No Regrets?

No Regrets?

Just watched the 25th Anniversary production of Phantom Of The Opera online, and as expected it made me super emotional, partly because it was so amazing, but mostly because it made me feel bad about myself.

Other than wanting to be the lead singer of a kick ass rock band, really my true passion is musical theatre, which I think even a lot of my friends might not know. For me singing has always been about acting the song as well as vocalising it, and having danced since I was 3, the 3 arts combined is just the best. And yet, I never once auditioned for one. Not even for chorus. In my 20s, a friend tried to convince me to audition for a new musical (Dirty Dancing) which was looking for dancers, especially those with a background in ballroom / latin, and despite the fact that she'd been in London musical productions (and therefore knew the standard expected), and the fact that I'd studied ballroom / latin for almost ten years (passing all my exams with crazy high pass scores), I didn't go. Because I didn't think I was good enough.

I have very few regrets in my life, but not taking a chance to see where my talents could take me is the big one. It's not all my fault - a LOT of auditions were only open to women over a certain height (often 5 ft 6), and although my Starnow profile says I'm 5 ft 4 (I think it also says I'm 29...) I'm only 5 ft 2. But I never took any chances anyway, because I didn't think I was good enough.

It's too late for me now, I'm 38 this year, and ain't nobody casting any middle aged short chicks in their musicals.. but I've realised that the best things that never happened to me, and the worst things that have happened to me in my life, have happened because I didn't think I was good enough, bad relationships, low self esteem etc.

Sooo, bringing me to my point... please don't let this happen to you.

I mean, somethings you might not be good enough at - for example, don't try juggling with flaming torches if you think you're not good enough at that... but, when we get out of these current restrictions and are finally allowed to get on with our lives, make sure you REALLY get on with it. Don't piss about. Don't waste time. Don't end up with regrets.

U.G.L.Y.

I've felt / known / been told I was ugly for almost as far back as I can remember. When I was 19 Mike told me he'd cheated on me because I had a big nose. When I was around 10 years old Paul Tucker apparently stood in the middle of the school field and shouted "GEMMA IS UGLY!!!" And so on and so forth..

I spent my teens uncomfortably pretending to watch Alien in the lounge with a German exchange student, with the sound of my gorgeous friend Faye snogging the boy we both fancied coming from the kitchen next door. I was the tagalong friend, the eternally single funny one.

I took out a loan for £4000 to have a nose job - it looks worse than it did before. I had a mole removed from my chin - it left a scar. I tried hair extensions - they made my hair fall out. It seems that I am just destined to be ugly. I have cried and cried about it. I've despaired and hated myself, and wailed on my husband's shoulder "Why aren't I allowed to be pretty?? It's not fair, I'm a good person, I should be allowed to be pretty!" But it doesn't work like that.

It should work like that, it really should. Because what have pretty people achieved? It's not a talent, they haven't done anything to deserve it, they've just been lucky enough to be born with good bone structure, or a dainty little nose, or a perfectly symmetrical face. I am a huge believer that people should not be treated any better or worse because of the way they look, but let's not pretend that isn't the case. Our lives are filled with examples of people who've achieved success / fame / fortune / adoration solely because they are beautiful, and people who have never / will never be given the opportunities they deserve because their face doesn't fit.

As a person I actually like myself quite a lot; I'm kind, funny, fairly clever, I have a big heart, I'm a good communicator, I know how to make people feel good about themselves, I can sing and dance, and I make a pretty decent chocolate cake. And I often wonder, if I would have developed my own special rather lovely personality if I'd have grown up beautiful?

Would I have the ability to make people laugh and think up a quick quip on the spot if I hadn't spent life since puberty getting the joke in first about my 'small' (actually perfectly normal sized) boobs or my 'big' (ok it is quite big..) bum, as a form of self defence? Would I have spent time and effort working on my voice if I had just been told I was amazing and thrust into the spotlight from day dot? Would I be so good at communicating and networking and making friends if I'd never had to rely on my charm instead of my face? Would I know how to make people feel special if I'd not spent years feeling anything but?

I'm not saying that all incredibly good looking people are dumb or charmless or vacuous or dull, I know many gorgeous folks who are not - my beautiful, hilarious, adorable husband for one - but it happens a fair bit.. Especially at this moment in time, with the Instagram / Love Island generation relying solely on boob jobs and botox to get themselves through life. I can't help but think they are missing out on developing some fabulous life skills, and so many interesting facets to human personalities.

It's hard for me to wrap my head around who is worse off here. Especially on days where I literally can't even bear to leave the house because I'm so ashamed of my hideous face, and I know how much easier my life would be if I had a smaller nose, and a more symmetrical jaw line, and straighter hair etc etc... Easier yes. But better? Probably not. I know that those who love me love me because they see the beauty in my soul. I know if I get picked for a job it's because I'm genuinely good at it.

We individually spend so much time, money, and effort working to make ourselves physically more acceptable to society, when we should be working on society so that it accepts us as we are. Perhaps by just accepting my lack of outer beauty I am saving myself from the constant battle and freeing myself up for the things that should matter.

It's difficult. It's SO difficult. Because the tide is against us. But I'm proposing we fight against that tide. We actively say screw you to society. We go out without makeup and we tell people "I'm not wearing makeup today because it doesn't f**king matter." We say "No I don't have cheekbones you could cut glass on, but watch me nail this meeting / performance / class / housework today." Well ok, it probably won't change a thing, but it's an idea..

As a final thought, if you're reading this and you, like me, feel like you fell from the ugly tree hitting every branch on the way down, I'm not going to try to convince you that you wouldn't have it much easier if you were blessed with the looks of a greek goddess, but I hope you genuinely take some comfort that you more than likely are a more humble, thoughtful, understanding, and probably interesting, person than you would have been if you'd been born with supermodel genes.
Lots of love xxx

Suicide

So this is a big one huh. Suicide. Yesterday I saw a news story on Facebook about someone who had thrown themselves in front of a train at a local train station. The first 2 comments on the post were something along the lines of:

"How selfish and inconsiderate for the people left behind."

and "All those poor people who are going to be late for work now."

Wow. Just wow. If that is what enters your head when you read a story like that then you have obviously never known real emotional pain. It's hard to explain to someone who has never felt suicidal what that feeling is like. But if you think suicide is a selfish act, you are looking at it wrong.

A few years ago I was in an on-off relationship with a very abusive person, more mentally and emotionally than physically (not to say that he didn't drag me around by my ankle / push me / head butt me occasionally), living in a cold, dark, damp and mouldy apartment, and more depressed than I knew was even possible. I'd suffered with depression in the past and had thought about killing myself many times, but not to the point where I ever thought I'd be 'brave' enough to do it. I wanted to - but I didn't have the nerve, or that's how I thought of it at the time.

This period of depression was different though, longer, darker, more intense. During my relationship with this person I had lost or given up everything; my friends, my job, the nice apartment I'd been living in, I'd stopped speaking to the remaining members of my family I had relationships with because I didn't want them to know how badly he was treating me. I was utterly alone. He was all I had. I won't go into huge detail of the relationship now, that's a blog for another time, but not only had I lost everything around me, I'd also lost everything within me.

He'd destroyed my (already fairly low) confidence, my sense of self, my dreams for the future, my hope or belief that anyone but him could ever bear to love me, and any thoughts that I could ever live a life that wasn't full of pain - when I was with him it hurt, but when I was without him it hurt more, so either way, all that stretched in front of me was a life of pain. I would never be happy again.

We'd been going through a particularly bad patch and he had left, or I had asked him too, I don't remember now. So I was alone, in the cold, dark, damp, mouldy, empty flat. I had stopped going to the crappy temp job I'd been doing because I couldn't bear to get out of bed in the morning, or any time of day. I'd lost so much weight, because I couldn't bear to eat, my tummy felt sick and anxious 24 hours a day, and even the thought of putting food in my mouth and chewing was horrid. I wasn't even drinking anything. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally depleted. There was nothing. There was just nothing. This was my life now. Nothingness, on my own, in a mouldy cell, feeling sick. Nothing to do, nothing to look forward to, no day or night, no seasons, just existing, in a constant state of pain and anxiety.

One night I reached the end. I couldn't exist like this any more. I couldn't cope. I couldn't cope with the nothingness, and I needed someone to help me cope with the pain, even just for an hour or so, I needed him to help me cope with the pain, just temporarily. So I called him and begged him to come over and just sit with me for a bit, just to ease the excruciating loneliness. Not to be my partner again but just to ease the pain for a while, because he was the only person I could call, I had no friends or family left, and I couldn't be on my own any longer, I felt like I was in isolation and now I know why they use that as a form of torture, human brains are not wired to cope with that.

He said no. He was with his friend (we'll call her Sam - not her real name) and they had just ordered a pizza. 

I explained to him how bad things were, that I had reached my limit, I literally could not cope anymore, I've never threatened to kill myself or used emotional blackmail and that's not what this was, I was just being honest and I let him know that I had reached the end. He didn't come.

I just needed the pain to stop. It was the most excruciating pain I had ever felt and nothing stopped it, I couldn't sleep so that didn't stop it, I couldn't distract myself, it was all there was, and I needed it to stop. I couldn't bear to exist anymore. So I scoured my apartment for pills, I'd been prescribed sleeping pills over the last few years and thought they might be dotted about around the house. I pulled out cupboards, drawers, medicine boxes, under the bed and took whatever I could find. 

Obviously it wasn't enough. I woke up sometime the next day (I think) feeling horrendous. My tummy was so sore (I'd taken a bunch of Paracetamol and Ibuprofen too, which I guess disagreed with me) and I felt sick and nauseous. To be honest I have very little recollection of the next few weeks / months but eventually he and I got back together again, and then split up again, and so it went for a couple more years. The final time we split though I did things differently. I knew I could not face that pain again. I called people I hadn't seen for a long time, and y'know what, they were still there. I made new friends, I went out of the house looking like hell on Earth - but I went out of the house, I got fresh air, I saw other humans. I made myself eat, a little at first, and then built that up, I exercised, I looked after myself, and I let people look after me.

I cried in front of friends, I cried in front of strangers, I accepted help. And I became stronger than ever before. 

6 years later I am the happiest I ever remember being. Every single day I think about how lucky I am, how wonderful my life is. I have the most amazing husband, friends, job, home life. I've climbed mountains, I've completed triathlons, I've jumped out of planes, I feel so strong and so capable, an absolute 180 degree turnaround from who I was that night.
And if I had succeeded in taking my life, my poor husband would still be wondering around this life alone, never having found his soulmate! 

Wow I really hadn't planned for this to be so long, or to go into so much detail about what happened, but I really want anyone who reads this to understand 2 things:

1 - Deciding to end your life is in no way whatsoever a selfish, thoughtless act. You're not deciding to leave your children without a parent, or the company you work for without a secretary, or make train commuters late for work. You just NEED to stop the pain, and it's the only possible way you believe you can do that.

2 - There is always hope. Always. If I can go from the absolute 100% lowest a person can go, to the happiest I've ever been, then so can you. There is help. There is love. There is friendship. You are never ever really alone. If you are considering ending your life, please don't. Talk to someone, call the Samaritans, speak to a friend, call your doctor ( I know they're often not much help but some are brilliant). There IS a way back. I promise you.

Reading this I am aware that to some people it will seem very self-involved and attention seeking - get me, I'm so edgy, I tried to kill myself - but a while ago I posted something small on Facebook about depression and suicide and the same night 3 people sent me private messages thanking me for filling them with hope when they were feeling at their lowest, one of whom was contemplating suicide at the time.  So if it helps anyone at all then I'm happy, and anyone who has a problem with it can p*ss off.

#sorrynotsorry

Sending all my love to anyone who needs it xxxxx

My First Blog

It seems I set up this blog site 4 years ago, but this is my first post.

That pretty much encapsulates the problem I have with procrastinating, which is one of the many topics I will be covering in this blog, along with general every day life, mental health, physical health, relationships, domestic abuse, suicide, eating disorders, and more.

Sounds a laugh a minute right?

Well I'll be hoping to cover all of these subjects with my own special brand of warmth and wit - not that I think things like eating disorders and suicide are inherently funny, but when talking about such miserable things as these, a little humour can make the conversation more accessible to people.

We're often told that it's good to talk, that we shouldn't be ashamed to be open and honest about our struggles, but when we are we can be seen as 'attention seeking'. Over the last year or so I've posted a few things online about my own life which I have no doubt caused half of my Facebook friends to cringe and roll their eyes at my oversharing.. but I also received many private messages from others, thanking me for making them realise they weren't alone, telling me I'd given them hope.

So, for those people, I present this blog. For the others, I'll try to keep the FB oversharing to a minimum. (I can't promise that though.)

Peace out on my first, and rather boring, blog post..

Stay tuned xxx