“So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land!”

 

2014 is going to be good.  Not just good, it's going to be brilliant.  It will be brilliant not because of what I receive from other people, but because of the stuff that I'll be going out there doing.  I haven't really decided just yet what I'll be doing, but I'll make sure that it's just marvellous. 

 

2013's been pretty good.  I went to Central.  I had a fantastic farewell at Showbiz.  I was in Les Miserables again.  I made some new friends.  I learnt how to budget properly.  I got counselling.  I had my first professional acting role.  It's these memories that I need to take into the New Year with me. 

 

This was also the year that my Grandfather died, and with him so did the relationship with that side of the family.  I'm learning how to say my goodbyes, and praying to God to ask for the wisdom to forgive.  I cannot spend my time devoted to nurturing something that wants to whither.  I need to say goodbye and remember when it was in full bloom at its beauty. 

 

Although the black dog is still lying with his head in my lap, I'm trying to tell him stories of goodness and wisdom.  Slowly, the weight of his head won't feel so great as it did before and I'll be able to stand. 

 

I hope that all of you had a wonderful 2013 and that you are looking forward to the future.  It's yours for the taking.  You can make it into whatever you want it to be.  You are in control of your smiles and your tears. 

 

And remember, if things are bad it's only so we appreciate the good so much more when it eventually arrives. 

 

 

I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?

I can feel the black dog breathing down my neck.

Which is kind of annoying really seeing as I would say that my moods have been improving recently with the increased dose of medication.  I've felt more inspired to do things, (doing them is a different kettle of fish), I've been able to think clearly at times and most importantly I haven't felt nearly as anxious.

Now, black dog is wagging its tail and looking at me hopefully looking for a stroke.  It looks so friendly and welcoming in its own twisted way, purely because it is something familiar.  'I'm the only one who will ever love you.'  It's hard to ignore something that keeps on pawing at you like that.

There are things that I can do though.  I'm learning to recognize what happens before black dog comes and takes over.  Then, when I feel that about to happen, I go out for a run.  Black dogs are seriously lazy, if you run away from it they can't be bothered to catch up, they much prefer for you to stay in bed all day.

When the black dog reminds you of the bad things, try and think of the good things that came of that - even if there are really random and far fetched.

Watch the eating pattern.  Black dog enjoys over-indulging, throwing up and starving.  But it's you who is in control of your body.

I often feel very guilty for being sick. You see the adverts of children dying in Africa, or parents who have lost their children, people who are homeless, soldiers and their families - genuine traumas.  And then there's me.  Feeling....well, feeling nothing really.  Devoid of anything most of the time.  If they can find the time to be happy, then why can't I?

But I'm changing that way of thinking.  We cannot help our emotions, even if they do seem out of place.  And when Mental Illness hits you, it's not something you can just put down again.  It eats at you and you need time to repair.  And that's ok.  

When I first posted the blog on Facebook I was absolutely terrified as being labelled as an attention-seeker.  However, with encouragement from others I gave it a go, and got an amazing response.  Thank you.  And to those who are battling your own black dog stay strong.  Good night  xx

Dear Fifteen Year Old Me

It would be cool if we owned a TARDIS.  Or at least had some kind of method of time travel.  Although, one persons mistake can often be another's success and we'd always be travelling backwards rather than forwards.  Anyway, I digress.  What I meant to blog about was what I would say to my fifteen year old self.

Dear Marie,

Or do you prefer to be called Mariella at the moment?  You did go through that phase.  Mariella who wore a lot of black and brightly coloured eyeliner.  Mariella who was still trying to look emo after four years of secondary school.  I implore you, please don't.  No one ever should.

Let your dad take your picture.  He's interested in photography and he just wants some photos of his oldest girl smiling.  You might hate those photos at the moment, but trust me in four years time you'll wish that there had been more taken because you're much skinnier then and you'll be very annoyed about it because it turns out that Daddy was right all along after all.

Another person who's right an extremely high percentage of the time is Mum.  Yes.  Mum.  For starters she was right about the foundation.  It IS supposed to blend in with your natural face colour.  Those other girls just choose an orange shade because they long to come from Loompaland.  They look ridiculous, don't model yourself on them.

She's also right about your friends.  Which ones to stick with, and which ones to ditch.  Don't bother trying to fix something that was never in place from the beginning.  Just walk away, sweetheart.  It'll save you so much grief.

Don't be afraid to sing modern music.  You can actually do it.  Wanna know something else?  Anyone can do anything.  It just takes the right attitude.

Being smart is a good thing.  Paying attention in class is even better.  Teach yourself outside of school, talk to your teachers and ask them questions.  If someone's mean to you about it's just because they're envious.

Stop trying to talk more chavvy.  It's not cool.  It sounds horrendous.

Learn what the swear words mean before you use them....

YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE ON TEEN MOM SO STOP THINKING THAT IT IS A GOOD IDEA!!

In the P.E changing rooms, don't stand shy cramped in the corner.  Those girls can bloody well move.

But on to a more serious note.  Things are beginning to change.  All children have imaginary friends who eventually up and leave.  You didn't have imaginary friends.  You had imaginary enemies.  And they're about to appear in more than your dreams.  They're going to be so lifelike.  It's terrifying.  You'll get confused about fact and fiction.  It will even drive apart relationships.  But keep going.  These people from the other side do not control you.  Do not listen to them.  And remember that when you are scared of them, you can call of Anne who will protect you.

Mood swings are starting too.  They're not just hormones.  Write them down and keep a track.  Have you noticed a pattern?  (If you do, please let me know because as of yet I am still to find one!!)  Let people know about them as well, it's fine.  They're actually quite understanding about it.

I suppose that I could reflect more on what else you could change to stop these side effects from coming, but that would be living in the past and I don't really want to do that any more.  I want to move on and forwards.  And you're coming with me.  Sure, you could do loads of stuff that would maybe change the outcome of how I am now.  But then I wouldn't be me.  I'd be someone else.  And I don't know who that someone is, so why should I wish for it?  Look forwards but comfort the past.

I'm not there yet, doll, but there will be a time when we beat this.  When we don't have to worry about medication and appointments and tests and all the like.  We'll just get out of bed in the morning and be happy.

Oh, and one more thing.  In four years time you're going to be a professional actress.  Keep your chin up, girl.

Marie  xx

So come with me where dreams are born

I haven't sat down and written about my feelings in quite some time.  I suppose it's due to the fact that once a week I'm managing to talk about them for an hour with my psychiatrist and I'm simply too exhausted to linger on them any further.

But I need to do more to get better.  There was a time when I could do lots of things that I took for granted, if I work hard enough I can do them again.  Simple little things.  I'm not talking about saving the world or solving equations.  I'm talking about getting out of bed without being asked to.  Making myself look presentable and smile at myself in the mirror.  Even to just concentrate on the book that I'm reading.  I can do these things.  And I will.

My struggle with clinical depression started when I was about fifteen.  I won't go in to all of that now because I have no desire to think of it.  It's difficult at that age though to diagnose anything because you have a load of hormones flying around and it's so much easier to blame everything on the changes to your body as you grow up rather than admitting that your body has a chemical imbalance.  That's all depression is, I've learnt, it's not a sign of weakness or a cry for attention; it's just where your body stops producing enough dopamine and serotonin for you to be able to function properly.  Sometimes it's from genetics.  Other times it's from your environment and other times people just have no idea.  

The medication is a major help to you.  Personally, I found that it brought a sense of structure back to my life.  I stopped being so forgetful for example.  There's a stigma that medication for mental illness is the worst thing ever and it takes away who you are as a person.  If that's the case for you then you're probably on the wrong medication/wrong dose.  

Until recently, I've been ashamed of saying that I have some little beings in my head causing havoc.  We do live in a society that either loves or loathes mental illness.  It's as if half the world are running away in fear from what they see to be axe-wielding psychopaths and the other half are diagnosing themselves on Google because it's the hip thing to do.  I've come across my fair share of the latter, but have been terrified of coming across the former.  People who would judge.  People who'd say things like, 'Pick yourself up and move on.'  Now, however, I don't care.  I don't want to live a life that is determined by what other people think of me.  You could be reading this right now thinking that I am a freak or whatever, and I'm fine with that so long as you say it to my face.

Over the next couple of days I'm going to think of some goals for myself.  Little things.  Sure I want to go and build wells in Africa, but at the moment I need to be selfish.  I'm learning that sometimes that's ok.

For too long I've been scared.  It's going to be hard but I'm going to beat this illness.  I'm going to push myself to get better and raise up those chemical levels; and when I do I'm going to come off those tablets and not think about that little black dog anymore.  Sure, he might come along again in a few years as they often do, but I'll be ready.  

He would come up with mermaid scales sticking to him

Thoughts of suicide generally come to me in the Shower.  Maybe there's a little bit of Ophelia in all of us? 

I am now seeing a new psychiatrist.  She has one of those amazing ways of talking to you that makes you just open up and blah it all out, but doesn't look at you judgementally as you say it. 

So far we've been discussing my dysfunctional family.  I need to learn to admit that my family dynamics are quite strange and readapt to them and essentially learn to grieve. 

Since I was a kid, I have hoarded stuff.  Stones.  Toys.  Rubbers.  Cloth flowers.  Buttons.  Anything I could get my hands on.  As I got older it turned into nicking stuff like School Library Books.  Not necessarily things I wanted to read.  I just wanted something to hold on to.  Most of them made their way back eventually onto the shelves, but a few still grace my shelves.  Now that I have a debit card it has turned into compulsive buying.  I see it.  I buy it.  More often than not I find myself far away woken up from a dream laden down with shopping bags.  Anyway, the point of this is to say that I hold onto things.  I hold onto grudges.  I don't let go willingly.  I wish I could.  It makes no sense doesn't it?  An unforgiving Catholic.  I try.  I really do try. 

Mood swings have been quite bad recently.  A lot of it revolves around anger.  And it always comes out over the smallest things.  Mainly people being too slow.  I've felt like I was spinning and the whole world was going fast, but I was the only one running with it.  The word was pulling us forward and everyone was too lazy to ride with it.  It was so frustrating. 

Now my moods mainly revolve around nothing.  I've mainly been in a daze.  Stopping mid sentence, changing subjects, not listening, forgetting what was happening at that time.  I don't know how to change that. 

I'm 19 now.  I want the world to stop and to run all at once.  Nothing makes sense. 

 

(My favourite film)

Goodbye

My Granddad's funeral was the worst day of my life.  My parents would say the same thing.

When my other Granddad died in 2009, I found his funeral difficult because of all the people crying, but the feeling of togetherness and celebrating his life made me feel a thousand times better.  The fragility of a dozen people pushed together made us stronger.

For this funeral, I felt shaky as I walked into the Church.  We'd met up with my Dad's cousin and her husband/ my Godparents slightly beforehand.  My Dad had wanted to distance himself from them because he didn't want them to be shunned as well, but they were having none of it.  They were our rocks that day.

I'd written a letter for my Granddad.  We'd heard a rumor that that was what some people were doing.  It sounds silly, but I wanted him to have it.  So I went to the Vicar (for some reason there were 3), explained who I was and asked if she could put it by the coffin.  She asked me if I wanted it by the coffin at the crematorium too and I replied that I didn't know if that was allowed.  Saying that out loud really got to me.  The Vicar firmly said that she would put it on top of the coffin, she would then give it to the other Vicar who would take it to the crematorium and put it on top of the coffin there too.

Dad picked an area of the Church that was secluded.  At first I thought that it was because he didn't want his family to see him, but when they turned up I realized that it was because he didn't want to see his family.  Because I felt the same thing.  When the coffin came in I began to cry, but I positively began to howl when I saw them coming in somberly behind it.  I wanted to be there in that support network.  They were all sticking so closely together, as as usual we were outside of that perfect little bubble.

The whole way through the service I clung onto my parents.  If I stood a certain way I was concealed behind one of the stone pillars and therefore could not see them but could see the coffin where my note lay prominently.  We'd been told no flowers.  But guess what was on the coffin?  I felt sick with rage.

They spoke about his life, and I honestly could not believe how much he was like my dad.  Their interests were so similar.  I wish I'd known that before.  I glanced at my dad, he was a grey shadow of his former self.  He was thinking this too.  They then began to talk about his family.  I tensed up.  They spoke about the first son.  My gloriously rich Uncle who rarely speaks and who Loraine (my grandma) only loves because he wins a child Top Trumps.  Apparently he and his dad had been really close like best friends.  I fought the urge to laugh.  He was wearing sunglasses in the church.  He looked like a right tosser.  They then spoke about my cousins.  The ones who I have grown up in the shadow of.  They said that my Granddad was really proud of them both and that he loved them so much.  They carried on in this sickening fashion for ages.  I was stunned when the Vicar then said, 'Martin married Janet and they had two daughters, Marie and Katie.' But then they went straight onto my next uncle.

My knees buckled and I shook.  I genuinely wanted to be sick.  I want to scream out and cry.  While they spoke paragraphs and paragraphs for the others, we'd had one line.  People were staring at us in the Church.  They wanted to know what we'd done wrong.  And then I felt awful because I thought about how attention-seeking it was to want to be involved in that way.  How selfish it was to seek the approval of your family.  But I couldn't ignore the feeling that it was done as a way to kick us in the teeth.

The coffin was carried out of the Church with the sickening sniveling bunch of them following behind.  Bastards.  We waited for a few minutes and then we followed behind, standing far enough away to avoid a confrontation, but close enough to remind everyone that we were family too and deserved to be there.  My Uncle turned around and saw us.  And then he looked right through us.  I later saw him mutter to the others that the black sheep were there.  Among them were some vague relatives who my Dad had never seen before.  They got to travel in the family car.  While they all packed in, we walked to our own car.  At first, I hung my head not wanting to be seen.  But when I felt their eyes all burning into me, I realized that I had no reason to feel ashamed.  My head went up and I walked proudly to the car to follow them to the crematorium so that I could exercise my right as a granddaughter to say goodbye.

Rather appropriately, it was raining by the time we got there.  We got out of the car and made our way over there.  For reasons unknown to me, the building was closed, so the family waited under the canopy.  And we waited in the rain.  For ten minutes.

The service in the crematorium was brief.  Loraine 'therewillbenoflowersatthefuneral' laid a rose on the coffin.  She looked decades older.  I was glad.

Afterwards they went out to the crematorium garden with the intention of everyone going to a shindig afterwards.  We decided to leave at that point, and despite having been semi-composed for a while.  I lost it again.  My parents had to support me out of there.  Now I feel so ashamed, but at the time I just didn't care. My Mum thanked the Vicar for letting us come.  She said that as far as she was concerned there was never any question.  She was going to let us in.

Before the funeral, I googled what to do if you're banned from a funeral.  Instead, I was disgusted to find half a dozen forums dedicated on the best ways to ban people from a funeral.  After my experience, I have no respect for people who would do that.  They disgust me.

My Auntie emailed me a few days later to say that she wouldn't be going to watch me in my show after all.  I wasn't surprised but what do you say in response to that  I ignored it and she emailed my Dad.  He emailed back that the reason why I hadn't responded was because I had lost not only my Granddad that day, but also the rest of my family.  He was in the same boat.  She emailed back to say that she wasn't even aware that we were at the funeral.

Bullshit.

In the end I did respond after the show.  But ultimately I think that I have to cut ties with everyone.  For Katie's sake, I really don't want that to happen but I honestly don't know what else to do.

It was then that Hook bit him

I don't remember much.  Just my Mum coming into my room and telling me that I probably shouldn't go into work that day.  She said that she would call them.  And we'd book an appointment for my GP.  I was so sleepy that I just agreed.  I was signed off of work for a while for Depression, made worse by my Granddad's recent death and the news that we were banned from the funeral.  I spent that week crying, playing like a kid again, sleeping and making collages.  I felt so overwhelmed and lost that I just wanted to cuddle everyone.  My best friend came round and I felt so much younger than her, so far less grounded than her.  But Mum was determined that I wasn't going to miss too much work.  She said that if I missed too much time off, I'd never go back.  So we arranged with work for me to go back the day after my Granddad's funeral which we were going to gatecrash. 

I asked her the other day what had happened.  She'd been sitting on the sofa that night when she got a text from me.  I texted to say that I needed help.  Urgent help.  When she got upstairs she found me curled in a ball underneath my study desk absolutely terrified and unable to come out because 'she' was watching me.  After a lot of coaxing she got me out. 

It was good to have those days off.  I just don't feel on my feet at the moment, and I started to when I had the time off work.  I had my first shift back on Friday and my managers were so lovely and supportive about it.  And it's amazing who comes crawling out of the woodwork to say to you, 'Hey, I was once in your shoes.  It gets better.  You can fight this.  Don't let your illness define your life.' 

xx

There is a saying in Neverland that every time you breathe a grown-up dies.

My Granddad died on Friday.

I'm not too sure how I'm feeling at the moment.  I just want to sleep.  That's it really.  I just feel like I'm in a whirl.  It's not chaotic, but it's not soothing either.  It just kind of engulfs me and I don't really care anymore.

I thought that these pictures were pretty.

Love you Granddad.  xx