A Love Letter to Those Who Help Us Through It

I was in a show tonight. It was a night of short plays about Race, Religion and Culture in modern society. The woman who was hosting the night was a singer (A very good one), and in light of both the theme of the night, and the recent events in Manchester and London, she closed the show with Coldplay’s “Fix You”. I’m not really a Coldplay person, but I do know that song. Who doesn’t? Oh… you don’t? Where have you been this century? You can hear it here. Anyway… I’m not here to talk about Coldplay. Sorry. But I was listening to the lyrics and, although that song isn’t about depression per se (it’s assumed that it’s about the death of Gwyneth Paltrow’s father) but it made me think of depression. Let’s be honest; when do I not think about it, bang on about it, and milk it for all it’s worth? And I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, partly because I’ve had a bit of a wobble, partly because over the last few weeks I’ve spoken to quite a few people I love dearly about their depression, or the depression of people they love, and partly because I live with it looming over me like a big black, rain-heavy, cloud, wondering if I’ll be able to make it to shelter before getting soaked.

More specifically than just ‘depression’ it got me thinking about the Fixers. Or the people who wish they could Fix Us.

When I was contemplating writing this post on my journey home tonight, I was going to write a love letter to my husband, because he is the epicentre of my happy place. I decided against that, partly because he HATES it when I tell people about how marvellous he is (he’s English, and gets embarrassed easily) and also he thinks other people probably find him annoying as a result. Well they might, but I don’t. So yes, partly to save his blushes, but also, partly because although he’s the epicentre of my happy place, he’s not the only component of it as a whole. It’s made up of so many people, and like a movie star winning an oscar, I don’t want to miss anyone out. So this is a love letter to him and all the other people in my life who are the glimmers of blue sky and sunshine through the clouds.

Now, like I said, this is MY letter, but if you’re reading it, and you don’t know me well, or even at all, you can imagine this is a letter to you, from the person whose back you have every day, or once a week, or once a month. Because I’m certain they will feel the same. It’s just that they are private, decent people, who unlike *some* (SHUT UP), choose not to publish public displays of affection online. And to be honest, if you’re reading this, I’d say there’s a 90% chance that it IS directed at you. Directly at you. That’s right. YOU.

So here goes.

Dear You,

Thank you. Thank you for listening while I talked about it. Thank you for not mentioning it when I didn’t feel up to talking about it. Thank you for reading my last post and sending me a message, to let me know you’re there. Thank you for letting me rant about how angry, and helpless and sad I feel about the state of the world today. Thank you for dancing like a crazy person with me, when I just needed to expend some nervous energy. Thank you supporting me in this career I’ve chosen by coming along to watch the sometimes brilliant, sometimes dreadful, plays I’ve been in. Thank you for making me a cup of tea all those times when nothing anyone could do could make it better. Thank you for not telling me to fuck off, when I was DEFINITELY deserving of it. Thank you for walking along the Southbank with me. Thank you for coming along to sit in a theatre with me, to watch something you would never have chosen. Thank you for hugging me at the exact time I needed it, and thank you for not hugging me when you knew I wasn’t up to it. Thank you for calling just for a chat. Thank you for sending me a photo of something you knew would make me laugh. Thank you for letting me stick my face in your shoulder and stain your lovely jumper with snot and tears.

Thank you for being my wellies, my mac and my umbrella when I wasn’t able to make it to shelter in time.

I love you more than any silly blog post could ever convey.

DW X

This post was originally published as ‘The Anxious Actor”