I'd really hoped I'd not have to write a post like this for at least another 50-100 years. I am aware that is unrealistic, but a girl can dream.  

It's been a while, but, yet again, I have a reason. I am an unending supply of shitty excuses that I wish I didn't have. I couldn't just go back to writing about films without at least addressing what is one of the most devastating events of my entire life, because that would just be fucking weird. 

I've been going out with my beautiful boy for nearly 10 years. He is my family and accordingly, his family became family too. They are a bunch of wonderful, random, funny human beings and I am very lucky to be able to count myself as part of the madness. 

On 7th September we got a call to say that one of his sisters; one of the brightest, kindest and best people I've ever known, who I was lucky enough to consider a sister too, had taken her own life. There is no way you can even begin to prepare yourself for someone telling you news like that. Tragedy has struck this wonderful family before in 2008, when my boy lost his twin in a car accident. In a way, I'd sort of foolishly convinced myself that nothing else really bad could happen. We'd already been through something so awful, surely nothing else could happen? I was horribly and unbelievably wrong. 
With a car accident, it's something awful and devastating, but at least it's in some way understandable, I guess. Suicide is something you can never in a million years prepare yourself for. Losing someone like this feels like a physical wrench, someone being torn from you and there is fuck all you can do about it. It is such a final act, that leaves nothing but questions, hurt and anger. 

I still have a very hard time believing it really happened, that she is really gone because the notion just seems so ridiculous. She was one of the loudest, bubbliest people I've ever known. You could hear her laugh and her voice from a mile a way, and I'm tempted to say that literally because girlfriend was LOUD. And that was one of the things I loved about her, there was no being discreet, everything was upfront and in your face. Yet it's this irony that makes the whole thing so hard to understand. This wonderful woman would tell you everything, regardless of whether you wanted to hear it or not. The amount of awkward conversations we had, her brother cringing away in the corner trying to cover his ears so he didn't hear all the details, is both hilarious and appalling. But when it came to telling us the things that mattered, she couldn't, words failed her. She constructed this almost perfect image. She had 3 wonderful kids, she'd lost loads of weight, she'd got a new house, she was going out and having fun, she was going to New York, she posted endless inspiration quotes on Facebook, and yet inside, that image couldn't have been further from the truth. And it causes me an actual physical pain that she went to that much effort to construct a picture of perfection, rather than being able to say 'look, I need help'. The last conversation we had, she told me how happy she was, and remembering that makes me so confused, angry and hurt. And sad. Sometimes I feel such grief that it feels like I can't breathe. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. It hasn't quite hit me as real yet. I feel like we're all free-falling and just waiting for the inevitable crash, when we'll realise that she's actually gone.

Losing someone like this hits me a little closer to home, because I know the thought pattern that goes along with depression. We had spoken about how she had struggled in the past, but she kept saying that it was getting better, and I guess that it's that part that I'm struggling with. I am so angry at her, and it hurts to say that, but I am so fucking pissed off. And it's not rational, I know, because I can understand what she must've been thinking, but on a selfish note, she knew she could've talked to any of us.  I'll indulge myself in my anger for a while; I'll curse at her, I'll rant at her and then all of a sudden that self-indulgent anger is cut short because I'll remember the reality. Then, just like that, the grief will smack me in the chest, face, stomach, with all the grace of a tonne of bricks. And it hurts everywhere. 

This feeling of waiting for the reality to hit is an uncomfortable one. You carry on with everyday life, you laugh and joke like it's all okay. And then you remember. Every time I laugh, it feels like it's coming from someone else. I feel like I'm looking at myself from the outside and I hear this stupid fake laugh and I hate myself a little. And yet, if I'm left alone she is the first place my head goes to and it hurts. I am a mass of contradictions. I want to be alone, but at the same time I am so scared of being left to my thoughts. 

I don't have the words to fully say how this hurts and I don't think I'll ever be able to understand what has happened. All I know, is that we lost part of our family and it has destroyed us a little. All we have are questions, shock, anger and grief, and to be left with that and nothing else is an insult to how fabulous Kellie was. 

If you are struggling at all, in any way, please, please tell someone. I am literally begging you. Save your loved ones this grief. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty for wanting to do it, I understand the temptation when your head tries to convince you, but it's not worth it. You can be helped, you can be saved, you just need to give someone the chance. 

We lost a beautiful, wonderful, funny woman. The kind of person who laughed first, who talked loudest, who'd speak to anyone, who made you feel welcome and loved, who put her family above all, who loved her children fiercely, who was an awesome friend, who was loyal and remarkable. She deserves a legacy so much bigger than someone who lost a battle to depression. She deserved so much better. 

I'll link some helpline numbers and information here and here. Even if you just want to talk to me, you can find my information on the side or in the 'Contact' section. There's no judgement, only understanding. 

I hope you're all well, and if you're not, I hope you talk to someone. Ask yourself everyday, 'Am I Okay?' and if the answer is ever 'No', tell someone. You are too important to not give yourself a chance.

I want to try and get back into writing, try and get back in the rhythm of life, otherwise I'll feel forever stuck in this little snapshot of grief and horror, and I can't cope with that. So hopefully, I'll chat to you all soon. Be safe and be well.

Becca.

Hello beautiful people!

You know when you have so much to say, so much to explain, that you have no fricking clue where to start? Yeah, that's happening right now.

It's funny, I have this ridiculous compulsion to splurge all the feels but there are so many of them I may as well just smash my head against the keyboard repeatedly. It's always the important topics that are the most impossible to write about. Typical. As a side note, I feel I should just say; Mum, if you're reading this there WILL be swearing! I have done a disclaimer so now you can't tell me off :).

I guess the best thing to do is to start from the beginning (such an inventive idea, I know) so I'll link my first post about Mental Illness right here. If you want to be able to follow along with my ramblings, it might be a good idea to check it out first. 

As I mentioned before, I've struggled with depression since I was 11 years old. It's been an on/off thing ever since. Some days can feel like the end of the world then I could go a week feeling almost optimistic. It's an exhausting way to live, never knowing if the next day you wake up, if you're happy to wake up at all. When I got to uni I lost any and all small ability I had to control it. I would spend days on end in bed, make up excuses to not go out and basically panic about everything. Like, literally, everything. I've always been a worrier but when I hit 18 I just went, for lack of a better word, a bit mental. Everything turned into a worst possible scenario in my head and I lost all desire to do anything. To my mind, people only tolerated me, I didn't really have friends, I was going to fail my degree before I started annnnnddddd I was never going to succeed in life. So, in my head, I was a verifiable mess, incapable of doing the simplest task without panicking and thinking 'OH SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIIITTTTTTT'. Outwardly, I like to think I was cool, calm and collected. And herein lies the problem. My absolute and utter determination to keep my game-face on, to pretend that I was like everyone else, left me suffering alone and scared and terrified to talk to anyone. And this is the great deception of depression, it doesn't just make you think the worst about yourself, it isolates you from everybody. You become convinced that nobody will understand, that you'll be rejected and then you'll really be left alone. 



I wanted to write this post for a couple of reasons. Recently I had been trying to finish off some assignments for university. All I had to do was write some essays, submit them and then BOOM, degree in hand. It all sounded so simple! Except nothing's simple when you; 1) hate your degree, 2) second guess/triple guess/quadruple guess everything you write/do/say and 3) when you have to partake in regular human society and work for a living. And when it came to concentrating and putting some words down, I just fell apart. My mind just turned to shit and was a squidgy mess (I apologise for that mental imagine) and I felt like everything was pointless. Yet at any point did I tell anyone? Say; "look lads, I can't do it, I'm falling apart"? OF COURSE NOT, DON'T BE SILLY! I pretended everything was super duper and then, 2 days before the essays were due in, I had the most almighty panic attack of my life (and I have had some gems). I literally thought I was going to die, and truth be told, in my moment of sheer desperation, I thought that mightn't be so bad. Which looks so awful written down, but it is what it is. I don't necessarily spend my days contemplating suicide, rather I just think about blinking out of existence. Just having everything...stop. 
My poor boyfriend, who is the kindest, sweetest and most supportive man I have ever known (along with my Dad), had to try and pull together a person he didn't even know was falling apart because I hid everything. The problem with thinking the worst about everything is that you anticipate the worst from everyone. Despite my family being nothing but the greatest bunch of people I could be genetically connected to, my mind tells me they'll be disappointed and ashamed of me if I don't do something. Deep down I know that's absolutely not true, and that, frankly, it's a little offensive to think so little of them. Yet when the dark thoughts come, that logic doesn't feature in. Depression has made me alarmingly self-centred, I am convinced that all events lead to me and something terrible I have done. 

The irony that I love writing, and want to do it for a career, yet physically cannot complete my English degree is not lost on me. It's some sort of cruel cosmic joke, is what it is!

The second reason was the suicide of Robin Williams. I don't think I've ever been hit so hard by the death of someone I didn't know. The thought that someone who brought so much laughter and joy to other people's lives, could be suffering so intensely in private was far, far too close to home for me. Not that I'm comparing myself to Robin Williams (although, I too could grow an impressive beard. If I tried.) but I understood the desire to hide away from the world and pretend like everything is okay. And this is, I guess, the crux of my ramblings. Why do I want to hide? Why should I hide? 

In modern society, there has to be an excuse for everything, but often with depression there is no reason, it just is. I have no reason to feel the way I do, nothing outstandingly horrific has happened to me, I have great friends, an awesome family and a fricking fantastic boyfriend (who would be even better if he picked up his socks) so what's my problem? And there isn't one, I have no explanation other than my brain, on occasion, hates me. Sure there are triggers and things happen that warrant my sadness, but a lot of the time it's just a lot of sitting around in a black cloud thinking "is this really my life?". The treatment of depression and suicide following the loss of Robin Williams did not help my own understanding of my condition. Generally what I got from newspapers/websites is that I should stop whining, grow the fuck up and stop being a selfish mare. The sensationalisation of his death absolutely disgusted me. If he had died from a battle with cancer he would've been mourned on the front page, yet because Depression is seen as some sort of made up illness he is called 'selfish' and accused of wasting his life and the horrific details are splashed all over. And this angered me to no extent. People with Depression don't choose to feel shitty, they aren't killing themselves for attention or to be selfish, there literally feels like there is no other choice. This is what needs to be highlighted, how can a person, in a society as oversharing as the one we live in, get to the point of not being able to talk about not wanting to exist anymore? Instead of making excuses for why someone feels depressed, as we see with the treatment of Robin Williams (he was broke, he was struggling with sobriety etc etc) perhaps just accept what it is and find a way to make someone feel loved, accepted and needed? Educate people on how to cope, how to recognise the signs, and most importantly, stop people feeling ashamed of having a mental illness. When news broke of Williams suicide my Facebook newsfeed was full of people encouraging others with depression to speak up and seek help, and like an absolute hypocrite, so was mine. But it's not as easy as that. Getting help, opening up to someone and just saying it is the most difficult thing, because for some reason, it's seen as some kind of weakness. And this is where change needs to come in. If I had known about my condition when I was 11, maybe I would have a better grasp on how to control it, how to live with it. Maybe I wouldn't feel ashamed of something that is totally beyond my understanding. And I wouldn't feel absolutely terrified about posting this. 



So, if you're reading this and you've been struggling, if you have had any dark thoughts about yourself, please know you are not alone. Even if you can't talk to someone you know (which, I know, is really bloody hard) you can always drop me a line one here. I won't pretend I have all the answers, or in fact, any at all, but I can at least support you. Or, we can support each other. Please remember, even when it seems impossible to, you are loved and you are important. I know it's something I need to try and remember. If you know someone with depression, just know that you being there and supporting them is so much more appreciated than you can ever know. 

Alright, that's a lot of heavy shit, and truth be told, I could go on. But here, have a picture of Tom Hiddleston to make it a little better. 

I hope you're all well, and if not, you can hit me up on any of my social media or on my email, which you can find in my 'Contact' section. Be happy, be healthy, be safe. If you need anymore information or advice you can check out the Mind website here. Chat to you next time :).

Becca.