Why This Year's I'm A Celebrity Proves We STILL Don't Understand Anxiety

There's a tradition in my household.  For a couple of weeks, in late November/early December, we all gather around the TV to watch (in recent years, some very minor) celebrities eat kangaroo anus, get covered in cockroaches and generally banter or bicker around a campfire.

Yes, it's I'm A Celebrity season.

It's one of those love/hate shows.  Many have (probably with good reason) spoken out against the potential for animal cruelty involved (do those cockroaches really want to be dumped on a reality TV personality's head?!) and it's fair to say that I'm A Celebrity hasn't been without its fair share of drama.  Just two years ago, I wrote about the vile Lady C's appearance on the show, during which she point-blank refused to undertake certain challenges unless she was told in advance what reward she'd get and worse, she violently insulted anyone who disagreed with her, even attacking Spandau Ballet singer Tony Hadley's children.

This year, though, the main talking point for many watching the show, has been the treatment of Iain Lee, radio broadcaster and comedian.  Iain came into the show as a late addition along with Labour MP, Kezia Dugdale and from very early on, was outspoken about his mental health issues.  He talked about the importance of sharing your feelings and explained that he hates the toxic idea that men can't - or shouldn't - cry.  It was quickly obvious to most viewers that Iain is a sensitive person and someone whose honesty is to his credit.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for many of his campmates.

Another celebrity in this year's camp is boxer Amir Khan; a man who fights people for a living, but screams at insects, was the first person this year to say "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here" in order to get out of a trial and claims to be afraid of snakes, despite his own behaviour being decidedly snake-like.  Can you tell I'm not a fan?!

Amir quickly became friendly with footballer's wife Becky Vardy, ex-footballer Dennis Wise and soap actor Jamie Lomas.  Together, this group began acting in a way not dissimilar to scenes played out in schools throughout the land.  They were the "cool kids."  And cool kids always need a target.  That target is usually someone different.  Someone intelligent and sensitive.  Their target in the camp?  Iain.

During a now infamous "Dingo Dollar Challenge," (in which two celebrities are sent out of camp to undertake a challenge, in the hope of winning a treat for the whole group) Amir and Iain won a plate full of strawberries and cream for the camp.  On their way back to deliver the goodies to their teammates, Amir suggested they sneakily eat the treat by themselves and then get rid of any evidence.  Iain laughed at this suggestion (never before made by any celebrity in well over a decade of the show being aired), but it quickly became clear that Amir was serious.  He told Iain: "I'm eating them now, so it's up to you what you do" and sat down to do just that.  Now, Iain should have stood up to him and refused to get involved.  I'm not excusing Iain for joining in.  However I'm also not going to judge him too harshly for the fact that he didn't walk away.  Why?  Because I've been that target, "othered" by the "cool kids."  And I've gone along with things I wouldn't normally have done, in the hope that it might make them treat me as an equal.  It was very obvious by this point that Iain already felt like an outsider, yet here he was being invited to do something naughty with one of the popular camp members.  Add to that the fact that Iain was hungry and missing home, the treat proved too good to resist.  He and Amir polished off the strawberries and cream, then returned to camp, lying that they'd failed their challenge.

But it was what happened next that really horrified me.

Almost immediately after lying to their campmates about the result of their challenge, Iain told Amir that he felt guilt-stricken and wanted to come clean. Amir was absolutely adamant that he should do no such thing, going as far as to say "you tell them it was you, don't you dare mention me."

It's absolutely typical "cool kid" behaviour.  School bullies love to drag the quiet, sensitive one into things they know they could get into trouble for, then deny any responsibility.

To Iain's credit, he owned up and did take almost complete responsibility, refusing to discuss Amir's part in proceedings, when asked by a campmate.  Later on, when Amir's fellow school bully crowd spoke with him about what happened, they were insistent that "you wouldn't do that sort of thing" and Amir was only too happy to go along with their views, confirming to Dennis Wise that "it was Iain, yeah."

Unfortunately for Iain, "Strawberrygate" had made him even more of a target than he was before.  Now, the "cool gang" of Becky, Amir, Dennis and Jamie were constantly whispering in corners about him.  Becky told him to his face that he was a "game-player," after Iain said he wanted to go home.  She claimed he was going for the sympathy vote and worse, in the Bush Telegraph (the jungle equivalent of Big Brother's Diary Room), she declared him "a fake.  As soon as the cameras are on, he wants the limelight."  This, from someone who is supposed to be the ambassador for an anti-bullying charity, really sticks in the throat.

I fully believe that Iain did want to go home, when evictions began.  Why wouldn't he?!  He was forced into taking full responsibility for something he hadn't initiated, he was isolated from the group, bitched about and, most recently, mocked for having failed to complete a trial which Dennis Wise then achieved the top result for.  It's no wonder that Iain, who has been completely open about his mental health issues, has struggled in the face of such playground bullying.  It has made for extremely uncomfortable viewing.

Anxiety is not something to be trivialised or mocked.  I know this, from personal experience, but it shouldn't have to be the case that we only understand something once we've experienced it firsthand.  We need to be more open to hearing how others feel and why they feel that way, even if it makes us uncomfortable in the process.

Those who find Amir hilarious, or who praised Becky for "telling it like it is" (a phrase that needs to die painfully, given how often it's attributed to people who are actually just boldly speaking hate or being judgemental/rude) have claimed that Iain has isolated himself from the group.  Let me explain how that happens, when you're suffering with anxiety:

Anxiety is like a little devil on your shoulder.  When you do something good, it will tell you it was bad.  When you do do something bad, it will gnaw away at you, reminding you of what a terrible person you are.  I have no doubt that this contributed to Iain's insistence on coming clean about the strawberries immediately and I'm certain that knowing his campmates were furious with him (and seemingly less angry with Amir, who ducked out of admitting his full role), will have eaten away at him.  Anxiety makes you paranoid that nobody likes you as it is, so when people are beginning to show signs that they're genuinely not keen on you, you magnify those small signs in your mind, until you're utterly convinced that you are hated.  So, to realise that a group of people who resemble the popular kids at school are whispering about you behind your back, can be absolutely crushing to someone with anxiety.  To see Dennis Wise insisting that the trial Iain failed to complete was "really easy" and that the water that caused Iain such panic was "only a metre and a half," not three metres deep as Iain had said it was (Ant and Dec, the show's hosts have since confirmed that the depth was three metres), will only add to that feeling that you're not liked or believed.  You only had to look at how wounded Iain looked as Dennis crowed about the ease of the task, before Iain magnanimously shook him by the hand and congratulated him. 

When you convince yourself that you're not good enough and that people dislike you, or think less of you than they do of the rest of the group, you tend to go into yourself.  You isolate yourself because you think that's what everyone else wants you to do.  It really is like being at school: if the cool kids don't want you on their table, you sit by yourself, instead.

Some of the other campmates have had the empathy and humanity to recognise that Iain needed a friend (although, laughably, not the one who's meant to be an anti-bullying ambassador).  Shappi and Kezia took him to one side for conversations and tried to include him a little more.  Sadly, those two have since been voted off the show, leaving Iain much more of a target.  Jennie is now perhaps the person best placed to show Iain a little kindness, whilst the likes of Amir delight in running him down at every given opportunity.  Indeed, Amir has insulted Iain's supposed "weakness" when it comes to facing his fears, despite the fact that he screams at the mere idea of something crawling on him.  He even announced that he'd like to punch Iain for his "sneakiness."  

But Iain isn't the one talking behind people's backs.  

There are sneaky people in that camp.  They're the ones behaving like the in-crowd at school.

And yet Iain, still showing a level of decency the others frankly don't deserve, has been consistently trying to rise above everything and force himself to be a team player, even when you can see that he is visibly upset and would rather be alone.  He even sacrificed his own email from home during a recent challenge, in an effort to ensure others got theirs.

In last night's televised challenge, the campmates were split into two groups and put in a taxi, which was then filled jungle critters.  Amir screeched and wriggled, howling at the mere thought.  Iain, who was sitting next to him, tried to reassure him by telling him that what he could feel on his back were not spiders, but cockroaches, knowing that if he knew the truth, he'd freak out more.  But despite Iain's attempts to calm him, Amir continued to shriek and scream throughout the ordeal.  Yet, afterwards?  He spoke in the Bush Telegraph, insisting he hadn't screamed at all.  

This is gaslighting.  And this is what Amir, Becky, Jamie and Dennis are all guilty of.  Each of them has spoken about Iain using words that would be more accurately used against themselves.  "He's sneaky."  "He's playing mind-games."  "He's weak."  "He's got a lot of problems."

Notice how rather than talk to Iain about why he's quiet, why he seems to be isolating himself or why he might be saying he wants to go home, they all simply gather together to talk about him?

For me, this is becoming increasingly disturbing viewing.  As the camp grows smaller, Iain's status as an outsider only seems to become more prominent (although I was pleased to see him having a good time at "The Jungle Arms" pub, last night, integrating much more).  I was bullied at school.  I know what it feels like to be constantly worried that the "cool kids" are talking behind your back.  I know what anxiety can do to your mind and your behaviour.

Honestly?  I would love Iain to win.  Because it's about time we stopped rewarding those who are openly nasty and who try to push their own negative traits onto others.  It's time we tried to understand those who feel isolated.  Those who are different.  Those who are brave enough to start a conversation on the subject of mental health in the first place.

But really, my biggest hope is that we all learn something from this.  If we can, as a majority of viewers, accept that slagging people off behind their backs is wrong and that allowing a clearly distressed person to become more and more isolated is the last thing that should be happening, at least some good will have come out of Iain's experience on this show.

Why Do Trolls Not Understand That Celebs Are PEOPLE, Too?!

If there's one thing guaranteed to get my interest piqued, it's talk of my favourite ever girlband.  Yes, I'm talking about Ginger, Sporty, Baby, Scary and Posh: The Spice Girls.

A few days ago, I was scrolling through Facebook, paying very little attention to the photos of people's dinners/babies/cats/completed Christmas shopping lists and the "share this if your husband is the light of your life!!!1!!one!!" updates, when I stumbled upon a short video of Mel C (aka Sporty Spice) being interviewed by John Bishop for an upcoming TV show.  In the clip, Mel explained that whilst she had fond memories of being in the band, there was definitely bullying within the group and that she often found it very hard to deal with.  Mel was visibly upset as she spoke and, having experienced bullying myself, both at school and in the workplace, I felt for her.

And then I did a stupid thing.

I read the comments.

We all know that any online comment section is going to feature the worst of humanity, collected together like flies on sh!t.  I was expecting nasty comments about how Mel C was "the least talented one" (like hell is she; she's had a musical theatre career!) or jibes about her looks (beauty is subjective and whilst I've always thought Mel to be very pretty, I knew there would be cruel folk in the comments, making her out to be "Ugly Spice").  But beyond all that, I also expected that there would be people discussing what Mel was saying in the clip and perhaps expressing some sympathy.

And yet...

It just wasn't happening.  What was happening was some spectacular "othering" of this woman, based on nothing more than the fact that she's famous.

"I was bullied at work," one woman crowed, "and it really WAS Hell for ME, because I didn't have the luxury of being rich and famous, like Mel did!  She should try living MY life!"

"Still accepted all her royalty checks, didn't she?!" A man agreed.  "So it can't have been that bad!"

Hang on a second, let me get something straight...  Are we seriously implying that being "rich and famous" somehow buffers you from all of life's negative experiences?  And are we supposed to believe that just because a person gets on with their job, despite the problems they're having within it, the problems are somehow less real?!

The idea that being wealthy, successful and well known means that you can't possibly suffer the way that "normal" people do is utterly ludicrous.  Look at Robin Williams.  Chester Bennington.  L'Wren Scott.  These were all people who had achieved success in their careers, had reached a certain level of fame and were apparently much better off than most of us will ever be.  And yet all of them took their own lives.

Yes, fame can bring you money, meaning that you might not suffer the same financial concerns that plague many regular people.  And of course, there must be something nice about making headway in your chosen career to the point that you are known for it, potentially on a global stage.

But fame is not a bandage for all of life's wounds.  A break up, a personal illness or - yes - bullying, still affects a person, regardless of how many people know their names, or how many zeros are on the end of their pay check.

In fact, when life is giving you a rough time - when you are going through some kind of personal trauma - fame is almost certainly salt in that wound, rather than any kind of bandage.  

Just like both Mel C and the harsh woman in the comment section, I've been bullied in the workplace.  I know how much I hated having to smile and pretend I was fine just in front of the parents bringing their kids to the pre-school I was working at (and of course, the kids themselves).  If I'd had cameras thrust in my face and reporters desperately chasing me for a story, let alone fans - and detractors - talking at length about how easy my life must be, because I had wealth and fame, I can only begin to imagine how much worse the pain would have been.  

When people talk the way that woman in the comment section did, they don't make a clear, or in any way valid point about fame cushioning celebrities from life's problems.  What they do do, is make it clear they have a pretty massive chip on their shoulder about their own lack of wealth, success or notoriety.

"Well, I had it much worse, because I'm not rich and famous!" is not a meaningful or helpful contribution to a conversation.  It's the kind of thing a jealous kid says, because their next door neighbour's bike is newer and shinier than theirs.

Reading that woman's comment made me upset and angry that there are people in the world who genuinely seem to believe that when you accept fame and fortune into your life, you somehow also agree to lose your human capacity to feel, as well as your right to any kind of sympathy, should something bad happen.

Aaaaaand then I read the guy's comment.

I originally put it on a par with the woman's ridiculous bleating about celebs having it easier because they're celebs, but in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein allegations, it feels far worse.

The guy was, if you recall, suggesting that Mel shouldn't have carried on accepting her royalties, if she was that unhappy in her job.

I get that Mel C was in a place of luxury, in as much as she was probably earning a pretty decent amount and was therefore more likely to be able to quit her job and not have to worry about being broke as a result.  But she'd still receive royalties from the songs she recorded with the group, if she went the way of Geri and left.  So, was this guy suggesting she shouldn't accept those payments, either?  By way of somehow proving herself?!  And who the hell does she have to prove herself to, anyway?!

When I was being bullied in my old job, I still took my wages home when they were given to me.  The money was one of the things that kept my life stable; despite what was going on at work, my wages meant that I could afford to do things outside of my job, that took away some of the sadness I'd been feeling.  It helped me to keep living my life.  In the end, when I did hand in my notice, with no job in place to go to next, I ended up being doubly depressed, because by then, not only had I been bullied out of a job I once really loved, but I was also financially crippled as a result!

I mentioned Harvey Weinstein above, because the guy in the Mel C comment thread was echoing sentiments I've seen written by others (many men and some women) about the actresses who've made allegations against the producer.

"If they were willing to prostitute themselves for a job in the first place, they can't whine and stamp their little feet about it now," one guy ranted in - you guessed it - another Facebook comment thread.

I feel a little rage break is needed...

...And we're back.

Victim-blaming is of the most gross, hurtful and depressingly common reactions to stories of abuse or accusations of sexually predatory behaviour.  And it seems to me that yet again, the guys who are slinging these harsh words around are forgetting that they're talking about real people.   Sure, real people who work in Hollywood, live in mansions and are hugely famous, but still people.

If an actress comes across one of the most powerful and influential producers in Hollywood and is purposefully intimidated or sexually advanced upon by him, she will be aware of his standing.  Aware of his ability to make and break careers.  Aware of the power he wields, if it comes to her word against his.  Possibly, she may even be aware of previous allegations that hadn't yet seemed to have harmed his glittering career.  It's not necessarily a case of should she speak out, but does she feel able to?  Does she think she'll be believed?  Does she even think it'll change anything?

The circumstances may be different, but at heart, Weinstein preying on actresses as he's alleged to have done, is not so far away from the company boss, harassing the young intern, just starting out in her career.  It's still a person in a position of enormous power, behaving in a way that, as a result of his seniority, he believes can be shrugged off as "banter."  It's still a question of whether that intern feels she'll be belittled and laughed at if she speaks out.  "Oh, take no notice, Geoff's just got a bit of an eye for the ladies."

The fear, shame, embarrassment and anger felt by that young intern are no different to the emotions an actress might feel when groped and harassed by a powerful, famous producer or director.  And it seems that Hollywood has that same "office mentality" of turning a blind eye and tutting "well, you know what he's like..."

I'm tired of reading these kinds of comments every time a famous person speaks out about a personal problem.  I'm sick of people tutting and shaking their heads because the person talking just happens to be a celebrity, as though fame insulates them from harmful experiences.

Yes, being famous enough to have a fanbase must be wonderful.

Yes, having more money than you or I will ever probably have in our lives must mean financial aspects of life are a lot easier to handle.

But fame alone doesn't mean that a person no longer feels things.  It doesn't prevent them from experiencing heartache, pain or suffering.  Fame doesn't mean that a person can't be a victim of something or someone, and speaking out about bad experiences should be applauded, rather than mocked.  

We're all people and we all deserve to be listened to and believed, regardless of what job we do and how much cash is in our bank accounts.  

Is it ever "ONLY" words?!

I woke up to a really nice message, today.  That message came from someone who, a couple of years ago, had read a blog I wrote on here (about a certain book series I despise) and had disagreed with me to the point that she'd felt the need to attack me personally, in the comment section.  This person had contacted me to apologise and explained that she'd been going through some awful stuff and had taken her anger out on me and was wrong to have done so.  I told her that I had no hard feelings towards her whatsoever (because I genuinely don't), and I wished her well for the future.  I know that it's not always easy to own up to a mistake and to say "I was wrong," so I give her absolute credit for having the courage to have done so.  I really do hope that she will be okay and that she will have the wonderful life she deserves.

The trouble was, I didn't remember the comments she was apologising for.  And the reason I didn't remember them, was because there were so many abusive comments on that particular blog post, from so many different people.  When it feels like dozens and dozens of people are throwing stones at you, it's hard to remember which cut came from which rock.

And that's the thing: each and every nasty comment on that post was like a tiny weapon, sent to cause harm.  And whilst the person who messaged me to say sorry is completely and unreservedly forgiven as far as I'm concerned, I can't understand why the other people in that comment thread never stopped for a second to think "I shouldn't have said that."

People say "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."  And that, dear readers, is utter rubbish.

I've written about the fact that words can hurt just as much as a physical blow before, but it never ceases to amaze me just how much damage they can cause, or how many people seem to think that words are simply meaningless things, to be tossed out with no thought for their effect on the person hearing or reading them.

I've known how much words can hurt, from a young age.

From when I was twelve years old, being told on the school bus (every single day) that I was so hideously ugly, that nobody - not even my parents - could possibly love me, and I ought to do the world a favour and kill myself, I knew the power that words had.

Because those words didn't just come out of the bully's mouth and then evaporate into nothingness.  They stayed.  They seeped into my brain and whispered to me, at night.  They played over and over in my mind, like an irritating song on the radio.  They clung to my clothes, so it felt like everyone who looked at me could see them.  They enveloped me until I became them.  And they hurt.

They hurt so much that it was like being punched in the stomach, or kicked in the chest.  I felt them.  I felt every syllable, slicing through me; a stabbing pain that left me utterly breathless.

But, according to some people at the time (a few of my classmates and even one or two teachers), what was happening to me didn't seem too big a problem, because it was "only words."

That's not a new thing, Ed.

Fast forward a few years, and 27 year old me found herself in love with an abusive man.  And this time, once I'd finally found the strength to walk away from him, it was me minimising my own experience.  Despite everything he'd done to me - every time he'd screamed in my face, or told me I was "weak and pathetic," or refused to let me touch him, because I made him feel "repulsed" - I found myself using the same phrase: "It was only words."

Because he never hit me, because he never raped me, it was somehow less awful.

Of course, it wasn't.  It was just a different kind of awful.  I know that, now.  But the very fact that I could minimise my own experience in that way, made me realise how common it is to think along those warped lines.  It's an excuse we make as a society too often: 

"They're just words, get over it."

"You're being way too sensitive."

"You really need to toughen up.  Just ignore them; don't read the comments if they upset you."

But words have a massive effect.  How many victims of bullying have to take their own lives, before we're prepared to accept that?  

A harsh insult, delivered with the intention of causing hurt to the person on the receiving end, is a weapon.  It may not look like a knife or a gun, but its impact can cause damage, all the same.  And it completely blows my mind that the people who post hateful words online, or who bully people in person, either don't think about the enormous damage that their words could - and often do - cause, or that they just don't care.

The person who messaged me, asked if I would mind finding her comments on the aforementioned blog post and deleting them for her.  She didn't stand by them and didn't like the thought of them still being there.  I completely appreciated that and I agreed to try to find them and get rid of them.

But, I had underestimated how difficult doing so would be.  You see, that blog post (Fifty Abusive Moments in Fifty Shades of Grey) has been read more than 1.3million times.  It's had 877 comments on it.  And, whilst some of those comments had been really lovely, supportive words from people who agreed with the contents of the post, there were many comments that were... Less so, shall we say.  In fact, there were so many that were hurtful, rude or downright abusive, that I had stopped reading any new ones, several hundred comments ago.  Finding this person's specific responses was going to be tough.

I won't lie to you; I didn't find them.

I did find a man calling me a "disgrace to writing."

I did find a woman telling me I was "utterly f*cking stupid."

And I did find one girl who told me "you should feel lucky that my phone cut off mid-rant, so you're only getting some of what I want to say to you," followed by a dismissal of the idea that I'd ever experienced abuse ("a real abuse survivor doesn't talk about it all the time - you're an attention seeker who just wants traffic to your pathetic little blog"), along with the charming end to her post: "YOU ARE A WHINY, SELFISH, PATHETIC, LYING, NASTY, CRYING LITTLE BITCH."

I Cribbins cried.

For context, let's just remember that the reason for all that hate?  Was because I was highlighting abusive moments from a so-called "LOVE story," and referring to my own experience of abuse when explaining why I think romanticising abuse in fiction is so dangerous.  Yes, what a bitch, I am.

Like I said earlier, it boggles my brain to think that the girl who wrote that despicably nasty comment, either didn't consider the effect her words might have on me, or genuinely wanted to hurt me with them.  And it's made all the worse by the fact that she also mentioned in her comment that she was a "real abuse survivor," so surely, she of all people should know what it feels like to be verbally attacked in such an awful way?!  She was probably angry, because I - a fellow survivor - was in a place where I felt able to talk openly about my experiences and I had regained the confidence and strength I lost, enabling me to firmly call out abuse for what it is.  Perhaps she wasn't there, yet.  Maybe she was still struggling to come to terms with her experience of abuse - I know I certainly misdirected a lot of anger and frustration, during my own recovery process.  But it's not an excuse to talk to people like that, without thought or apology.

I'd never noticed that girl's comment before, because, like I said earlier, I'd long since stopped reading the comments by the time she posted it.  But, once I read it, the effect was the same as it would have been, had she written it five minutes ago.

I felt that gut-punch sensation, that physically hurt as it took my breath away.  My head went light and nausea enveloped me.  For a few, horrible but brief seconds, I asked myself: "Am I just an attention seeker?  Was what happened to me abuse, or am I just calling it that to make people feel sorry for me?" (that was another of her claims).

But then I realised that all this had proved, in her apparently toned down comment, was that words have far more power than we can imagine.

They have the power to build people up.  To make them feel loved and safe.  But they have the power to break people down, too.  To make them feel frightened and isolated.  To make them feel worthless.

When a person is capable of doing that with their speech or their writing, it's not "only words" and it never will be.  Words can be used as weaponry, just as easily as they can bring comfort.  And it's not up to us to "toughen up" or "stop being so sensitive."

It's up to people to think about what they say, before they say it.  Or, like the person who messaged me, to think about it afterwards and offer an apology.

Words are wonderful things.  I just wish people considered their effect, before they use them to cause harm.

The Power of Music

Do you ever do that thing of intending to watch just one YouTube video, then before you know it, it's two hours later and you've been clicking on so many links in the "recommended" section after each video you've watched, that you're not entirely sure you remember what you went on there to look at in the first place?!

That's what happened to me, last night.

It started off as a simple desire to watch Prince perform Purple Rain, after seeing someone mention the song on Twitter.  It's up there amongst my all-time favourite songs, so I decided to head to YouTube to indulge my love of it.  Amongst the recommended videos afterwards, was Guns n Roses' November Rain, another favourite of mine, so I watched that, next.  And, sure enough, in the recommended videos alongside that, there was another song I wanted to watch the video for.  And so on and so forth, until it was well past the time I had planned to be all tucked up in bed.

Pictured: Me, last night, when I should have been asleep...

One of the things I love about music is how you can get completely lost in it.  I wasn't bothered about going to sleep.  All I wanted to do was let the melodies surround me and enjoy the sensation that each song provided within me.  

Music is so powerfully personal, too.  A song that means nothing to one person, could be the song that reminds someone else of the happiest - or worst - time of their life.  Music can bring us back to moments we'd long forgotten.  Our memories have their own soundtrack and that's an amazing thing.

Last night, whilst I was on my journey from song to song, scanning the recommended videos after each one I watched and picking the one I liked best, I wasn't expecting so many memories to come flooding back.  But that's exactly what happened.

Some of them were funny memories.  For example, when I watched the video for Take That's How Deep Is Your Love, I found myself giggling over the fact that my sister used to say that the slightly odd instrumental sound just before the final chorus sounded like "a drunk owl."

Some of them were bittersweet memories.  Design For Life by the Manics just made me think of all the times I've seen them play that song live, nearly always with my gig buddy - and one of my closest friends - by my side.  She's chosen not to be in my life, anymore, as a result of a fallout I had with someone else, so the memories of she and I, arms aloft, singing our hearts out together, was tinged with an awful lot of sadness.

But then I clicked on a song in the recommended videos section, purely because I hadn't listened to it in years and I remembered loving it when I was younger.  And that was the moment that I realised that music doesn't just soundtrack our memories.  Sometimes, it envelopes them so tightly that we don't even know we have those specific memories, until we hear the song, again.

This was the song in question.

Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House was, as far as I was concerned, just as pretty song I used to like when I was around 12 or 13.  But, as I pressed "play," I realised that it held within its melody, memories I had buried deep within my psyche.

Instantly, as the song began to play, I was transported back to the bus I used to take to secondary school.

Now, regular readers of this blog will probably already be aware that when I started secondary school, I went from being a bright, bubbly girl who enjoyed attention, to being a very withdrawn, depressed kid, with no confidence.  That is entirely down to the fact that I experienced horrendous bullying on that school bus.  Day in, day out.

I had completely forgotten the association that particular song had with that particular time.  But, as I listened to the music and sang along with the lyrics, it all came rushing back.

That was the song that I would frequently play on the bus, turned up loud so that my headphones drowned out as much of the name-calling as possible.  I would stare out of the window and listen to those words: "Hey now, hey now.  Don't dream it's over... You know they won't win."

I clung to those words.  I was going through a painful time, in which I was convinced that all the good times in my life were over.  My enjoyment of life, my confidence in myself, my belief in the good in people... All of it had been eroded by the daily Hell the bullies on the bus so loved to put me through.  But I wanted to believe that it would get better.  And so, those lyrics were a lifeline.  My life wasn't over.  And I wouldn't let them win.

Hearing that song again and reliving all of those memories was incredibly powerful.  It stunned me that I could have forgotten just why the song meant so much to me all those years ago, but I suppose that some memories are just too painful to fixate on.  

But, once the floodgates had been opened, I realised just how many memories I have that are intrinsically linked to the music I was listening to at the time.  For example, I can't hear Don't Look Back In Anger by Oasis, without remembering myself as a kid of 13, bouncing around the living room, shrieking with joy, because the song was being played at number 2 in the charts and I knew that meant that my beloved Take That's final single before their split, had gone in straight at number one.

Music is more than just a pleasant sound in the background.  It can be what sets a mood.  It can speak to us on a deeply personal, emotional level.  And, as I discovered last night, it can be the key to memories we thought were locked away, forever.

So, whatever type of music it is that floats your boat, indulge in it.  Shamelessly.  Music has extraordinary power.  Life without it is unimaginable.

Stop Excusing Hurtful Behaviour!

I recently read an article online (I'd link to it, but it made me rage-quit the Internet, without copying the page address), the gist of which was basically "everyone who behaves badly has a reason for their behaviour and we should be considerate and support them through it."

Now, that's a nice idea on the surface, perhaps, but this article was using bullying as their starting point.  It was suggesting that all bullies act the way they do because they're suffering some kind of great pain, or living with issues that they don't know how to deal with.  The unspoken message was that we should excuse bullies, because they only act badly because they're going through their own trauma.

And excuse me, but...

I've written here about my experiences of being bullied on the school bus and so this is a deeply personal subject for me.  I don't doubt that the people who made my life a living Hell were acting out because they had issues going on in their lives.  I'd like to think that no emotionally healthy person would ever spit at someone, or urge them to kill themselves, or tell them they're so ugly they don't deserve any form of love.  It's easier for me to believe that they were battling their own demons and that their behaviour came from a dark and unhappy place.  Otherwise I'm left with the knowledge that they simply took genuine enjoyment from pushing a twelve year old girl to a suicide attempt, and frankly, that's too evil to contemplate.

So, sure.  I'll go along with the "bullies act badly because they're going through their own crap" line.  

But it's not an excuse.  

I'm not going to sigh and shrug my shoulders, absolving abusive people of any responsibility (and bullying is a form of abuse, after all).  We all go through things in our lives that shape us and which sometimes cause huge emotional disturbances, but it's up to us how we deal with them.  We have to make a choice about the kind of person we want to be, regardless of what's happened to us in our history, or what's happening to us right now.  Sure, there are situations, illnesses and moments of emotional stress that cause us to lash out and snap at someone, or behave selfishly, or otherwise hurt someone's feelings.  But when that happens, it's up to us to recognise our own behaviour, apologise for it and make amends.  That is, if we choose to.

The thing with using any kind of personal trauma - be it illness (mental or physical), or just going through a really crappy time - as an excuse for bad behaviour is that a) it doesn't make it okay for a person to repeatedly behave badly without any kind of remorse and b) it assumes that becoming a lousy person is just the natural response to trauma.  Which is rubbish.

When I was being bullied, I was subjected to disgusting behaviour which caused me to fall into a deep depression, during which I lost all of my self-confidence.  Years later, I was still in a spiral of self-hatred and regularly dragged the pins from the badges I liked to stick on my bag, across my arms, leaving bumpy red scars, because I felt worthless and needed to feel a pain that was physical, rather than emotional.  

Regardless of what personal trauma my bullies had endured, I was now traumatised as a result of the way they treated me.  The difference between us is that I made the choice to try to never hurt another person the way they had hurt me.  And frankly, had I decided to become a bully myself, I wouldn't have deserved to be excused for it, because I was well aware of what it felt like to be on the receiving end; I would have had no excuse whatsoever for doling out that kind of abuse onto another person.

Fast forward into my twenties and I ended up in a relationship with a man who abused me.  And guess what?  He blamed his past traumas for his behaviour.  He expected me to swallow it as an excuse and, for a long time, I did just that.  But the truth is, whatever sadness was in his past, no matter what hurt he had experienced, he still made a choice to abuse me.  It wasn't inevitable.  And there isn't an excuse.

I have had enough of hearing reasons why we should excuse people when they behave in a manner that is selfish, inconsiderate or downright hurtful.

Yes, we should feel sympathy for a person who has experienced something sad or traumatic.  Yes, we should try to understand that there are certain circumstances in which a person may be under such stress that they snap and say something cruel, or behave selfishly; we should make some allowances for that, because frankly, if we didn't, then we could never expect anyone to make allowances for our own mistakes and let's face it, none of us are perfect.

But those allowances only stretch so far.  If a person is overly critical or cruel towards us and expects us just to take it because they have "issues," we're allowed to say "no, that's not okay."  If it's not just a one-off mistake which the person apologises for, but a prolonged catalogue of hurtful behaviour that said person seems to think they're entitled to exhibit, we are allowed to stand up to it.

Nothing - and I really do mean nothing - gives a person the right to treat people badly and yet be consistently "let off."  We all have to take responsibility for our actions and own up to our mistakes.  

We may not have a choice about the demons from our past that have shaped our character.  But we do have a choice as to the way we treat others.

Let's make the right one.

Let Me Explain Why A Disney Song Just Made Me Cry...

My Kirstiekins and me.  That may not be her actual name.

My four closest friends and I each have something unique we share with only each other.  With my friend Kate, it's hilarious memories of accidentally going to watch a live porn show in Prague.  With Lizzie, it's our regular mini holidays to Butlin's.  With my bestie Lydia, it's a whole heap of stuff, but lately in particular, our shared adoration of all things Dan and Phil related.

Lydia wants to trade me in and have Dan as her best friend instead.  I want to be Phil's girlfriend.  It's a situation that works well for us.

With my friend Kirstie, it's our regular "Karaoke Challenges."  

It all started several months ago, after we went to a place in Plymouth that has private karaoke booths.  It was our second or third visit and all of us had a great time, belting out tunes.  A few days later, Kirstie texted me and said she'd been thinking it would be really fun to do challenges, where one of us suggests a genre and we both have to send the other recordings of ourselves singing a song from that genre.  It's meant a great deal of my life is spent searching for karaoke videos on YouTube and getting thumb-strain from holding down the "record audio" button on WhatsApp, but I love it.

As time has gone on, Kirstie and I have gone through various different "challenges."  Highlights include:

• David Bowie songs: During which I tried - and largely failed - not to impersonate the late, great Thin White Duke as I warbled my way through his greatest hits.
• Blur songs: Which I quickly came to realise were almost all too low for me to sing comfortably.

And...

• Songs by boybands: Which was a challenge I loved, but which I suspected Kirstie may have hated me for.

I couldn't pick, so I sang songs by both.  Obviously.

We've been through so many genres (aside from rap, because we'd probably both die from cringing at our own efforts) and so many ideas ("songs that make you cry" and "songs you like by artists you hate" being notable ones), that we're now entering bizarrely specific territory, when it comes to setting the next challenge.

Like all my greatest ideas, the latest challenge came to me whilst I was on the loo, humming the theme tune to a cartoon I used to love ("Madeleine," in case you're interested and if you don't know what that is, you must educate yourself as soon as you've read this blog).  I suddenly had a lightbulb moment and thought: "Songs that meant a lot to you as a child!"

And here's where we go from chirpy, happy blog with loads of gifs, to BLACK PIT OF DESPAIR.

To quote the 10th Doctor: "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."

You see, the song that immediately came into my mind was from a classic Disney film called The Rescuers.  The song is called Someone's Waiting For You and in the film, it's sung over very sad scenes of a little orphan called Penny, whilst she stands on the bow of a boat and gazes up at the stars, quietly crying to herself, because she longs for a family to adopt her, but she's stuck with a mean woman who treats her horribly and tells her nobody will ever love her.

It's funny, but I think I had mentally blocked out the reason why that song meant so much to me as a kid, until I just sang it as part of this week's "Karaoke Challenge" and my eyes suddenly got all watery at the end.

No, I wasn't a sad little orphan.  I wasn't forced to go searching for a diamond, so I could make a cruel woman a fortune.  Little mice in clothes haven't come to my aid at any point in my life so far (man, if you've not seen The Rescuers, you really should).

In fact, when I first watched the film as a little girl aged maybe 6 or 7, I couldn't explain why the song meant so much to me at all.  It had no relevance to my life, whatsoever.  But, in some seriously heavy-handed foreshadowing, I was certain that it was important.

Fast forward a few years later and there I was, a frightened, twelve year old girl, being horrendously bullied on the school bus.  Day in, day out, I was spat at, shouted at, had food thrown at me, had people come and sit next to me and whisper the most hurtful things they could think of in my ear...  I mean, you can click the link, I won't re-hash it all again, here.  

But the one thing they would say, more often than anything else, was that nobody would ever love me.  I was too ugly, too shy, too much of a "freak."  I would never, ever be loved by anyone.

And suddenly, that song came back to me.

"Have faith little one,

Until your hopes and your wishes come true.

You must try to be brave little one.

Someone's waiting to love you."

It sounds pretty silly to cling so vehemently to a Disney song when you're going through something horrific, but hey, maybe that's why I largely blocked it out until now.  That song, for me, represented never giving up.  Trying to never truly believe what the bullies were saying, no matter how many times they said it.  Someone, somewhere, someday was going to look past my massive nose and unruly curls and actually want to get to know me.  Somebody was going to love me.  The bullies were going to be wrong.

Older me cringes slightly, but I know for a fact (since the memories have come flooding back, like a tidal wave of woe), that I even used to get out of bed at night sometimes, when I was unable to sleep, because I was dreading getting onto the school bus the next day and having it all happen again, and I'd walk to my window and look up at the stars and sing the song quietly to myself, whilst a single tear rolled down each cheek.

Hearing the song again, recently - and singing it, tonight - I realised just how important it was.  It's just a silly, corny, overly soppy song about an animated Disney orphan, waiting to be rescued from her lousy existence by a pair of mice who were in a will-they-won't-they relationship.  But that song made me feel less alone, when it felt like there was nothing to hope for.  It made me believe that things would get better, when I had literally no evidence that it was ever going to.  I repeated the lyrics over and over in my head on those bus journeys, despite whatever I was actually listening to on my fantastic Sony Walkman at the time.

"Don't cry little one.

Make a wish for each sad little tear.

Hold your head up, though no one is near.

Someone's waiting for you."

I guess we sometimes never completely realise how important something is until we sit down and really think about it.  And, weirdly enough, I didn't sit down and think about Someone's Waiting For You until I had the random idea that singing songs that meant a lot to us in our childhoods would be a good "Karaoke Challenge."  But I'm so glad I did think about.  Because, even though the memories aren't good ones, knowing that I had something to hold onto - something that gave me a little glimmer of light at an otherwise incredibly dark time - makes me feel strangely comforted.

I may not be in a romantic relationship at the moment, but I know now that I'm in a place in my life where people -  friends and family - do see beyond my perceived physical flaws and love me for who I am.  I didn't give up on that dream and it came true.  The future was worth waiting for.

Why Is Being Nasty Suddenly So Acceptable?!

Before we get into this post, here's a quick disclaimer: No, I am not about to go into masses of detail,  re-hashing arguments that have already been played out on television and no, I'm not about to go into who was right and who was wrong in the now infamous row between Tony Hadley and "Lady" Colin Campbell on ITV's I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.

But I am going to talk about whether being nasty has suddenly become far more acceptable, in recent years.  In short, I don't care about the cause of the row.  I care about the aftermath and the reaction from the public.

For my overseas readers and for those of you who don't watch the show, I will summarise very briefly: A socialite called "Lady" (and I use the quote marks for reasons that will become clear) Colin Campbell - better known as "Lady C" - had a blazing argument with Spandau Ballet's lead singer, Tony Hadley, on a reality television show.  Now, if you want to, you can quite easily Google the events and find out exactly what happened and why.  But, as I said, the actual root cause of the row isn't what's important, in terms of this blog.  What's important is how it split the nation, in terms of the response to "Lady" C's general persona on the show.

The socialite started off hugely impressing me with her quick-wit, composure and gutsy attitude to the eating trial she had to endure early on in the show (for those who don't watch, she was made to eat cockroaches, turkey testicles and other such vomit-inducing fare).  However, it quickly became apparent that if anyone got on the wrong side of "Lady" C, they would be subjected to a seemingly endless tirade of insults, swearing and deeply personal attacks.  Whoever was right or wrong in the argument she had on screen with Tony Hadley, her decision to spit venom about his family - including suggesting that he surrounds himself with tarts (he's happily married) and making nasty comments about his children - was frankly unforgivable.  Once the argument had taken place, any further comment from Tony was greeted with a barrage of increasingly personal insults - his weight, his lack of talent as a singer, his supposed low intelligence... Nothing was off limits, as far as this "Lady" was concerned.  

And it wasn't just Tony.  Anyone deemed to have "earned (her) disregard" found themselves on the receiving end of "Lady" C's vicious tongue.  Former Blue Peter presenter Yvette Fielding was referred to as a "rabid dog."  Ex Dragon's Den star Duncan Bannatyne was described as "an ugly old goat."  She even referred to the viewing public as "oiks," yet claimed that she was a victim of "reverse snobbery" - cruelly judged because she has a title.  Methinks the "lady" doth protest too much.

Of course, she's now out of the jungle and claims she left to protect her emotional health, following the "bullying" she experienced at the hands of her campmates.  Playing the victim is a common tactic of those who can never admit to having gone too far with their own nastiness, so it doesn't surprise me that it's happening, here, especially since "Lady" C (a title that came to her through a very short-lived marriage) has a habit of conveniently accusing others of things she herself is guilty of; let's not forget that she point-blank refused to get involved in a challenge, because she didn't know what reward she'd gain, before refusing to carry out any further trials at all, yet she was very quick to accuse Tony of not playing the game properly when he wouldn't carry out a challenge for her).

But all of this is moot, to be honest.  It's happened and she's gone from being a little-heard-of socialite, to an apparent reality TV star.  The reaction from the public is what's been addling my brain.

Because, whilst - as you'd expect - plenty of people have been appalled by her constant personal attacks on her campmates and the arrogance she displayed on the show, there are seemingly just as many rushing to praise her.

When she violently laid into one fellow camper with a tirade that left him seemingly on the verge of tears, a massive number of people flooded onto Twitter, to cheer her for "slaying" him.

When she made her row with Tony personal by bitching about his family and his weight, thousands cheered her for "just saying what she thinks!"

People praised her constantly, with many openly saying they wanted her to win.  Why?  "Because she tells it like it is!"

Now, I am in no way in favour of being forced to keep your views to yourself.  I have a blog because I want to air my views.  We should all be open and speak what's on our minds.  But there are ways of doing that without resorting to nastiness.

For example, I'm a huge fan of Doctor Who.  I'm still in two minds as to what I thought of last night's season finale, so I went online to a fan page on Facebook, to see what other people were saying about it.  One guy had said that he wasn't a fan.  He said "the programme would've been better without that last scene at the end."  Immediately, someone bit back: "The show would be better if YOU didn't watch it."  This person went on to insult several others who shared the first guy's view.  Her comments had several "likes."  Apparently we "like" it when someone reacts with childish insults to a view they don't share.  Stop the world, I want to get off...

There is nothing wrong with speaking your mind.  We should celebrate and praise people who are strong enough to say "no, hang on, I don't agree with the majority opinion."  It takes guts not to follow the herd, after all.

But the second you start hurling personal insults at people, any praise is no longer deserved.  You can disagree with a view without slamming a person's looks, family members or intellect.  In fact, if you have to resort to making personal attacks in a debate, I'd argue that you've started to realise that you're losing the argument and are thrashing around helplessly, when you should be keeping your mouth shut.

At the end of the day, flinging metaphorical shit at someone because you've had a petty row, or because they have a vastly different opinion from you, says very little about that person, but a whole lot about you.

And yet, we rush to heap praise on people who throw insults.  "Lady" C was "slaying."  She was "hilarious."  She was "fantastic."  

This is someone who, when told by one of her only friends in the camp that "everyone has a right to express their opinion," replied: "He (Duncan Bannatyne) has no right to express his opinion in front of me."  Which most people with fully functioning brain cells will realise is utter bullshit.  EVERYONE has the right to voice their opinion.  That's what free speech is.  We don't have to agree with them, but we certainly can't stop them.  This is also someone whose only friends in the camp (due to her poor attitude, before you rush to her defence) begged her to stop throwing out "hate" and even referred to her personal attack against Tony and his family as "indefensible."

But a large number of people still think this woman is "a QUEEN!"

Why do we praise people who are capable of such nastiness?  Why do we so admire what is, essentially, bullying?  It's not just "Lady" C - there are plenty of people out there, famous for being cutting.  We praise arrogance.  We laugh at people who make deliberately nasty remarks about others.  I'm not saying - in any way - that we should all be overly (and falsely) nice at all times.  That would be ridiculous.  I'm just saying that heaping praise on the "hilarious" nature of someone who insulted a person's children because she didn't like their dad is a very sad indictment on society.

People cheered "Lady" C for being able to hold her own in an argument, but the fact is that she couldn't.  She couldn't argue her point without sinking to name-calling and nastiness.  Doing that is the fastest way to lose an argument, rather than win it.

There are two sides to every story, of course.  And I will always praise people who speak their minds and have a gutsy attitude to life.  But let's praise people who can do that without resorting to childish name-calling.