Bold = Tech
On stage is a chair facing the back stage right.
A dull pastel purple wash over the performance space. Purple wash fades out as birdy 1 fades in. Only light is Birdy 1.
C1: It’s like a screwed up piece of paper. My mind. No matter how much I seem to try, it will never be completely flat again, it will never be smooth, it will never be clear and new. In fact, I’m like this book. I look fine on the outside, all smooth and new and untouched and pleasant, pretending to be something that on the inside I am not. I’m screwed up. I am a screw up. Every page, every chapter is a mess and I can’t straighten it out. I’m a mess but on the outside I look normal. Nothing is wrong. Always lying like ‘yeah, I’m fine. All good here. Nothing to worry about. Always hiding who I am because my screwed up mind is my problem and my burden, no one else’s. They don’t really care. They would judge me. They think I’m attention seeking. I feel I need to talk to someone. Just talk. But I don’t have anyone. No one cares. Not really. No one needs my worries in their lives. They’ll just think I’m being silly. I AM just being silly.
Birdy fades as Dull light Snaps on and Recording 1 Plays: “Don’t annoy them. Can’t annoy them. Can’t annoy anyone. Don’t be yourself. Don’t be you. They won’t like you. No one likes you.”
Cold Rose pink snaps on, Dull light Snaps off.
C2: On the 21st January 2016 I left my room with the full intention of killing myself. You see, it’s like a broken circle. I mean, that’s the only way I can describe it. A broken circle or a pot with a thousand holes. You’re there but… you’re not… you’re not whole. You’re not complete, not together. You try to fill the pot with water, with happiness, but it’s forever leaking. It’ll never be full and it’s so frustrating. I always dwell on the negatives of any situation. I see no positives. Empty pot. Broken circle.
Everyone tells me they’ve felt depressed. I’m just making a big deal out of something everyone deals with but they’re wrong. Only about 1 in 10 of us will ever actually have to deal with depression at some point in our lives. Depression isn’t just feeling sad. Its… its feeling DEPRESSED. It’s like my body’s empty, but my brains heavy. Like… the worlds running but I’m frozen and I often just get feelings of hopelessness, that I… I… I see no way out. I just become so numb, I stop feeling anything and become just an empty shell. When I do feel, its usually pain. It’s not a faze or something you can just grow out of, Its real. It’s a real illness. It’s an invisible killer. Yeah, that’s right. I said killer. Depression can lead to self-harm. Self-harm can lead to suicide. And suicide is the biggest killer in men under 45. Suicide. Not drugs, not car accidents, not even cancer but Suicide. And I can’t wait for it to all be over. My life. These feelings. I just don’t see the point anymore. I mean, all I do is let people down. I’m not good enough. I disappoint everyone. I can’t do anything right. It really would be best if I was dead. I wish I had a gun right now. I would pull the trigger. [pause] and be gone.
Fade up hard edge and restrictive spotlight on chair, as soon as I reach the chair, rose lighting snaps off.
C3: It’s me that’s the problem. It’s the way I look. Nobody likes me because I’m not pretty. I’m not nice. I’d be pretty if it wasn’t for my face. I’d be pretty if it wasn’t for my skin. I’d be pretty if it wasn’t for my fat legs. If my stomach was flat and I just wasn’t so big. I’d be pretty if I didn’t have curlie hair and if it was a different colour. And if I didn’t have a lisp and with a nicer voice or I could sing. I’d be pretty if I had bigger boobs… or smaller boobs. And if my body was a smaller size and my head too was small. If my personality was quiet and funny and if I was daring and confident. I’d be pretty if I had brains and skills and a plan and a future that was secure and definite. I’d be pretty if I could afford nice things. I’d be pretty if I was popular at school and not just a waste of space. I’d be pretty if I could handle my drink. I’d be pretty if I had sex with a lot of guys. I’d be pretty if I was pretty. [Pause] I’d be pretty if I was pretty. [Pause] But I’m not. Dull light and Recording 2 plays: “Cry baby. Freak. Weird. Ugly. Fat. Thick. Stupid. Disgusting. Vile. Destructive. Mess. Wreck. Unwanted. Unattractive. Grim. Deformed. Needy. Greedy. Childish. Rotten. Pig. Shameful. Liar. Bitchy. Witch. Hated. Unloved.” Lights change to hard edge and restrictive spotlight on chair. C3: hate myself so I don’t look after myself so other people hate me and then I hate myself even more. It’s just a vicious circle. A vicious broken circle.
Light fades from spotlight. Fade on soft cream light/wash on low intensity.
C4: Did you know that the UK has the highest rates of self-harming in the whole of Europe? Yep, that’s right. The UK has the highest rates of self-harming out of 50 countries. 400 per 100,000 population self-harm according to the most recent figures. And they’re just the ones that we know about. Girls are thought to be more likely to self-harm than boys. Cutting. Burning. Biting. Substance abuse. Head banging. Picking. Scratching. Neglecting oneself. Pulling out hair. Eating disorders. Overdosing. Self-poisoning.
Dull light snaps off and rose pink light fades on
C2: I used to punish myself. I used to lie on my bed in the middle of winter with the window open and a fan on. I used to freeze myself. Just lie there for hours. I would get so cold. I was wrong. I didn’t deserve to be happy. I didn’t deserve to be warm.
Rose light fades off, Spotlight fades on
C3:I used to punish myself. I used to starve myself. Throw away my lunch at school, skip breakfast and only have small portions at dinner because I “wasn’t hungry”. I was wrong. I didn’t deserve to be happy. I didn’t deserve to eat.
Spotlight fades off, Birdy fades on
C1: I used to punish myself. I used to hide a razor in the zip compartment of my bag and go into the toilets at school and cut myself. Cut myself on my thigh. I was wrong. I didn’t deserve to be happy. I deserved pain.
My friends say that I need to speak to people but they don’t understand. How could anyone understand or care? Keeping it bottled up is the only way I can deal with something. I can’t tell anyone. Why don’t they get it? Why don’t they understand? They say they’re my friends but they can’t really mean it. Why would anyone be friends with me? I certainly wouldn’t be my friend. If I was them I would hate me. I do hate me. I hate me. They’re just being nice. I can’t explain things to them. I just can’t. I can’t say. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. I just have these moments when I… I just do things, like an uncontrollable impulse. I wish I could tell you about the times I have wanted to commit suicide. But I can’t. It’s my problem. There’s something wrong with me. I’m the issue and therefore I am the thing that needs to be dealt with, the thing that needs to be removed. I can’t ask for help. I don’t need help. I’m fine. I’M FINE. I’m alone. I’m trapped.
Birdy snaps off, Dull light snaps on
Recording 4 plays: “Paranoid? You should be. No one likes you. You’ll never be loved. Why would anyone love you? Look at you. You’re vile. They’re always looking at you. Always talking about you but never to you. They’re scared of you. The Freak. They don’t know what to say.”
Dull light snaps off, Rose Pink light fades on
C2: People are scared of me. They look at me differently and become cautious around me or overly concerned. They always watch what they say because they don’t want to trigger anything so they’re careful. I feel like I’m a bomb, I could go off at any second and so they have to tiptoe around me. I get asked if I’m ok more times a day than a priest prays. I am depressed. I have a sign above my head that says depression. Beware. Don’t come near. Stay away. I am ill. It’s an illness. It’s a disease. It’s a disease that’s NOT contagious, NOT infectious, I’m NOT contaminated. It’s NOT a disease. It’s an illness. My thoughts, my feelings, my memories are corrupt. But I’m still me. That sign above my head screaming my difference to all the world is wrong. Its right but its wrong. I am not a label. I am not that sign. I am me. I am depressed but I am me.
Rose Pink light fades off, Cream wash fades on
C4: What were you going to do? Were you going to hang yourself or drown yourself? Take an overdose or cut yourself? Jump in front of a car or train or buy a gun and shoot yourself? How were you going to do it? What were you going to do?
Cream wash fades off, spotlight fades on
C3: What is the point in getting out of bed in the morning? What is the point in smiling? What is the point in eating and what is the point in drinking? What is the point in laughing? What is the point in crying? What is the point in breathing?
Spotlight snaps off, dull light snaps on
Recording 5 plays: “Nobody likes you. Nobody loves you. Nobody ever will. Be better if you died. You’ve let everyone down. Literally EVERYONE. Stupid cow. “
Dull light snaps off, rose pink light fades on
C2: I want to stop drowning in this depression. I wake up every morning and people still expect more from me
Rose light snaps off, dull light snaps on
Recording 6 plays: “Alone again? Because no one wants to be anywhere near you. And why would they? Why would anyone want to be anywhere near you? They all despise you.”
Dull light snaps off, birdy fades on
C1: Been looking up suicide methods tonight. I’d like a quick and painless death; and two quickest and reliable ways are a gun to the head or fast moving train. I can’t die by fast moving train as that would ruin more lives and I’ve ruined enough of them already but I don’t know where to get a gun from. I’d take an overdose but if that went wrong then I could become brain damaged and then I’d become more of a burden on the world. I do want to die; I mean it’s for the best. I mean what do I have to live for?
Birdy fades off, cream wash fades on
C4: Some people still think that depression is trivial and not a genuine health condition. They’re wrong. Depression is a real illness with real symptoms, and it’s not a sign of weakness or something you can just snap out of by pulling yourself together. There are many reasons for depression from Low self-esteem or being over self-critical may lead to depression, if someone else in your family has suffered then there it is more likely that you will suffer but also things such as bullying, loneliness or giving birth may lead someone to develop depression. Studies have shown that about 4% of children aged 5 to 16 in the UK are anxious or depressed. Suicide is not a selfish act, they’re just overwhelmed with pain that they see no alternative and indeed end up thinking that they are a burden on their family and friends and if they kill themselves they are relieving their family of a burden. Hanging, strangulation and suffocation was the most common method of suicide in 2013. It would only take 30 Paracetamol’s to kill you. Easy.
Cream wash fades, purple light fades on
C5: That’s why it was so devastating what happened, what he did. It kills you, it does and you think why? Why didn’t you come to me and why didn’t you say this and why didn’t you say that? I could’ve helped. They didn’t feel they could talk to me and that’s what hurts the most, they didn’t feel they could discuss how they felt with me.
ME: On average, 6000 people in Britain take their own lives each year. I have been alive for 21 years which means for every year I have been alive; 6000 people have committed suicide. That’s 126,000 people. 21 x 6000. 126,000.
Blackout