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:

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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.

Where Does The Time Go?

Fecking hell, where has the time gone?

It seems like only 5 minutes since I was taking pictures outside the Caird Hall...

 
... and in the Caird Hall...
  

...on orientation day on 10th September 2012 which marked the very start of my new insane journey - kicking off a 4 year BSc Honours Degree in Forensic Psychobiology at Abertay University in Dundee at the grand old age of 38. 

How did it all begin?

Well, I was divorced, bankrupt and starting again so I decided it was time to do something for me, something dramatic and I thought to myself - 'what else can I possibly cram into my already ridiculous life - I know a 4 year degree'!

My Awesome Divorce Party

So, I found out what qualifications I needed to get into Uni for the course I wanted and discovered I would need either a Higher in a Human Biology (I only had O Grade Normal Biology) or a Certificate in Forensic Science and Medicine. Ach, sod it, I'll go for the certificate then.How the fuck would I pay for it though? It was over £1,200?!  Oh, I know, I'll say YES to the lovely lady who wants to write about my divorce and divorce party for the magazines and use that to part pay for it...

Front Page - I'm top left!!

 

So, cheque in hand, I signed up for a 1 year course in Forensic Science and Medicine at The University of Edinburgh.I started the course in October 2010 and on the first night of class was presented with a 100 year old penis in a jar. I felt like I had found my way home.I met some amazing people and had a great time. I looked forward to my Wednesday night classes. I think they saved me.The course content was brilliant but meeting different types of people was just as amazing - I was the only arty type in the room. Everyone else was a solicitor, a Procurator Fiscal, a cop, a nurse, a physio or a doctor. On day one, when we went round the room and when I said I was an actor looking for something different, there was an interesting reaction. 
I loved it. I asked the questions everyone else was too scared to ask in case they looked stupid - you know me, I couldn't give a fishes tit about looking cool or not cool. We made DNA strands out of liquorice and marshmallows (mine was shit). We had maggots in Tuppeware containers, post mortem photos and crime scene images.

I had a great time with my new forensic pals and our wee clique are still pals today and that makes me happy.

And then fast forward to September 2012...

I've been accepted into Abertay and I decided to live in Uni Halls - what else would I do at 38?

I've had a whale of a time living with the most random folks you can imagine: A Chinaman, a Brown woman, a very pale worrier and a sociopath/psychopath. We didn't mix with the socio/psycho other than to retrieve the things he had stolen or phone the police when he started lashing out. Other than him, it was a very happy flat - we were all quite racist and ageist to each other and we all found it quite hilarious. I now live in a flat on my own, near a big park and a junkie chemist. I live next door to Kevin and everyone seems to know Kevin. He has 2 massive dogs and seems like a decent bloke, even though I get folks knocking on my door wanting to know where he lives, I make out like I've never heard of him. He's grateful for that.Bridget is a wee tourist attraction in the street and folks round here are generally pretty cool and mental - it's like being back in Leith but stepped up a notch.2nd year starts on 23rd September and in our next year we have:- Biological Psychology
- Cognitive Psychology
- Human Physiology 2&3
- Introduction to Psychopathy and Crime
- Psychological Research Methods 2
- Scientific Detectives 2 To say I'm excited about 2nd year is a bit of an understatement.I turn 40 at the end of 2nd year and I plan to behave disgracefully. I have signed up to Tough Mudder and will raise money for charity by doing the most hideously difficult assault course going in the same year I hit the big milestone. Life is fun, once you get the hang of it :-)