What is it really like debuting at the Edinburgh Fringe? Well today, comedian Ruby Carr takes the reins to tell all about her experiences this year…

We are halfway through the Fringe and I can now definitely tell you the thing that performers have been saying for years: Debuting at the Edinburgh Fringe will f*** you up.

I’m Ruby Carr. I am performing at Edinburgh Fringe with my first ever hour-long show eBae. In recent months I also have been receiving NHS therapy for OCD, depression and generalised anxiety. I have been on the ADHD waitlist for 3 years. My therapist has also recommended I get tested for Autism because I keep sharing examples of sensory overload. Basically, I thought I could forgo the warnings because: Poor mental health? Been there, done that.

It’s 9pm on 28th July, the night before I catch a 7:30am train to Edinburgh. I am crying – wailing down the phone to my friend, struggling to speak through the biggest panic attack that I have had in the last 10 years. I’m convinced something awful will happen. I shouldn’t go. I have just come out of the shower, my hair wet, it was clinging to me, I hated it. But I could not handle the sound of the hair dryer right now, and I threaten to cut it all off… I guess my therapist was right about sensory issues.

But I make it to Edinburgh.

As I walk the streets seeing posters of bigger comedy names I feel like the biggest fraud. I don’t have an agent, why am I here? 

I arrive at my tech by just placing one foot in front of the other and pushing down all those feelings I have brewing under the surface.

At the tech, everyone is looking to me to have all the answers. Of course, it is my show. I am guessing everything. We then start trying to block my entrance. I start behind the curtain, introduce myself to the stage with the backstage microphone and walk out to my entrance music.

When I stepped behind the curtain, I was away from my technicians, my director. I was alone. I didn’t have to hold myself together so tightly and I could let my mask fall. “You’re OK, this is fine, you can do this.”

That was until my director yelled from the front – “Ruby, it’s really funny we can hear you panicking into the god mic.” 

Whelp.

I guess I’m having another panic attack.

A week into the Fringe, I am burnt out. Burnt out from the high pressure of doing the show every day, flyering every day, and dancing for industry, hoping they’ll notice you.

I am done.

I text a group chat and tell them I can’t do it. I’m broken. The narrative in my head is so negative and cruel, I don’t want to leave my room.

I don’t want to be perceived anymore. This month is insane and unreasonable, and so many people CHOOSE to do it. I CHOSE to do it!

“I am crying – wailing down the phone to my friend, struggling to speak through the biggest panic attack that I have had in the last 10 years…”

The thing is, I’ve actually only told you half of the story.

9pm, the night before I catch a 7:30am train to Edinburgh. I am crying- wailing down the phone to my friend, and she is organising for a local friend to come to my flat to support me. They bring me my “safe food” (Chicken Nuggets), help me finish packing, calm me down and amp me up. Eventually I stop panicking and start laughing and feeling excited for the following morning. My hair remains intact.

At the tech, everyone is looking to me to have all the answers… “Ruby, it’s really funny we can hear you panicking into the god mic.” 

My technicians pause the tech rehearsal for me to compose myself and my director asks me what I need. We take a break. I cathartically rip up some flyers. We joke and laugh. It’s going to be OK.

A week into the Fringe, I am burnt out.

I text a group chat. I don’t want to be perceived anymore.

The group chat, without telling me, started rallying the troops. Calling in favours and messaging people on my behalf that I need support today. I get an influx of lovely messages, promotion for my show (so I could sit out on flyering) and a bunch of lovely friends booked to sit in my show that day so I could reset and feel strong enough to carry on and do it. It was a great show. It always is (sorry if that sounds in any way smug, but it’s true – I love every show, every crowd. Every single show – in some way – reminds me why I’m here).

This month is unreasonable. Insane. And it is only made possible by the support we give each other. I am so grateful for everyone who has managed to keep me propped up.

No one can do this alone. Be kind to each other, it’s hell out there.

Come along to see ‘eBae’ at Underbelly, George Square – The Wee Coo – at 7.20pm everyday of the Fringe