CRISIS

The mid-twenties crisis is a real thing and I am living it.

Once upon a time I was a cool, often inebriated, young thing, that partied all night and ate pizza all day. I had bleached blonde hair and wore crazy clothes. I sang in strip clubs for money, drank 4 bottles of Cava and rolled home in a taxi covered in glitter and McDonalds grease. I slept all day like a starfish in my house-share in Walthamstow, did every waitressing job possible to pay the bills and stripped off my clothes at every lock-in while fellow drunks proclaimed me hilarious and fun.

That girl is no more.

What is it about reaching your mid-twenties and completely reassessing your entire life structure? I’ve felt it coming. I slowly went through every hair colour imaginable coupled with drinking in every swanky cocktail bar I could find. I started feeling more shy and reserved, spending money on furniture and craving nights in with a cheesecake and a single fork. 

Eventually I have ended up here. Staring at myself in the mirror like I’m a giant question mark.

Nowadays I have brown hair and I wear a lot more jeans. I make green smoothies for breakfast and my google history reveals things like ‘the benefits of quitting drinking’ and ‘how to become a buddhist’.

I realize that both the bleached blonde and jean-wearing-brunette scenarios sound completely bonkers and like an idea for a Bridget-Jones-meets-Girls sitcom but I think I’m onto something. And I’m not alone. I only had to mention to the other girls at work that I couldn’t really drink anymore without turning into a suicidal snap-dragon and everybody my age completely agreed. The girls over thirty looked at me with a knowing smile. They knew. They’d been through all of this and come out the other side realizing that there’s more to life than trying to find out what will happen if you finish an entire bottle of tequila. But how do we get to that comfortable 30-year-old place? How many more embarrassing nights out, hair colours, fitness routines, religions and sparkly Asos mini-dresses do I need to get through before I become a well-rounded, stable individual who doesn’t overthink every waking moment of the day?

I think the problem is this: I am an adult now. I have a proper job and a house and a fiancé and I often feel broody and think about which shade of beige will look nice in the en suite. But by letting go of my past wildness I feel like I am losing a part of myself and like I never really knew who I was in the first place. Was I always just playing a role? Am I now just playing a new role? Who the HELL am I anyway?

How do we get back to ourselves? How do we pursue true happiness? Answers on a postcard, please.

Personally, despite the fear I have about change and the fact that sometimes when people I ask me a question I feel like I no longer have the skills to answer truthfully because I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL, I know I am on the right path. I am forever trying new things to explore who this new me should be. And instead of moving through it with obsessive fear I should try to enjoy these new discoveries about myself. I enjoy learning, so why not make myself the new project of ambition?

I have given up social media to see what that was like.

I have died my hair back to my natural colour to see how that makes me feel.

I have stopped drinking and challenged myself to a big night out with only hilarious sober jokes with which to entertain.

I have searched for solo trips to India to spend two weeks doing nothing but meditating.

I have written a list of all the places in the world I suddenly want to go.

I have looked at maternity clothes online even though I’m not even thinking of getting pregnant.

I have planned out my whole life one day and then scrapped it and made an entirely new plan the next.

I’ve looked at masters degrees, new careers, volunteering, borrow my doggy, life drawing classes, tree-houses in the woods, piano lessons and becoming a vegan.

I think the point I am trying to make is that this mid-twenties crisis is actually a real thing and you are not alone. And that instead of putting pressure on yourself and questioning your every motive just go forth and learn. You are suddenly realizing what a big, huge, enormous world this is and how much possibility there lies within it. You are not this ‘thing’ that you labeled years ago with a fashion or a personality. You are you and you are ever changing. Ever evolving and learning and growing. And how exciting is that?!

Turn that frown upside down and jump in. Then tell yourself it’s ok to go home, stick on your PJs and have a nice cup of tea.

Depression: The Silencer

What does it feel like?

It feels like everything slows down, like the world is moving through slow mud or quick sand. My limbs feel heavy and I can't move at my normal pace. Everything is hard work, from lifting my arm to climbing the stairs. The people around me seem fast and wild and happy, expertly navigating their way through crowds and emotions. I sit on the side lines, baffled. I cannot join in. I do not have the skills. I do not have the love. I am a stranger. I do not belong here.

Wanting to hide, wanting to cry. Longing for bed as it seems like under the duvet is the only place for rest but when I get there, there is no peace.

It feels like a mask over my eyes, like a weight pushing down my eyelids. Like something is forcing me to cover up, to bury myself, to push my eyes deeper into myself. I do push my eyes into myself, I make them sore with wiping and pushing and itching, my hands searching for some kind of end, some darkness, trying to block everything out and find clarity inside myself.

I am ugly. I am heavy. I am not worthy. I am not clever enough to understand the point of it all and yet I understand it all so deeply.
I can't eat. I shouldn't eat. I am deeply hungry. I starve. I binge. I cry.
I am horrible to those around me. I blame people for not approaching me. I punish those that do.
The special person that cares for me, I hurt him with words I don't mean. Expecting him to understand something I cannot understand myself. I am destroying myself. I am manic. I am lost.

I am silent. I sit and I breathe and I watch. I go about my business and my job as best I can. I am the miserable girl at work. I am struggling.

I don't know how much you can see or how much you care to see. I am drowning inside myself. I keep myself to myself. It is not your problem. I don't want this to be your problem. It is my problem. The problem is me.

What does it feel like?

Change

Change.

What is it that makes it so scary? Without change we would never grow or learn or have anything new and get it's always so scary to leave the old behind. Nothing needs to be forever, I know that, but sometimes it can feel like a whirlwind has gobbled you up and all you can do is chant 'just keep swimming, just keep swimming' like the hyperactive and disturbed fish from Finding Nemo.

Everything is good in my life. Everything is moving in the direction I want it to but it is terribly hard to say goodbye to bits of yourself that have been your home for however long. Maybe it's because I'm an actor and adapting to new personaities is a skill that we have to have but I am actually nervous that all this change is going to change me. 

We're moving house. I've left cabaret - a huge part of myself - to pursue my dream job. We're going to get a cat and car. I'm going to die my hair brown. Ok, that last one sounds like it doesn't belong in the list but changing the way you identify yourself is quite a massive deal, particularly for women.

I've always been insecure about my weight and body. When I discovered Marilyn Monroe, I clung to her like a lifejacket. She was blonde and curvy and sexy as hell. I held onto my blonde sexiness for a long time. And now.....whether it's from exploring playing the part of Carole King - an apparently very comfortable, boyish woman when it comes to style, someone whose work comes first and appearance after - or whether it's from my wonderful therapy sessions and me exploring actually being happy in my own skin....I feel....well, I feel different.

I feel grown up.

I suppose, maybe, I feel like I am going through some monumental change within myself. That I am finding myself? To be honest, I thought I had myself pinned the moment I discovered Marilyn Monroe and the 50s. I feel like I'm peeling back the layers to find the girl I actually am, the girl who, for so many years, tried to reinvent herself to create happiness.

I'm tired of fighting to be the thinnest. I'm hot. If you don't think so, YOU'RE BLIND. Jokes. If you don't think so, I'm not your type. And it doesn't matter anyway right? Maybe I'll dye my hair and move house and have a breakdown because it's all too much. But then, you know, I figure I'll just buy a kitten and a bottle of champagne and sit down and try to figure it all out again.

It's just surprising how you can really feel you've arrived, and then suddenly feel like the journey's only just beginning. But that's life. One big scary journey. I don't know why I keep expecting it to settle down (and that I'd ever be happy if it did).

Is this a common thing for a woman of my age? Do you suddenly realise that going home to a loved one and not having a hangover is more interesting than whatever is at the bottom of that vodka bottle? Or am I just running away and burying my head in the sand? Ex-party-girl issues right here.

I think I'm on a journey to find true peace within myself, my life and the people that surround me. I think that this is the beggining of something beautiful. A new me. The real me. A me that doesn't punish myself for not being perfect, for not being everybody's cup of tea.

I propose a toast to women everywhere. Let us forever not fit in. Let us forever experiment. Let us create. Let us feast on life.

Here's to us!
International Women's Day 2015.

I choose
Here and now
And onwards
To love myself.
I will no longer punish myself
Or look in the mirror and
Compare my body to
Other perfection.
I am perfect.
I am my only me,
My one.
I will rise like a Pheonix from
The flames of self-hate.
Self-reprimand.
Self-harm.
I shall stand tall and proud and exclaim:
"I am wonderful".
I will understand my past and
Tunnel my future with
Focus.
Poise.
Setting a good example for
Women.
Girls.
The sex of birth, recreation and struggle.
I will fly.
I will fly.
Because I choose
Here and now
And onwards
To love myself. 

Sensitivity and Anxiety

As I trundle along, day by day, in an effort to self-heal, to blossom and to learn, I find myself wondering about the other culprit often found alongside the depths of depression: Anxiety.

I never talk about anxiety in the same context but unfortunately for me they come hand in hand.

Currently, I am rehearsing for a new West End musical. This, in itself, isn't *too* stressful. It is, of course, what I have always wanted to do and what I have trained for my entire life. I have found my levels of depression have depleted. I am medicating myself through joy and love for what I do. The stressful part for me comes because of the fact I am understuding an undeniably MASSIVE leading part. Again, this isn't a problem. It's a dream come true. But there's no denying that my nights are restless and my head is full to burst with lyrics and lines and mock scenarios of terror. And so the anxiety within me has begun to pop up again and say 'hello'.

The truth is, that when we are anxious, our body and soul functions on a much more 'fight or flight' mechanism. Everything is hightened and the smallest of issues can expand in our minds to become impressive problems and upsetting scenarios. I have found myself getting upset and nervous over the tiniest of things. Angry, even. This is no pretty thing when you are flung into a new job and desperately find yourself trying to make new friends. 'Do they like me? I don't think they like me. Oh god, why did I say that? Why is he being mean? Does she think I'm an idiot?'....and so forth.

How do we control ourselves to stop our little problems becoming catastrophic avalanches of stress? I am, of course, following my own advice for happiness (see earlier blog). These include: exercise, meditation and thinking positively. But sometimes you can feel a wee bit like you're forcing yourself to become happy and positive and this all adds to the pressure you are already putting upon yourself to be perfect around the new people you are already trying so hard to impress.

At this point in the blog, you, the reader, are probably thinking 'Woah. Just chill out!'. And you'd be right. But does anyone else feel like this phrase, when presented to you, only makes you do the opposite? Like when you were a kid and a bully tells you 'don't cry' and you immediately feel your cheeks flush red and your eyes begin to leak as you tense your buttocks in a vain attempt to stay strong.

Hormones don't help. Kudos to all the women out there who are trying to balance it all.

I don't really have a conclusion. It's the same old thing of 'let's all care for one another and be sensitive' - there's that word again: sensitive. Sensitivity.

As we become more in tune with our feelings do we become more sensitive? As we peel back the layers to reveal our inner truth and honesty does that make us weak somehow? I suppose, as we peel, we have to toughen up our new layers. Wearing your heart on your sleave is a wonderful motto for life but there will always be someone ready to make you feel low, or weak. And the truth is, that person probably doesn't even know they're doing it. The truth is, that person is on their own journey or self-discovery and it's their own anxiety and sensitivity causing them to muddy your path.

I'm going to lie low for a while. I'm only going to present my heart-displaying-sleave to those whom I feel deserve it. In other words, those I can trust. I'm not sure I like this. But maybe it will help me re-establish my own solid ground amogst the anxiety. And allow me to go forth, stronger and kinder, and ready to face my own challenges one step at a time.

Up and Away! (But for how long?)

This is a piece that I am forcing myself to write.

As you may or may not know, I often write about depression and it's relating issues. And my pieces usually come from a place of real knowing - meaning that I am usually suffering, badly, at the time I publish.

I thought it was about time that I write about it from a relatively happy place. A stable day. A stable couple of months if I'm truly honest.

I don't know how long I will feel this way or how quickly Mr. Black-Dog will be bothering other people before he's back scratching at my newly varnished door. But I'm trying to focus on the fact that I feel good RIGHT NOW. And what have I done to make myself feel good?

Here's a few things that I feel have really helped to make me happier and healthier:

1. Exercise. This can be a tricky one for me. As an ex-crash-dieter and eating-disorder-er, I often worry about introducing exercise into my life too whole-heartedly as old obsessions can begin to take hold. But the difference is that now, I'm not doing it to be skinny (though we all wish we could lose that annoying half a stone), no, this time I am looking at the long haul, the life long health, the strength, the healthy blood and bones, looking after ME.
Once you begin to see your body as important, once you care for yourself enough to stop with any self-destrcutive actions like binging, smoking, drug taking or drinking too much, you can begin to feel physically and mentally stronger, day by day. I'm not saying I think it's easy to suddenly regard oneself as a temple, I'm saying it's a marriage.
Like it or not, find a way to get up and exercise. Even if it's running on the spot in your onesie with one hand still firmly clinging onto your duvet in case you need to jump back into bed. Getting into a sweat is really bloody good for you. And as much as we procrastinate and think of reasons not to do it, no one ever regrets a work out.
When you finish, smile. Pat yourself on the back and say 'well done'. And then eat something yummy.
I bet you will feel better. At least a little. Pinky promise.

2. Meditation. Wait, don't sigh and call me a hippy-wanker. Meditation means different things to different people. It's giving yourself a break, a rest, without napping away the day. You are recharging your body and mind and relaxing your heart rate.
Whether it's looking into Mindfulness (I recommend Jon Kabat-Zinn. Start with his videos on youtube and follow up with his books and CDs if you get into it), or whether it's downloading apps onto your phone with more specific goals (Andrew Johnson apps are brilliant for dealing with different issues from weight loss to positive pregnancy). Sometimes, it's great just to lie on your bed with some relaxing music or your favourite album. Stop and actually listen to the music. This used to be so important to us when we were teenagers but how often do you allow yourself nowadays to lie down and really listen to your favourites?
Breathe calmly but don't enforce a change in your breathing. Meditation can only do good. Don't fester on sad or stressful subjects, breathe it out. Even if you burst into tears for absolutely no reason (I've done it), it's better out than in sometimes. You've given yourself the time to realign.
This is particularly important if you are an ex-smoker or someone trying to give up. The one AND ONLY thing I miss from smoking is giving myself five minutes of still. Now chuck that habit and give yourself twenty minutes.
Do it.

3. Positivity. If I haven't lost the cynics already....then this is for you.
I challange you. I challange you to listen to the things you say and think and try to turn them into a positive. Being grateful is a good way into this. What are you thankful for? Truly? Even if you can't see out of the blackness to be thankful for anything. Are you thankful for your legs or your eyes? Go on, tell me you're not thankful for the basic things that we take for granted. Actively thinking these things and practising gratitude will only bring more happiness into your life.
Try to find the light in everything, the silver lining. (Also, watch that film about silver linings and have a dance, on your own in your house, like you're Britney Spears in the 90s. It works).

In the words of Jon Kabat-Zinn: 'You don't have to like it but you have to do it'.
Cure yourself. I believe in you. And when you find yourself back in the darkness of depression, just remember you're not alone. I will be there too soon I'm sure.
But for now, I'm going to get out and LIVE.

When I go, I'm going like Elsie...

Now, I'm determined not to post one of those dramatic 'I'm leaving cabaret' type statuses. I don't want any drama and I certainly don't want any sympathy. But I'm not going to just fade away either without (at least personally) noting how wonderful and important my cabaret life has been.

Soon I'm about to embark on an exciting new job. In less than two weeks I start rehearsals for 'Beautiful' - The Carole King musical going to the west end. Our hopes are high for this to be a hit. On broadway it's doing exceedingly well. But, let's be honest, the west end doesn't have a great track record for new musicals at the moment. Still, fingers crossed and all being well, I will be in this musical for at least a year.

Due to this (and also some unfortunate behaviour that I have experienced), I am running away from cabaret for a while. And although it feels scary and strange, it also feels exciting and freeing and new.

I fell into cabaret. Almost by mistake. While on my cousin's hen do five years ago, I decided that the singer that I was hearing was not using the space well enough and due to my champagne-induced cockiness I went marching up to the host and told her that they needed me. I came back the following week to 'live audition' and the rest, as they say, is vaguely-well-known cabaret history.

I was a body-insecure girl. I was always veering to the wrong side of chubby for my liking and put myself through treacherous crash diets and the like all the way through my teenage years. But about 4 weeks into my new life as a cabaret singer I found myself wearing stockings and suspenders ACTUALLY IN FRONT OF PEOPLE and not feeling too bad about it. Actually, feeling really fucking excited. I learnt to be a woman in cabaret. (No, I'm not saying that wearing stockings makes you a woman) I'm saying that I slowly stopped being awkward and trying to hide my boobs or slim my hips, I started to embrace my curves. I discovered Marilyn Monroe, vintage clothing, high waisted pencil skirts, beautifully curled hair, high heels, red lips - ALL of which the emo hippy child from Glastonbury had never even thought of before.

I became a compere. And I was terrible. TERRIBLE. Not least of all because I hated it. But when you've left drama school and you're a full time waitress and an email pops up in your in box saying 'do you compere too?' you of course say 'yes indeed I do, when do I start?'.

Over the years my confidence in my compering grew. You write your schtick and you create your character and your branch out from your usual cabaret clubs. I found myself on a UK Tour hosting in theatres and then The Hurly Burly Show on the West End. I couldn't believe it. Little nervous me stood front and centre in a beaming spotlight talking to an audience of 400 - 2000 people all on my own and making them laugh. ENTERTAINING them. Madness. I once even performed my entire routine in italian to 2000 in Milan's massive theatre.

Anyway, this isn't supposed to read like a CV.

The people I have met in cabaret are the most incredible people you could ever wish to meet. I am welling up as I write this. I was thrust into a world of the most hard working people. Night by night a different venue. Creating every act and skill from scratch. Sewing on sequins, glueing on rhinestones, sewing until their fingers bleed. People who go out and create, who throw around electric carving knives and bowling bowls, people who set their tongues on fire, who hang upside down from a pole and plunge themselves to the floor. Beautiful burlesque dancers who taught me what it is to feel sexy, to embrace the tease, to immerse oneself in glamour and sexual resplendency.

I have made real, long life friends. I have talked about periods and anal sex in a corridor with women as they stick a merkin on their vagina. I have seen real heartbreak, I have seen real drunkeness, I have lost myself in the underground world of gin and dancing and nakedness. I have sung songs and looked into the audience begging my poor lonely heart to love. I have looked into the audience and seen my love. I have passionately sung 'Cabaret' a gazillion times and believed every word with every fibre of my being. I have spent too much money on corsets and long dresses. I have hung from the ceiling of a strip club singing Shirley Bassey. I have laughed until I can't breathe and my corset forces out a little wee. I have cried, I have been angry, I have shouted and screamed.

I have loved you cabaret. And my goodness I shall miss you. The people mostly. But also that part of me that I found that I didn't think was there. Coco, the girl who gets up and makes people laugh, the entertainer, the clown, the part of me that says 'yep. I'm going to sing a classical song and strip out of a reindeer onesie' because why the fuck not? Life is too short. Things come to an end. And I feel like this may be our end, Coco.

Sometimes, you have to close a door in order to force yourself to move on. I have given nearly five years to cabaret. Five incredible years. But now I must become the actress I've always wanted to be and become the writer that I know I can be. New adventures, new roads to drive, new places to see.
New people to meet.

But. To the people I have met along the way, the people that have made my life so very full and beautiful, THANK YOU. You mean more to me than any blog can ever explain.
And Holy Crap, we made some memories.

"What good's permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away?
Life is a cabaret, old chum, so come to the cabaret"

Robin Williams

Something happened last night.

As I came back from the bathroom, my boyfriend told me that Robin Williams had died. And then my boyfriend probably felt a bit awkward at how upset I got.

I tried to hold it together. I mean, it’s very sad but come on, I didn’t KNOW the guy. Turns out, none of the people on my facebook and twitter KNEW Robin Williams but the outpour of devastation was everywhere. Some people were upset, some people were simply saluting his genius, some people had moved past the shock of the death and onto the comforting of others spouting out the reasons we should be happy. And I just felt angry. I couldn’t get my head around my feelings. I still can’t. Hence the writing.

This man, this talent, this person with the ability to make you laugh and cry in the space of a second had got himself to a point where the only option of moving forward was to end it all.

Just over a year ago - after a lifetime of crying on my own, of feeling like the whole world was bunched up inside me, of black dog, black cloud, utter helplessness – I finally went to a doctor to talk about the fact that I was depressed. I had of course known I was depressed for many years. I knew that cutting oneself and starving oneself were not normal habits of a fully functional human. I had suffered in silence for a relatively long time. I had, on many occasions planned how I would end it and would any one know and then slapped my own wrists for not having the courage to go through with it. The other thing I didn’t have the courage to do was TELL ANYBODY.  I could lie there next to a boyfriend, sit silently next to my mother, pant and wretch at trying to form the words to tell a friend to no avail. I couldn’t pick up the bloody phone to tell a complete stranger on the other end of the line how I was feeling. The best I could do was email the Samaritans to say something along the lines of “No biggie. Just feel really suicidal. And every time I have to get onstage and make other people laugh I feel like I’m burying more of myself.”  So, to actually get myself to go to the doctor last year was pretty monumental and the sigh of relief that washed over me as I scuttled back to my bed clutching anti-depressants and a therapy referral form was like a waterfall of calm and excited apprehension.

Over the past year or so I took the pills for about 6 months (the recommended time) and came off again. Cognitive behavioral therapy was not the one for me so I jacked that in and stuck to the pills. I also in this time met the love of my life who, without him realizing it, became all the support I’d ever need. I mean, I only had to look at him and this big beaming smile would come over me. I went on to do a west end show and thankfully in the big group scenes I’d stopped bursting into tears silently in the back shadows. Everything felt pretty good. I was nervous that I would feel ‘numb’ on the pills. After all, I am an actress, I don’t want to lose any of the spectrum of my talent DAHling! But all seemed well and good and eventually I decided I was ready to come off the pills but was not adverse to the thought that I would probably have to go back on at some point. And I did. With some health scares and such, I very quickly rushed back onto the pills but only for a short amount of time. I discovered a thing called mindfulness and I helped myself for a while with no need for chemical enhancements.

Now, over the past few months I have felt the return of an unfriendly but oh so familiar cloud. Slowly, I can feel it pulling down on my eyelids and weighing down on my body causing me to stay in bed for hours and then return to bed many times throughout the day. My eyes want to close and I forever want to fall asleep, at least until something better or more interesting distracts me, as it’s safer to be asleep than to be left with my own thoughts. Despite all of these feelings, I have once again not been honest with myself. I’ve been brushing it off. Excusing it. Convincing others and my loved ones that I’m just being melodramatic, that I’m ‘really tired from the gym’, that I’m fine it’s just this, that and the other. The truth is, it is none of those things. And the death of Robin Williams last night brought me right back to myself and the realization that I’m not OK. 

I took myself into another room. My boyfriend went to sleep with work in the morning. And the tears flooded over me. Big, fat, galumphing tears took over my face. I felt SO ANGRY that this man had taken his life. That no one had helped or stopped him. But what can people do? What can anyone do for us? All I could see was endless unhappiness and torment and a big sign in front of me that says “You will always feel this shit”. I sat alone on the floor and those familiar old sentences crept back into my brain. Those scary thoughts that asphyxiated me before.  The idea that nobody really knew and nobody could help and that it would be far easier to just not ‘be’ anymore.

My boyfriend awoke, shocked to find me so upset about the death of an actor I’ve never met and eventually all of my emotions came flooding out to him. “I just don’t want to be the 63 year old comedian who kills himself and everybody says ‘oh that’s sad’, I just don’t want that”. I sobbed into his arms and he held me close. I felt a mixture of pure love for Robin Williams and complete and utter devastation at the world. If someone THAT LOVED can get away with killing himself than everyone can. Everybody who feels this way can just end it. And it will be sad. And that will be that.

Now I’m not claiming that my thoughts made any sense. In fact, I was mostly just shocked to realize that I had once again got to this point and not even noticed. Me, spiritual goddess always trying to help others. Me, always posting facebook statuses about appreciating life and how we should all look out for the signs of depression and help people. Turns out it was all a big fat cry for help.

I was calmed by my boyfriend and eventually my hyperventilating rendered me exhausted and I fell asleep. And now I’m writing to you. I’m not sure what I’ve learnt really, except that I’m not ok. And I’m not sure how to move forward. Do I return to the drugs? Do I seek other help? I’m not really sure and I’m not really asking for advice. I just knew I needed to write. To let my emotions come out somehow. To admit that I’m not OK. And that I need my friends. And that I don’t want you, or me, or anybody else to be the person that was loved by the whole world but couldn’t love himself.