Last Thursday we went away, headed to Watford, London. We stayed the night in a very well serviced Premier Inn hotel, which was lovely, and in the morning got up, had breakfast, and went off to Harry Potter Studios, where they filmed the movies, with all the real props and sets, and it was a place of dreams; magical, like the world it tells of. It was beautiful there. We walked through the Great Hall, and saw all the indoor sets after that. It was Animal Actors week and mum and I watched a cat that played Crookshanks (Hermione’s cat) ‘sit pretty’ in the Common Room set, and mum talked a little to his American trainer. We also saw a dog, one of the bitches, perhaps ‘Holly’, who had played Fang in the films (Hagrid’s dog), as well as later seeing Trevor the toad, a tarantula for some reason, and the spider, who was actually a whip-tailed scorpion, that Moody did the Unforgivable curses on in Harry’s Fourth year. Mum and dad also decided that we should queue up to sit astride a broom in front of a greenscreen, so we ‘played’ a little Qudditch, and we also all sat ‘in the flying car’ as it flew over the train tracks, as it did in the Second year. We went outside and saw the Knight Bus and the Potter’s Cottage and the Entrance Bridge that, most famously, Remus Lupin and Harry talked on in his Third Year. Lupin being my favorite character, I was pleased to see traces of his character on the sets – such as his trunk, that he had magically packed at the end of the third film. In the cafe, we shared one cup of Butterbeer, as none of us were sure we would like it, while I offered chocolate around, as there was no better stimulant for the rest of the day – at least when you’re in Harry Potter world there isn’t. After a short sit-down, we headed back inside to find the creatures’ section, and afterwards, Diagon Alley. And, finally, we saw the absolutely beautiful real model of Hogwarts castle, the way it is meant to be.
However – and here comes the ‘but’ that always accompanies an event – despite the beautiful magic of this place, it could not do everything. During looking around the exhibits, and taking photos, my mind was mostly on what I was doing, rather than all the other people around me, the fact that I didn’t know where the closest exit was, or that I perhaps was alone in that part of the room. All of those thoughts, and more, often – or, really, always – crowd my brain, unabling me to think clearly about what I am meant to be doing. The magic of Harry Potter, it in itself being practically the fictional world that I few up in, helped me to focus more on what I was doing, and seeing, and enabled me to enjoy it as much as I was able. Whenever I felt the familiar stirings of panic rise up above my forced calm, I quickly moved away from the masses of people, and located mum immediately, which thankfully wasn’t too hard. I then would stay close by her for a while, until the weight on my chest had lifted and I felt I could breathe again. Sometimes this took about half an hour; other times only five minutes. But I didn’t push myself. I knew that if I forced myself to abandon my safe place – under the care of my mother – I would not get far; I would have been setting myself up to fail, as it’s put by my psychiatrist.
So although the magic of Harry Potter is great, it cannot vanish the Panic Disorder, or stop the Anxiety. It could not stop the triggers for PTSD and the Depression, and it could not completely distract from thoughts about eating that the boredline Disorder forces me to thinks about. But it was up to me, and me alone, to make what I could out of the day despite these drawbacks. And, hell, I did. Because I was in a magical place – the world that had been my home for so many years, and still was when I needed it. I wanted to, and needed to, enjoy this tour, no matter how my mind reacts to the stimulus. There were a few times my mind did take over, of course. After we went in, the hall was so packed, and Dan and I had to queue for something, then join the main queue with the others, and mum and dad and Henry and Dan and even James were just talking, chattering away, and so was literally everyone else in the hall… that didn’t settle well with me at all, and my instinct was to find a corner and crouch down, ready to defend myself while I recovered. However, I forced the panic back, though it was bitter in my throat, and hugged Charlie tight to my chest to try and relieve the crushing that was there. It didn’t work that well, but the line thankfully moved and I was presented with the first exhibition to divert my attention.
Then it was at the end, in the shop, that was also quite hard. I was exhausted from the tour, and not up to full health anyway, with a cold that had been tolling on me for the past few days. The amount of people in the shop, despite my family being amongst them, was just too much to cope with. Quietly as I could, I slipped out of the shop and sought the nearest corner. There I crouched, clutching Charlie, coaching myself to calm down, to breathe slowly, to look around calmly, assessing the situation. I was just outside the door to the shop, so I would easily see anyone I knew coming out, so that wasn’t a problem. There were fewer people in the hall then, too, as it was getting late, so that was helpful. I sat there, on my bag, for a while, until dad came out and told me that mum was in the shop waiting for me. He then sat down not-quite beside me with the pushchair. Unwilling to be left with him, in case he made my situation worse, I summoned up my courage and got to my feet and walked resolutely back into the crowded shop. I sought out mum immediately and got the purchases done. Then we all went to the cafe to wait for Dan, who had asked me to stay in the shop with him, but I knew that it was now completely out of my ability, so I had declined.
We left the Studio, late, and drove around in the car for ages, looking for somewhere to eat. At long last, we found a Pizza Hut and had dinner there. However, despite being on my feet all day and having eaten nothing else since breakfast, I had little apart from salad for my meal. Mum may have noticed this, but didn’t call me out on it, as it had been an exhausting day. We went back to the hotel and Dan and I watched Hot Fuzz as our night movie, then went to bed, quizzing each other on actors, characters and events of the Harry Potter films as we lay in our beds – me in the double, Dan in the single, as it had been the other way around the night before, and we do things as fairly as we can. In the morning, we again had a big hotel breakfast, then discussed what to do on the way home. In the end, however, we didn’t come up with anything ingenius, and so mainly just drove straight home, stopping briefly at a services where we all got ice cream McFlurries, one of which mum gave to me with a rather stern look, meaning that I was to eat all of it. I did indeed, on the way back; fortunately, ice cream is one of my favorite foods to just eat slowly and enjoy the mouthfuls. When we got home, the others headed off for swimming, and Dan played the Harry Potter 3 game that he had been working on, and I cooked us some dinner. To my proudness, Dan actually completed the game, having done it all by himself in a couple of weeks, on and off. I sorted out my Harry Potter tunes to play on piano, and taught myself howto play one of the best – the tune for Leaving Hogwarts at the end of the very first film.
So that was the holiday; the time that I have been waiting for. And I am so glad I am here and that I saw the beauty of the real Harry Potter world. It’s been over a month since the hospital, and I often question the wisdom of choosing recovery; the harder path. But I know I am right, and I know that it will be okay in the end. As Harry says: “It is not, after all, so easy to die.” The story of Evanna Lynch, who played Luna Lovegood, is one of the most beautiful. In short, Evanna begged JK Rowling in a letter to let her have a little part in the films. At the time she was young and was dying due to her anorexia, which she mentioned to JK. And so JK made a deal – Evanna would have a part, when she got better. And she did, and she played Luna brilliantly, and she is a beautiful young woman now, having never gone back to the demons that tried to kill her. She got away from them. And it just goes to show. Books, and stories, and kindness, do save lives. The question may be then, why did I not think of this wonderful trip I knew we were going to take, when I lay shaking and feeling empty in a hospital bed, mute with horror of what had happened, not able to find a shred of hope to live for. What did I think of? I still don’t know. I don’t believe I thought of anything in particular. But, somehow, in my mind, I made my patronus, and I fought off the dementors that had almost got my soul, and the patronus grew stronger until I found again, why I was still here. I had not gone. I still existed. And no longer would I let the demons take my life away from me. Since that week, I have not taken anything sharper than a pen tip to my arms, when I drew my butterflies on my wrists, and inscribed names of the people worth living for, and wrote beautiful lyrics down my battle scarred arm. I have not done more harm to myself than pick at the scab on my forehead where the rock was forced to try to empty my head of the demons that night. I think that wound, too, will scar. But if I have learnt one thing in the world of magic, of fighting, of family, of love – if I have learnt at least one thing in the magical world of Harry Potter’s, then it is not to be ashamed of your scars. They show the battles you have won.
strugglingbutstillfighting 