Remembrance Day

It's Remembrance Day soon.

Even if you think war is the last resort and you don't agree with it or condone it, please spare a thought for our guys and girls out there doing their jobs.

They don't get to choose which war they fight in. They are told.
They don't get to choose which orders they follow. They are told.
They don't get to choose when to come home to their families. They are told.
They don't get to choose what clothes to wear to work. They are told.
They don't get to choose who has their back in a war zone. They are told.

They are told what to do every day so that we have the freedom not to be told what to do every day.

No matter what our life throws at us, we can deal with it, safe in the knowledge that someone has our back.  We don't get to choose who that is. 

We will probably never meet them. 
We will probably never know that a mother is getting a phone call right now to say her son or daughter won't be coming home, ever again. 
We will probably never know that a husband or wife has just been told that their other half won't be coming home to kiss them goodnight or tuck in the kids, ever again.

Regardless of your personal feelings on war and the military, take a few moments tomorrow to spare a thought for those who put their lives on the line for a starting salary that is less than that of a checkout operator in Tesco.

I wonder how many of you would have the balls to stare a young soldier, airman/woman, naval seaman/wren in the face and tell them that what they are doing is a waste of time. That their life on the firing line is just a waste of time.

Our troops don't get asked which war they would like to fight in and which citizens of our country they would prefer to protect. 

They just get on with the job in hand.

Here are 2 examples of fine men who have served their country:

Petty Officer Alan Raw
Royal Navy 1966 - 1989
Died in 1993 due to cancer caused by his service to our country

Private Albert Edward Hayes
East Surrey Regiment 1939 - 1945
Died in 1968 of cancer (after kicking Hitler's arse)





The medals speak for themselves.

RIP Dad and Grandad - hope you are both kicking arses wherever you are xx

Depression. Proper

I run my own business, am a director of another, I co-run a branch of a trade union and I'm a full time forensics and psychology student. 

I am together, I am strong and I am a force to be reckoned with

But...

....If I don't have to leave my flat, I'm happy.

If I have to leave the flat, a myriad of mathematical equations come into play along with a billion other questions. Things I don't have to consider if I don't have to leave the flat:

- is 3 days too long to wear one pair of pants (knickers for my US pals)?
- is a 'rub down with an Andrex wet wipe' considered a bath?
- I am a white girl but I haven't washed my hair in so long I look like a Rasta without the tan - Tres Semme won't cut the mustard, I have actual dreadlocks.
- my duvet smells sweet because I think the bed bugs have suggested that they should give off different pheromones
- my pee smells of stale coffee
- my IBS makes me look like I'm 6 months pregnant
- my medication makes me look like my face shape has been inherited from the moon
- I pretend a drama has happened instead of just saying 'I'm not up to it today'
- I want to cry a lot of the time but I hold it in cos 'I'm the strong one'
- I get everything done and you'd never know I was having a bad day
- I've produced 8 films and folks are none the wiser as to my inner thoughts cos...
  ...I'm a doer. 
- I know shit has to be done so I just get on and do it
- I sometimes wonder what it would be like to just stop breathing
- but then I panic cos I don't like enclosed spaces.

These are just some of the things that go through your head when you're in a depressed state.

Sometimes I just think this:

- what?

Nothing to add just, what?

There is no feeling or excitement or enthusiasm.

My depression was kicked off by my hideous divorce and, due to drama right up until this year in dealing with the fall out from it, my brain has not had a break.

I've been in fight or flight mode since 2009 and some people think I'm actually manic depressive (bi-polar) cos I'm so high energy most of the time. I'm not. I'm really not. I just feel this need to get shit done.

I am amazed that I have made it through 3 years of Uni. 1 year at Edinburgh and 2 years at Abertay (Dundee) on a fairly hard core forensics and psychology based degree.

I'm writing this now a) cos if it helps just one person it's worked and b) when I finally make my name, they can't pretend this is a new fangled thing that 'I'm afflicted with' to fill tabloid space - cos those PR people are fuckers and I've got their measure already so they can fuck off before they even start.

Happy smiley twatarsing face.

http://www.samh.org.uk/
http://www.depressionalliance.org/
http://www.actionondepression.org/

A Military Family Understands...Part 2

This post is actually a mish mash of mostly new writing and an existing blog:

---

So Mama Raw posted a lovely link on my page today (Oct 27th 2013) about the young girls, who are military kids, that have released a song to raise money for the Poppy Appeal. Obviously, I can relate.

However, what I cannot relate to are the nasty and spiteful comments that the Daily Fail site has attracted. I sometimes hate the internet and the people who hide behind their keyboards. I won't comment on the actual site because it will do no good and will only anger and upset me further - there are some battles even I can't win.

Like this song or not, these are wee girls who have to say goodbye to their daddies every few months, FOR a few months (sometimes years, actually) knowing they may never see them again. That's a lot to deal with when you're 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 and 19 years old. 

Not only are they dealing with the usual shite that comes with being a kid at school (bullies, packed lunches v school dinners, shit labelled trainers, own brand supermarket crisps, perm v straight, etc) but they have this in the back of their minds too, every second of every day - the fact that their Daddy might never come home, ever again.  

You tell me, what part of any of that deserves the venomous shite spouted about servicemen and women and the kids who adore and idolise them AND the parent left at home doing the jobs of two people and never bitching about it. Not once.

These people have probably never known a ‘knock at the door’. If they understood this, I feel they would have more compassion for our fallen men and women.

I am not happy that I understand the impact of ‘a knock at the door’.  My Dad died, due to his Navy service, as I turned 19 (literally on my 19th birthday, any need?). That is no age to lose a parent. But you know what, my mum lost her Dad at the age of 17 so I already had a role model and knew that I would cope. My Mum coped. So would I.

"Oh look at those kids getting exposure just for winning a song contest...pat on the back to them..."

What people fail to understand is that I, and all those other kids, would give up every pat on every back, every pay rise in every shit job and every amazing opportunity afforded to us in the film, acting and/or singing world to have just 5 more minutes with our Dads, our heroes.

My mum is my heroine and she knows it. I just hope my Dad knows the place he holds in my heart. He died far too soon. I only hope he is watching from above and knows that he is the moral compass that I hold high, his is the humour barometer I hold aloft when my life is dark and his sense of outrage is the one I hang on to when I see that things are pish and need to be changed.

I am gobby. I am opinionated. I will effect change. I am a Raw. I always will be.

PS leave these wee kids alone to idolise their heroes. If you had any clue what it's like you wouldn't even question them, so fuck off.