The Year of Celebration

Very pleased with my new headshots by Natasha Merchant . She's a fantastic photographer and a lovely person generally.

After two months of not even a sprinkling of anxiety I had major panic attacks last week. It was even more intense and overwhelming as I was of the (clearly misguided) belief that I had conquered them. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think and I was crying so hard I thought I might pass out. The worst part was that I couldn't remotely pinpoint the cause of the anxiety. I was racking my brain, trying to breathe, meditate and calm myself and I was incredibly frustrated by the fact that I couldn't seem to battle through. Yesterday, the anxiety finally lifted only to be replaced by depression and exhaustion. I was terrified that this would last, but after about 12 hours sleep I woke up this morning back to the mood I've been in for the last two months, which has been quite positive, calm and even elated at times. However, at the beginning of this happy phase of life I couldn't shake the worry that it would soon disappear. I just had to keep reminding myself that it ...

Today (well tonight) four years ago I lost my idol, my hero, a giant amongst men and the first man I ever loved; my father Julian. I've discussed him many times in this blog , in life, to my friends, to strangers, to anyone who will listen really. There should be no doubt in anyone's mind about my admiration for him.  I am my father's daughter and with that comes his legacy. When I was a child I always worried I would never come out from under his shadow. That doesn't worry me at all anymore, it is a glorious shadow in which to find shade from the heat of life. I used to hate my feet and the lines and the dark spots under my eyes, but since he died I've come to love them, because they're his too and I can tread life in the same feet as him and look at it through his eyes. I've attached a clipping from the front page of yesterday's Bermuda Sun  in which I am referred to, as always, as "Julian Hall's daughter". I am trying to make a nam...

Today I was exposed. In the most beautiful way possible. In revealing my inner darkness it has always been my intention to help remove the stigma of mental illness; to give a voice to those who cannot or will not speak for themselves. Those who are too ashamed and scared to even reach out for help. Because sometimes we need help and there's nothing wrong with asking for it. It is the solution to inevitable destruction. I wrote an article for the Bermuda Sun, which was the most revealing and vulnerable piece I've ever written. Even in this blog I have not plunged to the depths of truth regarding my mental state. I have always been too afraid, but I figured if I was going to have an impact, I needed to be as authentic as possible. How can I ask others to reach out for help and to admit to their own demons when I'm not prepared to do the same? Later on this afternoon I spoke to a group about my journey and those people shared back. To have so many people relate to me and t...

" Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." Oh, Mr. Darcy! There are few literary lovers that live up to that of Mr. Darcy. So, therefore, it's quite a feat to act the role as there's a lot of pressure on that thespian to make women's heart race, to portray cold and reserved, yet filled with emotion. I went to the Open Air Theatre in Regent's Park last night to watch a production of Pride & Prejudice.  The genius of Jane Austen's work is that the story itself is so brilliant that it transfers well from book to play to film. So let's deal with Mr. Darcy first. I must say the actor playing Darcy managed to portray him very well and exceeded expectation. I say that because just as when I watch Romeo & Juliet (which I did a couple of weeks ago in another open air theatre, which featured my good friend Jason Eddy) I am prepared to dislike the actor who plays Romeo, because he couldn't possibly live up to my fanta...

Life is good. Really good. Celebrations are in order as I've officially gained representation with Crescent Management . I'm very excited to join this lovely agency with lovely people. When I went in to meet them I immediately felt at home and really adored all the members. So, hopefully, I'll start getting some work and keep moving forward. In other news, I just am elated at the moment. I'm remembering to take my meds and I've quit all my anti-anxieties and flushed them down the toilet. I realised that for nearly four years not a day went by that I wasn't completely present. I was unable to respect my feelings. No matter how I felt I wanted to change it. If I was up I'd take and drink whatever I could to make myself more up. If I was down I'd want to be in oblivion so I couldn't experience that. Now, I'm realising I'm human and that it's natural to encounter the ups and downs of everyday life and process them appropriately. Life h...

Oh, London. One day you amaze me with the beauty of your residents (see last post ). The next day you remind me of why I can fear such residents. In great contrast to my Friday morning, my Sunday morning started off with a horrible interaction with a Londoner (with a German accent, but let's call him a Londoner for the sake of convenient comparison). I live on Brixton Hill down the street from The Fridge Bar. Now when I was 16 or 17 I used to go to the Fridge and Dogstarr and other Brixton haunts on weekend escapes from boarding school. Although Brixton was dodgier 12 years ago (yes, I just gave away my age) I remember the bars as amazing, but either my drunken memory fails me or they really were amazing and times have since changed. I think the Fridge has actually been shut down a few times since then, but it's like a cat with nine lives. Anyway, this place is open from 4am to 11am on weekend nights, which is basically a direct invitation for anyone high on blow and molly to ...

It's amazing how a day can seem so hopeless and then turn out beautifully. My plan was to audition at The Albany Theatre in Deptford this morning then to go to work in Wimbledon. I woke up to find that I hadn't been paid. Therefore, no money in my account and only £2 on the ole oyster travelcard. The life of a starving actress is a precarious one and I find myself walking that tightrope often. Cue me frantically calling a family member for help. He thought perhaps I could go to the station and use his card over the phone. The Underground staff at Brixton were no help, but they said that the train station could do it. I went to the train station. They don't do oyster top-ups. One word: SCREWED. The man in the booth at Brixton train station started trying to brainstorm with me, asking me if I knew anyone nearby. Of course all my friends in the area are at work. I was resigned to the fact that I was going to have to cancel the audition and work for the day, therefore missin...

I've been negligent, I know. It's not just you, YOC, it's every piece of writing in my life. I'm suffering from the dreaded...dun dun dun...WRITER'S BLOCK. I'm not even sure if that's the right terminology for what I'm experiencing, because actually it's more that I'm hating everything I've written in the past. Since losing my laptop I haven't written a single new word of  The Hardest Part , my novel-in-progress. Likely because I lost the last 15-20 pages and I'm resentful. It's been stagnating on page 287 or whatever for two months and I now think I hate it. There are parts of it that I love (usually individual sentences), and I know what I'm trying to do, but I'm just not executing it in the right way. I keep opening the manuscript, reading it, becoming exasperated and deciding that before I make drastic changes or toss the whole thing I'll leave it a few days until I'm in a better mood. The thing is I've...

In the space of a week I was lucky enough to see two plays in London's West End and they couldn't have been more different from one another. As explained in last week's post , Peter & Alice inspired in me such depth of thought regarding my own life. Book of Mormon on the other hand just allowed me to escape from my life for a couple of hours. My relationship with comedy is an awkward one, because whilst I love a good laugh, I also rarely choose to watch comedies so it's up to someone else to suggest them. The lovely one always remarks that unless a film makes me cry I'm uninterested in watching it. That's entirely untrue. I just enjoy films with depth and meaning (and maybe a good dose of death). Whenever I attempt to watch comedy I prepare myself to be disappointed, because frankly, most of the time it's not  that  funny. Yes, it can be mildly amusing or  quite  funny, but it's rarely leaving me in floods of tears (I suppose maybe the litmus tes...