money that I would give back and that you would hide in my pocket/bag etc.  It was kind of a mutual understanding that this was how it worked. 

You also made jokes with it.  One night (I can't remember if you were still living in Tenterden or not) I was at the Priest's house for my confirmation lesson.  The next thing I know, you walk in the room. 
Oh my goodness, you gave me such a fright.  I was convinced that you'd wandered off, and somewhere Grandma was panicking because you disappeared.  I went up to you and introduced you to my friends, and you smiled and said hello.  And when I asked what you were doing here, you smiled and puffed out your chest and said quite proudly.  'I'm a knight.' 
Right. 
You then went on to tell me about how you slayed dragons and rescued the princess.  You called me a princess. 
Oh dear, I remember thinking, he's finally cracked it. 
The Priest then came along and greeted you.  He laughed when he saw the look on my face.  And laughed harder when you announced again that you were a knight.  He explained to me that it was a club that you and some others had.  But rather than telling me that, you decided to have a little joke and pretend that you'd gone round the bend.  Thank you, Granddad.  You gave me five minutes of utter shock only to be delighted that you'd been telling a joke.  You were stilly my Granddad no matter what anyone else said. 

The last time I saw you was at the Nursing Home where you'd recently moved in to.  I don't think that you were really all that impressed with it.  But then again, you hadn't been there all that long.  We had the same conversation twice. 
'Oh that's a very pretty necklace.' 
'Thank you, Granddad.' 
'I bet you love it.' 
We also discussed, as we did every time we saw one another, how your mother was also named Marie.  You know what, on that day you didn't look for confirmation to Grandma as to what my name was.  You're such a polite man, that when you didn't know what a persons name was - you'd rather wait for it to eventually be said before asking somewhat outright, but this time you knew instantly.  I was amazed.  And so so thankful. 
I'm ashamed of myself.  On our last visit Deal or No Deal was playing and the contestents were dressed up as clowns.  I wanted to go home and watch it with the sound on because it seemed funny.  I can't believe that.  I cannot tell you how much I am disgusted with myself.  It doesn't matter that I didn't know that this was the last time that I was going to see you.  What I did, (or rather, thought), was inexcusable and really quite unforgiveable.  When I left, I said to you, 'See you soon, Granddad.' 
And you didn't say it back.  I think you knew. 
As I walked out of the door and past the window, I took a final glance of you.  And I swear to God I didn't see the Granddad that I'd grown up with through that window.  I saw a young man of about twenty, proud, laughing and happy.  You raised a strong arm - far stronger than it had been in years, and waved and laughed. 

                                                    An HONEST man here lies at rest,
                                                     As e'er God with his image blest;
                                                  the friend of man, the friend of truth,
                                                 The friend of age, and guide of youth:
                                                 Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
                                                 Few heads with knowledge so informed;
                                                If there is another world, he lives in bliss;
                                                 If there is none, he made the best of this.

I love you Granddad.  And always will.  I wish that you could come back and be a Knight again and slay my dragons for me.  But I guess that I'm a big girl now, and I need to do that for myself.  xx

                                                         And fare thee well, my only Luve
                                                             And fare thee well, a while!
                                                         And I will come again, my Luve,
                                                          Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

    
Let me tell you that I love you, and I think about you all the time.  Caledonia's been calling me now I'm going home.  And if I should become a stranger, you know that it would make me more than sad.  Caledonia's been everything I've ever had. 

“..children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says, 'I don't believe in fairies,' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.”

So, one of my favourite films is The King's Speech.  It's historical, it's moving and it has Helena Bonham-Carter in it - so that's pretty much sorted for me.  And in it, is this wonderful scene which is applicable to everyone. 

King George VI: [Sees Logue is sitting on the coronation throne] What are you doing? Get up! You can't sit there! GET UP!
Lionel Logue: Why not? It's a chair.
King George VI: No, that. It is not a chair. T-that... that is Saint Edward's chair.
Lionel Logue: People have carved their names on it.  It's held in place by a large rock. I don't care about how many royal arseholes have sat in this chair.
King George VI: Listen to me. Listen to me!
Lionel Logue: Listen to you? By what right?
King George VI: By divine right if you must, I am your king.
Lionel Logue: No you're not, you told me so yourself. You didn't want it. Why should I waste my time listening?
King George VI: Because I have a right to be heard. I have a voice!
Lionel Logue: Yes, you do.

And that's true of us.  We all do have a voice.  And we all do have the right to be heard.  And the right to be taken seriously. 

I went to the Doctor's on Tuesday.  He told me what I already knew, I have depression and other symptoms of things.  But I won't be going back there.  It's not my choice.  It's theres.  I won't be going back there because after that one meeting is what decided that my illness wasn't serious.  It was like taking a test and receiving 90%. 

He asked me what I thought of my body.  I said that it didn't like it.  He asked me what I wanted to look like.  I said Keira Knightley.  He talked for ages about how that was my problem.  I would watch TV and see skinny people and get depressed.  This was one of the causes of my mental illness.  I said that I disagreed.  I'm an eighteen year old girl with low self-esteem.  I don't know anyone who is happy with the way they look.  It's just one of those things. 

I told him about the things I see.  The people.  The animals.  The ones who protect me and the ones who hurt me.  He said that because I liked some of them that there was no point in thinking about it.  He suggested that I go and talk to my priest. 

He asked me how many years my mental health had been compromised.  How long had I been unhappy?  I said eight years.  He said that maybe it would stop soon of its own accord. 

We concluded the meeting with my medication being upped because I have been so depressed these last few months and seeing as I now won't potentially be getting any additional help I can be given more drugs to shut me up.  Oh yes, it was suggested that I talk to someone.  But that was my Priest.  If I go to my Priest and tell him these things, he will only tell me to go and speak to a Doctor. 

When I was sitting in the car I realised something.  This has happening for eight years.  Eight years I have felt so unhappy.  When I was Year 7 I approached someone for help and was punished.  So I waited years without it.  In Year 11 I did something (I can't remember what) and I was referred to Connextions for counselling.  But I was about to go on study leave.  When I joined my sixth form I thought that I wouldn't be unhappy any more because I was in a happier and better place.  But I was still unhappy and began counselling again at the reccomendation of some of my teachers.  It was noted that it was helping, but I needed something more.  So I was put on fluroxetine, (although more people know it as prozac), I was referred to a child's mental health place.  I hated it.  They made me balance eggs and pop bubblewrap whenever I made a judgement.  I left there.  And I was delighted when I turned eighteen and I could go talk to some new people and have them fix me.  But I've been told that although I'm broken, I'm not worth fixing by them. 

I guess they feel that my life is not so bad.  But I can't cope.  And if this is really how my life is supposed to be, then I don't want to live it anymore.  Please, I cannot go on like this.  And even if the increase in dose of medication improves things, then it still won't fix everything.  It's just a temporary solution.  I honestly think that people don't give a shit.  I guess that there is nothing to give a shit about.  So, if no one gives a shit, and I'm being a dramaqueen.  Wouldn't it be so much more convinient if I just wasn't around? 

“Peter invented, with Wendy's help, a new game that fascinated him enormously, until he suddenly had no more interest in it, which, as you have been told, was what always happened with his games. It consisted in pretending not to have adventures...”

I do a lot of acting.

It's the profession that I want to be in life.  It's what helps me get through day by day.  I'm the kind of actress that has ventured into escaping me - Helena Bonham-Carter, and Marie Kemp applies the same sentiment.  It's terrific.  You don't have to be you.  You get to be someone else.  Someone completely different.  And what's more - you get to pour your own emotional crap into them, get them to vent it and then voila it's over. Well, sort of.  For the time being anyway.

 Well, seeing as I have had quite a few unhappy blogposts, I have decided to show you stuff that I like to do.  Aka. Performing.  These are a few photos from shows I've done.  And even though there is a lot of Les Miserables stuff out there at the moment - there is also a lot on this page blog spot thingy.  Sorry about that.  But then again tough titties.  (Above - One Day More from Les Miserables).

Ahh Verruca Salt, how I remember yee well.  8 years later and I can still fit into the costume.  Whoops.  This was amazingly fun to do - just have a temper tantrum every five minutes and then pull this face.  Watching it now reduces me into fits of giggles.  I'm told that my parents sat there stunned.  Until then, I had been this quiet and shy reserved little girl who took books to parties (ala Hermione Granger), and then whoopsie doo she's throwing a temper tantrum on stage and lapping up the attention.  Gob smacked.  I guess that role was fun for me because at school I was always told that because I was an only child, then I was a spoilt brat.  The truth was that we were comfortably well off like all of my other friends.  They were far more spoiled than I was.  So this part was really fun because it actually gave me a chance to act up this perception of me that they had.  I would so do it again if I could.

And there's me being lifted up by Oompa-Loompa's ready to go down the rubbish chute.  Toodle-pip!!

That same day, I played a character that was far more akin to home.  Jane Banks, the shy polite well-spoken yet cheeky little girl of the Bank's who, along with her brother Michael, get to go on adventures with Mary Poppins.  In my head at the time, this was my first proper singing part.

 Although I'm not really sure if 'Perfect Nanny' counts as a particularly tricky song.  Meh.  I was ten.

Les Miserables production number 1 when I was eleven.  I'm the one with that silver milk thingy.  My main memories of that is literally eating stale bread on stage and having food fights.  Oh, and also being the lift dummy in rehearsals.  Basically, as the smallest - whenever they decided to test a lift, muggins here was the one that they practised on.  Ever done a death drop?  Ohmygosh.  Terrifying.

For our Year 13 Performing Arts Exam, we chose to do Chicago.  Then we find out that while we can do the Musical - we cannot have it in the same setting as the original production - a.k.a a prison.  So, little me piped up setting it in a Mental Asylum!!  Yey!!

While my classmates started looking at portrays of mad people throughout the years in film and TV as inspiration for their roles.  I acted completely like myself.  Easiest mark I ever got.

We Will Rock You.  A chance to dress up really quite peculiarly and prance around onstage?  I'm there.

Ahh I love these skirts.  They're so fun.  Us two in this picture are supposed to be related.  Can you tell?

Oh I miss this costume.  I do.  I really do.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  It was flattering on me (for once) and really made me feel in the part.  Unfortunately it was hired (Boo) and I very nearly wept buckets handing it back at the end of the show.  Oh, by the way, this is me as Fantine in case you hadn't already guessed.  This was my nice first go.  A blonde Fantine this time.

What makes your job so much easier as an actor - is having great co-stars.  This guy here is a Fab actor and like my big brother.  He managed to get a performance out of me that wasn't too bad, rather than my usual shit - so thank you.  xx

Why, hello.  It's Fantine again.  Only this time she's a brunette.  Interesting.  Well, I do like to dye my hair - mainly for different parts though.  I dyed this when I got the part of Christine and then found out we were doing Les Miserables again.  Ahh well, can't be helped.  At 18, I feel that this is one of my better performances (although every time I look through the video I spot a dozen flaws), and I really did use this one as therapy for me.  The song I dreamed a dream is great that way.  I just sing it from my heart really.  Sorry to sound cliche, but that's the truth.

Aha!!  Finally!!  We get to my most recent starring role!!  Yes, you heard rightly, eighteen year old me played eleven year old Annie this Summer gone at The Leas Cliff Hall.  I got my first review too!!  And I even signed bloody autographs and had pictures taken at the end!!  Bloody hell!!  It's great though too, because sometimes at my job people come up to me and go, 'Hey, weren't you Annie?'  'Why yes good sir, I was.'  (I don't actually talk like that.  I usually just say yes and smile at them).  Well this was so much fun, and it was great to be a kid again.  Although, when looking at fellow eleven year olds for tips - I found some acted like 21 year old strippers.  Ahh that's depressing.  But seriously, this was great fun and I loved every minute of it.  It also reminded me that The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uG9I0de2jCg

Above, me playing Fantine singing I dreamed a dream and then Come to me.  Eeek!!  Don't judge me too harshly please!!  Thank you.  xx

Any happy little thought?

I thought about killing myself today.  Hey, at least I'm honest about it.  I've always said that I've wanted Death - just without the commitment, and today I just thought that actually maybe the commitment wasn't such a bad thing, it's just another act of love just like any other act of commitment.  The idea of being in a coffin with your soul still inside you absolutely terrified me.  Terrified me senseless.  Caused panic attacks, nightmares, hallucinations, made me weary, filled with anxiety, terror and depression.  But it actually kind of soothed me today.  A bit like a womb.  Just in a very backward sense.  Funny how we come full circle.

The reason?  No reason other than depression.  There was a trigger, but that wasn't the reason.  Just lots of tiny little bricks being built up and encircling me.  But I think that I'm out now.  For now.  I don't self-harm in the sense that some other people do it.  I actually and honestly hate most self-harmers.  It's so fucking obvious and self-absorbed.  They do it in the most obvious place so that people will pity them.  I've seen some of them do that.  Deliberately, and sometimes even in front of other people.  It's disgusting.  No, some of them annoy me.  It's generally a teenager, 'I'm so angsty' thing.  And I'm sick to the teeth of it.

But I will admit, that I harm myself during episodes.  Depressed episodes, manic episodes, angry episodes, I'll subconsciously do it.  It started as a kid when I would bang my head against the wall in a kind of temper tantrum thing.  Now I'll pull my hair, punch myself, scratch myself, cut myself, even throw myself into things.  It's a bit like a drunk tazmanian devil off of Looney Tunes.  I don't even realise consciously that I'm doing it at the time.  Does that make sense?  I know that I'm doing it at the time, but I don't know that I know that I'm doing it.  You get me?  It's like I'm trapped in a glass box and I can't get out - but another part of me goes on living that I have absolutely no control over, but it has willpower and it thinks crazy things.  Depressed episodes make me harm myself because I deserve to be punished.  Angry episodes make me harm myself because someone needs to be punished and it might as well be me.  Manic episodes is a shout out that nothing can harm me, that I can withstand any pain and there is nothing that anyone can do about it.  Sticks and stones may break my bones and all of that.

So, I went to work today.  Despite everything.  My family were out and I knew that I would do something stupid if I was home alone.  So I went in and managed to burst into tears every five seconds.  Wonderful.  But do you know what was really great about it?  How understanding everyone was.  I didn't even need to go round going, 'oh, please excuse me, I have depression blah blah blah blah.'  The supervisor managers knew, but the rest of the staff didn't and yet they were all so nice to me.  They weren't judgemental, they didn't role their eyes.  It was quite beautiful actually.  They even found a job for me to do.  Nothing hard.  Just simple (I say simple, but it took me fucking ages and did actually prove to be quite difficult at times), and it got me out of the way of people (who I didn't really want to see.  Not going to lie, not sure whether I would have punched an angry customer or just burst into tears), and honestly gave me a sense of purpose of something to do today.  I really got into it because I threw myself into it and didn't leave work until well after my shift had ended because I had gotten so into it.

But I was still feeling depressed.  I still do now, but still.  I still thought about how easy and peaceful dying would be.  And then I went to tuck up Katie.  As per usual, I picked her up and put her on my lap and rocked her as if she were a baby again.  And then she snuggled into me.  She snuggled into me, and her little hand wrapped its way around a fold of my work shirt like she really honestly needed me.  She smiled in her sleep like she knew that I was there.  That I was home.  When I laid her back down in the bed after about ten minutes of a glorious cuddle in which I felt so much better already, she asked me in a sleepydrowsiness to sing to her.  So I did.  And she fell asleep in my arms.  Bloody hell that felt great.  She needs me, guys.  She needs me to be there for her.  And be there for her I shall.  Always.

And now I'm talking to a guy.  A guy who I was awful to three years ago when this illness started to surface. It had always been there.  Just waiting.  I cared so much for him, and then I was awful.  But it's ok.  Talking to him now, I think that he forgives me.  So that's one person ticked off my list.  Then next person I would like to focus on is me.  Egocentrical?  Yeah.  But who the fuck cares?  xx

There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.

Written December 14th 2012.

Who remembers cutting their knees as a child?  I do it all the time, even now, and so am now quite blasé to the whole thing.  But as a child I was terrified that I was going to die.  That's what blood means, doesn't it?  Death.

Today I am unhappy and angry.  And I have been for about over a week now.  I don't really know why.  I just know that I am.  I just want to hurt someone.  To get into a fight.  To cry.  I guess it's because it's Christmas.  I'm religious, do I don't buy into this whole Christmas is for giving, family, forgiving, loving, santa claus bullshit - it's Christ's birthday, so don't fucking have a go at me for believing and then turn around and celebrate Christmas.  Anyway, as a child this is how Christmas worked:  Christmas Day - Mum, some of her family, Dad and me.  Boxing Day - Dad's family and us.  I say and us because we've never really been a part of that family - and now we are definitely not.

Psychologists or whatever they are ask me about mental illness in my family.  I tell them, and then always add as an afterthought, 'Oh, yeah, and my grandma's a psychopath.'

I have two cousins on Dad's side of the family.  Both boys.  Both living in America with their rich parents.  Growing up, I always thought that my grandma didn't love me as much because I was a girl - maybe that is still true.  One of my cousins is like two weeks older than me, and growing up all she talked about was him.  He was absolutely wonderful.  She would have loved to lick the shit out of his nappy.  I was bloody sick of always hearing about the days out that they went on, how they went to their school and had dinner with them (Private schools are weird) and generally how wonderful and funny they were.  Mum always tried to suggest that maybe she did that with me to them, but whenever we were altogether - the topic of conversation would always be the same, him.  And he'd always sit there with a smug little grin on his face.

She and my Dad have never really got on.  Beyond me as to why.  When she had cancer, he shaved off his hair  in solidarity.  Whenever there was a job needed doing, up he went to do it.  He's smoothed over arguments between her and my Granddad.  When we all went round as a family, his siblings would be sitting in front of the TV while he would be helping out in the kitchen, 'anything I could do, mum?'  He's not wet.  He'd always saved that kind of puppy like devotion for his mum.  Like she would go on and on about my cousins, she would go on and on about her other children.  Stories about them as kids.  The only childhood story about my Dad I've ever heard from her was that he was ill as a baby and that it was terribly inconvenient.  He's always been in the shadow of his siblings.  Literally.  When walking to school, he had to walk a certain distance behind his elder brother.  There are siblings out there who are like that.  But I guess it still hurts no matter what.  Anyway, they're fine - ironically.  It's just me and my cousin who don't get on.  Well, that sounds like we argue - we don't, we just don't socialise.

Basically, over a year ago, my Dad snapped at her on the phone.  Now no one talks to each other.  It's pathetic.  I'm not having my Dad apologise for being human.  Sure he can apologise for snapping, but it was all completely blown out of proportion and she kind of handed the opportunity to him on a silver platter.

My Grandfather on my Mum's side of the family died in 2009.  I really miss him at the moment.  I keep on getting out his picture and showing it to Katie and telling her about him.  She was only a baby when he died so she won't remember him, but I want her to have some kind of memory with him.  It sounds melodramatic, because I am - but I do honestly feel like I only have one grandparent left now.  What is this feud doesn't end and they die?  Will I feel sad?  Yes, of course I will, I'm sure  that I will.  I think that I'll be devastated that we never got to make it up to them in time.  But will there also be a bit of anger there?  Anger that they didn't try - that they refused every offer of an invitation and sent back their Christmas presents to make some childish point.  Will I not feel anything at all because in some ways it is like they are dead already.  It's not like I see them.  And Katie doesn't know who they are.  She keeps on asking if they've died like Granddad Reid.  We keep on saying no, and she's young enough to let that fly by.  But what about when she's older?  She'll need an explanation about why we don't see them.  And to be honest, the explanation is pretty poor.

It's been going on so long now, I honestly don't know how I'd feel if I saw them.  I don't know if I want an apology or just to get on as normal.  Not an apology for myself obviously, but for my Dad.  And for my Mum.  And for Katie.  But if they had one for me, I might just listen and accept.  I don't know if there's anything left to salvage and that breaks my heart.

So, on Sunday 17th of December 2012, they are meeting up with my American relatives.  My other auntie's and uncle's as well.  I really miss my kin across the pond.  Even my cousin who I say that I detest.  I guess we have one of those relationships of, I see you and acknowledge your presence and when it is not there it is missed and when it is there nothing happens.  They're getting together for a big family outing where they're all going to be happy, and if the topic of our nuclear family come up - it will just be with tones of disdain for some of them.  It breaks my heart that they've forgotten any love of even just likeability that they felt for us.  It's not fair on my Mum.  It's not fair on my Dad.  And it's not fair on Katie.

See, over a year ago at a party for Katie - my grandma took me to one side and said that she knew that she'd never been there for me as a child, and so she was going to promise to always be there for Katie.  It touched me.  It really did.  But that was one of the last times we saw them.  The thought was genuine enough, but I honestly think that it's cruel how easily we were cut away.

And that not all cuts can be fixed with a plaster.

I don’t know if you have ever seem a map of a person’s mind.

“I don’t know if you have ever seem a map of a person’s mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child’s mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island; for the Neverland is always more or less and island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.” 

It's like growing.  You're you in your body.  A body and a soul being separate things.  And then sometimes you feel yourself being encased in a glass box. You focus on breathing, but the box gets tighter and tighter and smaller and smaller.  But your body is expanding.  You're growing high into the sky and the confidence is delightful, but the little girl in the glass box screams and bangs her fists against it, sensing danger.  You pay her no mind and continue to grow.  And as you grow, your senses heighten.  You can see everything, smell everything, hear everything.  Everything is so sharp and crystal clear, yet at the same time it's like your body is spinning as it grows.  When the little girl bangs her fists against the glass, your body shakes.  Growing, spinning whatever you call it - it's going out of control.  

Recently I've found myself crying.  I went up to my friend the other day and just had tears rolling down my cheeks.  I'm not really sure why.  When I feel down, it is like things are grey, it's not just a cliche.  Whoops seems I'm a poet and didn't even know it.  It's being tired all the time, and everything is a blur and mixes into one.