Why is it we use so much energy to hide our true emotions? Is it because when we were little we were told not to cry or as a toddler when we were raging we were berated. Maybe I should rephrase the first sentence. Why is it we use so much energy to hide our negative emotions? Because it seems absolutely fine to be happy, “Just smile and the world will smile with you.” At my worst, when smiling just about never happened. I would have gladly punched anyone who said that to me. And they did. A lot!

How the fuck can you smile when you are being eaten from the inside out. When you are planning ways to rid yourself of your miserable existence. When your reflection repulses you. On that note, looking in the mirror to smile only compounded the issue, I don’t like my smile. My eyes shut, my mouth drops down on one side and I have vampire teeth. At times I am too scared to smile at children because so often in the past, when I have, they have cried and I was convinced it was my teeth scaring them. It happened so often my daughter used to say “Mum don’t smile at them, you’ll make them cry.” Can you imagine of all the things in your live to be fearful of, your smile is one of them. 

Incredulous.

Not sure if that’s the right word but it sounded cool. Please help me out here if a) it is the right word b) if not, what would work?

I didn’t smile much as a youngster, or at least it felt as if I didn’t. I remember once, (which before I start could be inaccurate as our memories serve to deceive us). We had a family friend who said to my mum, “If only Liz smiled more, she’s so pretty when she smiles.” I get it now with my acting, I am not sure I have ever smiled on film, all the characters I play don’t smile. Even in the comedies I do on stage, I don’t smile – all dead pan humour. Which I love by the way, it just seems sad somehow. Interestingly though, one time on a course in LA, we met an agent who had asked us to bring along our headshot so he could let us know whether they were right for us. My teacher from the UK had chosen mine, unsurprisingly, no smile. We didn’t get round to showing the photos until near the end, before than we had all been listening intently, laughing, at all his jokes and anything else he said too, I imagine, we were there to impress we wanted him to like us (that’s another story). We told our own anecdotes and generally had fun. When I showed him my photo, he said, “That is so wrong for you, you look like a hard bitch but you’re not like that at all.”

Why do I look like a hard bitch? Why haven’t I smiled my whole life? Was I born depressed. Is that even possible? 

As a child I often felt so miserable, particularly at school. As I write this, my heart rate has quickened, I have a lump in my throat and I am struggling to swallow my eyes are welling up, my palms are sweaty and I haven’t even told you anything about it yet. Just the mere thought of school has a hideous effect on me. 

I was a boarder. My first bed room was the size of a cupboard with 2 bunk beds separated by a door width. From what I can remember that was it, enclosed in an ever decreasing box. That can’t have been it, where did I put my clothes? But that’s how I remember it, walls closing in on me, the maroon eiderdown weighing heavily on my heart. It smelt damp and was Baltic, when I got undressed in the morning I would have a sharp intake of breath like you do when you jump into cold water. I used to get dressed under the covers and then wait there until the last second before going down for breakfast. 

I would shut my tear soaked eyes and then open them again quickly because I was scared the bunk above my head would crash down on me. As I lay there in the dark, I could hear the gentle sobs of the three other girls in the room, we were all nine years old and alone. Two of my room mates came from Sierra Leone, they didn’t go home, they didn’t see their parents from one moth to the next. That caused my heart to break even more than it was already broken. Who does that to their child? Sends them away to another country when they haven’t even reached double figures. I am sure they do it for the child’s best interest but is it really? The chances are that child will be traumatised for the rest of their lives. Is that in their best interest? I think not.

I had a teddy. Oh fuck, that’s it I am off now, tears are filling my glasses and my keyboard is all blurry.

I had a teddy, that a family friend had so carefully made for me. I would hold him tight, rub my face into his gentle fur and my tears would flow. He would be soaked, heavy and cold under the weight of my sadness. I felt so alone, teddy was my only friend. He had my name tape sewn into the back of his neck. That in itself made my heart heavy, that must have hurt him, when we sewed it on. I still have teddy, I think he is in the loft somewhere, hidden away like my memories.

If you would like to join me on this journey, please like, subscribe and comment. If you make a comment, please explain what it was that made you feel that way.

Thanks, Liz

For anyone reading my posts who has a story in them they are struggling to tell. I would recommend getting Anne Lamott’s book ‘Bird by Bird’. It has inspired me to create this challenge and is full of great knowledge and insight. She also has a wonderful sense of humour and writing style.

If you would like to buy ‘Bird by Bird’, please feel free to use my Amazon associate link: https://amzn.to/47Pdkx7

If you have stumbled across my blog and are thinking “Day 4 of what? Have a quick read of this explanation:

I have set myself a challenge and need your help, (please).