Professor Green: Suicide and Me

'Suicide and me' does a lot for the image of mental health. Professor Green (Stephen Manderson) brings it within our reach, lets us know that even the best of us have a relationship with a struggle for self-worth and happiness.

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It certainly identified with me. I struggled with finding happiness when I first moved to London and even more in telling people how I felt. The day I knew I needed help was when I first self-harmed, which, alongside suicide and eating disorders, is one of the most misunderstood acts of depression, both by those who have inflicted it upon themselves, and by those who haven't. To those who cut, it's a coping mechanism, a symbolic image that separates the pain and channels your negative feelings. To those who don't, it's a sign of weakness, attention seeking, a cry for help. I would never have shown anyone my cuts, it was my way of coping not of seeking attention. Manderson does well to open up these kinds of conversations around suicide and throw away the taboo to discover the reality of what's going on inside. He discovers that although these acts are too often seen as selfish, to the sufferer, it is often the opposite. A way to make things better, to relieve the burden on their families, to end the negative cycle.

Stephen explores what happens when we are unable to speak up about our troubles and share them, as well as exploring the negative thought processes that can lead to suicide. Spaces like the Maytree play integral roles in changing the way we approach conversations around suicide and mental health issues. Showing approaches like this, is why this programme, among others, is so important. (http://www.maytree.org.uk/)

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There has to be change in the way we, as a society, tackle the hard times, talk about depression, about ill mental health, about suicide. Only by doing this, can we go any way towards preventing it. I've learned not to set the bar too high, not to expect anything and be happily surprised when good things come. I work hard, dedicate myself to projects, to my career, to my family, friends and my partner, who was the first person to really understand. I also allow more time for the things that I enjoy, like playing football and photography. I learned that 'It's ok to cry, it's ok to talk about it' as Manderson's relatives echo. Everyone has bad days, but the good days will come.

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This isn't a review on the quality of the programme, but instead a view on the issue at hand. We can't keep quiet about suicide, keep suppressing our feelings, swallowing our words. The fear is that when we are exposed to self-harm and to suicide, we're more vulnerable to it. But with discussion, needs to come education on how to cope. I suffered for longer than I needed to because I'd convinced myself that I could cope, when actually, I needed to talk things through to escape the blurred vision I had of life and find the beauty in it again. I did, but only because I found a way of talking, before it was too late. Sharing how we feel with family, partners, friends or even strangers, can do wonders for taking the weight off our shoulders.

It's great to see the BBC tackling these issues first hand, especially with young talent. It was all too familiar to watch as Stephen looks to camera and frustratedly exclaims, 'I'm crying again!' I s'pose filming these things is a form of therapy in itself, you spend enough takes talking about your feelings. I hope Manderson finds peace following this journey and that the programme will encourage others to travel a similar path.

I hope to see more programmes bringing the issues around mental health to the surface and encourage debate and conversation around mental health issues in the near future.

So it Goes...

I had originally planned to spend the afternoon with a friend but with his final get-out calling to him I found other ways to entertain myself instead. Carting around my suitcase and two bags I power-walked from the infirmary to the Underbelly to catch the well-reviewed show, 'So It Goes'.

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Family seemed to be a running theme with all of the shows I managed to see this year but in this one in particular, we were thrust into a world of family relationships that seemed all too familiar. The piece is based on a story following the journey of Hannah, mourning the death of her father. As she struggles to speak about her grief in the 7yrs that follow, she instead turns her focus to moping on the sofa and nights out on the town until finally she finds a way back to her mother. It was the second show I caught at the Fringe this year to avoid speech entirely, leaving a magnified emphasis on the visuals - which were bursting with originality and symbolic of the inability to see black and white at times of emotional difficulty.

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Facial expressions were at their best in this one, there was plenty of energy despite the subject matter and lack of dialogue. The show also featured lots (And lots) of whiteboards as important parts of the story were written for the audience to see - allowing us into our protagonist's world (and I applaud them on managing to write upside down)!

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We were drawn in with a high energy beginning, with enactments of memories of dad running everywhere, to work, to the shop, around the park. Dad loved to run. And our girl loved dad.

Line drawings were a huge part of the character of this show. Not only did it act to aid scene changes, explain narrative or act as scenery - it also had a kind of symbolic nature, representing the many childlike emotions that can present post-trauma. There was also something harrowing about seeing the solitary word 'cancer' written on one of the cards aided by an x-Ray like drawing of dad's insides. Despite the impact of the negative, these drawings also suggested a childish quality in our characters that gave them life and enabled us to really feel sympathy for them.

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I particularly enjoyed the club scene, with buckets of energy from our two actors (and buckets to catch the amount of sweat produced too), and with line drawings to represent the crowd and drinks - it was as clever visually as it was emotionally climatic. This was the moment for me that made the most sense when it comes to mourning - as we turn our energy to losing our minds and finesse the art of distraction. It's a routine I've practiced and one I could really connect with.

So it Goes... was brutally powerful. I am very much a woman of words and I find it much easier to write them down, rather than share them with anybody out loud. The show was a perfect embodiment of grief, of memory and of moving on. It was warm, it was fragile and it was human, which made it a hit at the Fringe this year and I hope on bigger stages to follow.

Find out more about the story behind the show here: http://www.ontheruntheatre.co.uk/#!current-production/cb3i