Archive for category Childhood

Sock Monkeys (Everything is shit)

Is it shit? Or is it me?

I have a tendency to think everything is shit/I am shit/life is shit/shitshitshit.

I have re-written this post five times because my writing is shit.

I gave up at my attempt at an very needed conversation with my mum about what was going on inside my head because what I think is all shit.

I have not written any stories or poems since the end of my degree because everyone else is better than me and I am shit.

I am convinced everyone I love will eventually hate me because I am innately shit.

I do not send people letters I write (after a promise of old style pen-pals) because anything I have to say is shit.

I give up on therapy because I think my therapist thinks I am a shit.

I did not want to make a blog post about the sock monkeys I have been making, because I am shit.

(sorry for the slightly out of focus images. I have shakey mad-person hands..thank you psych meds, thank you…yes, once again, it is because of the meds!)

So, today I am giving a large Fuck You to my crappy ‘everything is shit’ self confidence issues.

I am very aware that my ‘it is all shit, I am bollocks’ mind set will lead me no where expect, possibly, to a career as a speed bump much like Raymond. I do not want that. I know so many people feel like this – for me, sock monkeys have helped..not because I think I am good at it, but because it keeps me too busy to listen to my head. I generally send the stuff I make to friends (the neglected pen pals) and that helps too – because it makes other people happy, I like doing that.

In therapy you occasionally get sent ‘review letters’ which are pretty much school reports for mad people. Mine generally read something like ‘tries hard, talks too much, has self confidence issues’. Every time. I started crafting, not to be good at it, but I found I need to keep my hands busy. If I sew/knit/make cards/bead/embroider/draw my hands and mind are not so free to strave/binge/purge/cut/explode. It sounds obvious and simple doesn’t it? When I entered therapy at 14 I did art therapy, and since then I have been in so many art and craft classes. When I was inpatient in hospital I loved the creative writing and art groups..and they were main reason I complied with my treatment plan. During my most recent hospitalization I panicked and cried while in a large room of loud strangers (something I never do) purely due to the promise of Fimo. Why? Because I like it and it helps.

The reason I have only just (after nine long years) realised I can carry this into my not-in-therapy free time is all down my ‘you are shit at all the stuff’ imp that sits on my shoulder. Without a kindly therapist telling me I was doing well & being kind to me I could not tolerate the idea of trying.

I am trying to change that. With sock monkeys, sock zebras and other crafty things. It sounds so small doesn’t it?

But really – it is pretty big. I would advocate this to anyone. Make things, even if you think you are shit at it, it may help.

My Fimo is nearly cooked.

I am on a roll.

I have always been shy, sensitive and a little mad, I do not think that will change really. I may never become a brilliant positive person with bags of self confidence..but I think I may be able to live alongside my ‘everything is shit’ imp rather than let it cripple me. A therapy quote, I have one: Self acceptance is more helpful that total transformations. I do so very much believe that.

(Ps: blame any spelling mistakes on the meds. Yes. yet again)


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Seasonal Socks & their implications on my Mental Health.

This post comes post a large unjustified identity crisis and a great deal of panic at the Bad Robbers who were not at the door (eventually proven by Brave Boy who unlocked the door) so if it is a bit discombobulated and confused please write to my cpn at

CPN name of choice
CPN housing
CPN Villiage
Mental illness aid land
H31P M31

and ask for an increase in my don’t-bo-so-paranoid pills and the don’t-panic-about-non-existent-Bad-Robbers medication.

Thank you.  (whenever I write ‘thank you’ i think back to my prior self who thought thank you was one word and feel smug due to my improved literacy skills, I aim that one day the same will happen with my use of commas..and possible my ability to deviate from the topic of socks.)

Today, I purchased a pair of Easter themed socks…

A visual example to make this post more exciting

They are grey and pink and have easter eggs on them (which could also be ovals with spots and stripes in, but who am I to nit pick drawings?)

Anyway – the bottom line is that these were seasonal Easter socks, not just your run of the mill, every day socks.

I promise that this post have a point and I shall get there, but (in the style of ‘Miranda’) bear with, bear with!

This Christmas I purchased for myself and others, and in turn received, a large amount of Festive Christmas Socks…

Does this need a caption?

Mine had slightly psychotic looking Penguins with Santa hats and a candy cane on them. (and trust me, they really did look Psychotic, I should know).

I also have a pair of Birthday socks…

And I so WISH they were copies of that image, but I am not so lucky…mine have purple presents and cakes on. Be it not for the cakes, they could have been mistaken for Christmas socks, especially as my birthday is in December.

Lastly, I have Valentines socks…

I want one just like this...

I am proud of my sock collection. I mostly spend my days in dresses, as the Eating Disorder complain less loudly when I am buried in fabrics than held tightly by jeans..and thus my feet are often covered by tights. I do not let that small fact stop my sock enthusiams, no! I wear socks over my tights and if I do venture Outside Into The Scary I hide them with my big clomping DM’s.

Today as I was placing my Easter Egg socks into my shopping trolley and eyeing up the pjamas I do not need and could not afford I realised how much had changed….

I actually used to hate seasonal socks. With a passion.

I know, I was so wrong!

I thought it was a waste. I thought that people would only wear those socks once a year and it also made them appear overly happy people who would happily suck up to a materialistic, consumerist world view.

Yes, I was a teenager at the time. These days, now I am OLD and approaching the mid-twenties I realize I LIKE being sock-happy and I happily admit I am somewhat materialistic-in as much that I buy seasonal socks, creame eggs when they are at till points and any biscuits or food advertised in the breaks between the tense bits of CSI-and consumerist because I like all the above and spend money.

But, before, I was a bit scared of breaking my own sock rules…and so many other rules. Rules like…’I can not eat until 4pm’ ‘I can not stop washing my hands for 35 minuites on my phone timer’ ‘I must get 100%, A’s, Firsts or U’s, 0%, fails and nothing in between’ ‘I can not open a door’ ‘I can not eat chocolate without the mother of all binge purge sessions’ ‘I cannot think any nice things about myself’.

I do not know what came first, relaxing my sock type rules or the bigger scary ones – but what I do know is that I have made really progress, and I was able to identify that fact while sock shopping in Tesco. It may sound odd but I used to fear any positive progress, I wanted to be the most depressed, the most eating disordered, the most scarred, the most borderline, the most ill…and when I realized that would equate to the most dead I tried for that too.

I do not think like that any longer, or not often.

I will happily wear Christmas scary penguin socks in the summer…and while things to do with my illness are still very prominent in my life I do not want to be the ‘most’ or ‘worst’..or, perhaps the ‘best most worst’. My mental health is not a competition.

I dare whom ever reads this to buy some Easter socks and wear them in October, when there are no real exciting events..only the terrifying run up to fireworks night, which shall never be saluted with sock desgins as bangs and fire are very terrifying things.

Now, in homage to the humble sock I intend to inundate any readers with countless socky images..

Socky happiness

These are an uncomfortable necessity in a sock drawer

WORD FACT: I also recall the time when I accepted the fact a ‘drawer’ was drawer not jsut plain draw…such a confusing word day, but I learnt it.


It is a sock cake! I do not know who I have lived like without it.

I am now googling sock cakes further to see if these are things you can buy, or a deft example of how useful origami really is in modern life. (and proving to my younger self that materialistic tendencies and consumerism is okay if it ends in owning such an item…)

a possible wedding cake?

It seems to be mostly folding…and aimed as presents for young babies..bit I prefer the wedding cake idea..I think the boy would like something edible though, so maybe a mix of the two.

I am constantly surprised at the amount of words I am happily devoting to the subject of socks..

and, of course..I can not finish this post with out adding an image of sock animals, can I?


I think I know what I will be doing once I have finished my current knitting projects..

I am slightly sad they do not look more sock-ish though..but I am off to amazon to buy a hefty amount of socks for craft purposes.

I need an I love socks badge or something. Some people conquer elements of mental illness and find a higer power to believe in…I find socks.

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Wedding Fever, me? but I am MAD!

(I just wrote a long post & it deleted itself. Not in Drafts. Unhappy Blooger. Yes.)

Weddings + Me = Bad Idea.

That is what I always thought.

I was never the sort of child who daydreamed about a fairy-tale wedding. I drew pictures of fairys, yes, but I was more concered about lauching my career as a Full Time Fairy who would promote Green Peace (which confused with World Peace for years) than thinking about yucky Boys or a big poofy dress.

As I grew up I pretty much denounced anything girly. I was a Goth (or a Goff judging by many numerous clothing mistakes) I was also mad. As a child anxiety follwed me around like a hated imaginary enemy. It got worse. By 12 I was depressed and worried. By 14 I was in intensive therapy for my Eating Disorder, my self harming, depression & anxiety. I rattled with medication. I was sad, bad, mad.

I thought that –

Mad plus fat plus scarred = never ever married. Ever.

I did not consider it a possibility. During my teenage years, and, to be honest, even very recently, the idea of any future at all was a shady ideal and overshadowed by my numerous suicide attempts.

What has changed? I am still mad, bad, sad. I am still scarred. I still self harm. I still have a rampant eating disorder that rules my life. My anxiety is isolating. My OCD rocks even my strongest relationships. The Great Depression II just ruins everything. My psychosis puts me in hospital.

But I have The Boy. We got engaged to cement the fact we were solid in our relationship that we know will last forever. We got engaged because December and the months before it were hard and horrible, the engagement was the light at the end of a very, very dark and scary tunnel. We were not expecting to plan a wedding until maybe five years into the future….

Then The Boy’s Army ambitions really kicked off…and we talked, and talked, and talked.

We decided (well, maybe I decided) there was no way I was letting him go to a war zone without him being my Husband. We wanted something for me to work towards and in both situations a Wedding seemed like a brilliant soloution. The obvious choice.

I thought it would all take a while to get off the ground..I thought we’d both go off the idea, be put off by the money and the planning.

Like with so many other things, I was so very wrong.

We have both jumped into wedding planning feet first. We love it. I love it. It is making me excited & happy, I wake up with a smile, feeling like Chrsitmas is coming as I count the days until we can go view the first two possible venues. We both have made lists, and counted pennies and started savings.

I am mad – but contray to what I always thought this does not means I can not get married.

I really, really did not think I’d ever cathch Wedding Fever, it is so un-me…but so is the fact I have a First Class degree and am going to start a Masters..but so is my newfound love of pink, my striving to get better, my shakey communication skills that are improving every-time me and Boy sit down with a cup of tea and talk into the night, I am trying in therapy. All of these things one felt like things i’d never ever do.

I would not care, really, if Boy and I had to be wed in a in-use cow barn while wearing bin bags. I’d just want us to be Husband and Wife. But, because we are able to plan a wedding, we are.

It is going to be a pinky, vintage, crafty themed wedding. Boy will be wearing Army Gear. It will be very ‘us’ Controversial and a little bit mad. I am so happy.

I think my fable-esque message at the heart of this post is:

I am mentally ill and physically disabled. I may well be that way forever. But that does not have to stop be persuing my career (as an author not a fairy, sadly) and my life (marrying the Boy and sobbing as he leaves for War). It does not have to stop anything. I can weave it into the fabric of my days….

and If I can do that I really think anyone can.


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Polo musings.


Do you remeber that Polo-high? From school, when you’d eat a packet or two of polos and spend the afternoon in graphics flicking rubbers off a non-shatterable ruler, which does actually shatter – and later, the polo come down..and the reminder that is has a laxative effect?


Well. It seems that there is a polo-to-age ratio.

It only seems to take half a packet to cause that effect in me..and the come down is faster and worse.

And why, oh why did they take lovely minty treats and make them into nasty fruits O’s? Ick.

I think polo’s are a product of the vending-machine generation. In fact, maybe they caused the vending machine generation. They were the only sweets cheap enough to afford after you had searched your blazer pockets and rooted out the rubbers, the leaky pens and the notes that you had been writing to a friend when you should have been learning algebraic equations.

I wish the spearmint polo’s were still as easily available as the orginal…now, those were just epic. They deserved a cape and a wand. Give me a packet of sperming polo’s and I could turn any boring, depressing Monday lunch time into fun with a capital F.

Wow. I can’t believe I actually wrote that sentence, that is lame.

I need a sign: ‘under influence of polo’s’…



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It gets madder and madder..

I should be sleeping…and resting my poor, failing eyesight but nay, I – having killed all other internet options – am blogging..which, if I am honest is mostly borne out of jealously due to seeing my friends super awesome new post with fucking awesome paint-drawings of mad-cats lady lifestyle here.

A mad cat, nearly the same thing..yeah


I am worried I am starting to suffer from Somniphboia but to be honest it is probably just the five-year old me putting its foot down. it wins with the ‘feed me chocolate all the time’ demands..why not go one step further and resist bedtimes?

no no no


*inserts pictures I have badly drawn on paint here. I have the ideas, just not 4 hours to spend on it*

I feel guilty when I do not sleep, mostly as I share my bed with lovely, snoring, pillow and side-of-bed stealing Boyfriend. He does not sleep properly if I am not there (altogether now..awwwwh!!) and as I am such a bitch during the day I feel that I owe it to him to try and be kind at night.

It seems I have to dilute my life into child-ahppy chunks and metaphors at the moment. I thought I was supposed to begin maturing once I got properly into my twenties, not retreat into sand-box playing mode…oh, I miss those days…

I have been writing, as you all know. I may even be kind enough to post my poem on my blog but only IF the Master poeple do not turn me away on -account of my long term folly in ‘mental health land’.

How would you make a young child do you bed? Maybe I should replicate that with myself? According to – Empowering Parents

The focus should be on your child learning how to manage himself through meeting his responsibilities and not on your child learning to manage you through power plays.

Am I power playing myself? I guess so..but I am no good with responsibility.

This is me normally..

That is me just mooching about, writing blogs at 2.40 am and wondering if I have things to do in the morning…

and then you ask me to go and lye down in a dark room. which is scary. and now they are saying it is because I need to take responbility for myself…

this is me when I hear the word responsibility…


A List Of Responsible Stuff Ifail at:

Having my own house

Paying bills

Calling people

Cleaning self – please see this post not the same as showering

Going to bed

Getting up when I do go to bed

Having a job

Not bein mad

So as I do not like and fail at responsibliy I’ll look at another option..

The Mayo Clinic say this

The scenario: It’s bedtime, but your child fusses about going to sleep because he or she doesn’t want to miss anything.

The solution: If your child can hear talking, laughing, or sounds from the computer or TV, it’s easy to see how he or she would feel left out. To ease the transition to bedtime, keep things quiet during the last hour before bedtime. Keep the TV out of your child’s room. Put away noisy games and toys. Turn off the TV, computer and video games throughout the house. Dim the lights. Limit the entire family to quiet activities, such as reading books or doing puzzles. Sleep may be more appealing if everyone slows down before bedtime.

No, everyone else is upstairs.

I am the sole one awake.

The tv is off.  i was knitting earlier, thats akin to a puzzle? I read a book? Eh. I suck at this.

I aspire towards this:


The Boyfriend just did it normal 3am wake-up for a sandwich. I imagine he will drag me to bed. Yay for moaning about responsibility and then the Boyfriend turning up so I do not have to do it my myself. ( and this was me being kind to him? OOOppps)


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I can’t sleep..

I will update properly soon, I have things planned, just little motivation and lots of illness and mood crappity-ness. (Ah, self expression fail). I am planning to order a new mouse soon so I can improve on my rubbish paint jobs…also am writing my MA interview story thing at the moment so I feel like I use all the words, ever and have no left for blogging. Hopefully it should improve the quality of my posts, but I doubt it.

Thought I’d post you a short list about sleep

List about sleep (or lackthereof)

Things I think of when I Should Be Alert And Awake

1) Sleeping

2) Bed

3) Sleeping

4) Bed

5) Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Things I Think About When I Want To Be Asleep

1) All the words to 1,2,3,4,5…

2)stol fo domnar sdrow sdarwkcab…ywh?

3)Of all the cat vidoes I have ever seen, and listing them in order of current favorites..

4)The words to as many A.A.Milne poems as I can remember from childhood –

Tiddly pom pom

5)and this poem. (Just for intellectual contrast)

6) Every little thing that has ever worried me, ever…

7) The names of everyone in my class at school starting from year zero…

8) All the words to this song…

9) All the words I can make with ‘knob’ in them.. knobhead, knobdick, knobbydickwad,knobshaft, itchy knobshaft,

10)And all the e-mails I should send to friends.

11)All the parcels and letters I should send.

12)Forgotten rules of grammar..Kill the pandas, whaaaaaaaaaa

I am mocking my own bad grammar, I know


13)My life history in Birthday cakes…try it, start at your earliest cake memory and work to now – amazing! I would list, but I think I shall save it for its very own cake-memory post.



14)Reasons why I hate people who use the words ‘First World Problems’…I would expand, but I am too tired thinking about it…

15)The clothes I would dress my dog up if I had a willing doggy-participant (Little Dog is too old for the scary change of jumpers on fur and BigDog would hate it, he dislikes even his collar..)

You can get it the other way around though…..

16) If i would rather be hot or cold at this exact moment..

17) All the names to all the people in every job I have ever had. In alaphabical order. Chris..No, Alan, Chris, Becky..No, Alan, Alex, Chris, Other Chris, Becky…

18) What it would feel like if my left ankle itched…


19) Why thinking about itching makes you itch…

20) How far ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ I can get without thinking about someth…..huh? Was that rain?!

21) Robbers, bear, tigers, scary things

22) Just Robbers

23) Just Bears

24) Just tigers

25) All of the scary things at once…

My face at night.

and still,






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Postscript to my last post (dressed up dogs)

I heart the interweb..

I googled ‘dress up dogs’ and below are some of my personal creations, brought to you courtesy of printscreen.

Please embrace your inner-child and show me yours. (shout out to my gorgeous friend Charmaine I am counting on you…and nicoleandgwendolyn all this doggy-dress up galore makes me think of you are your beautiful, faithful Puggle – and the shoe post is coming, promise!)

moved from dogs to bunnies


There are not think there are not more…

I made my own dog breed, I am Queen!!


Be queen, make your own breed as this was so much fun I include the link, it also has highly annoying music in the background, FTW!

I am going to go now, else this will go on all night…

Okay, just ONE MORE

he is annngry to have a bow


annnnd LAST ONE

please do one, its fun




Dragons with SOAD playing? why? Odd music taste, but fun for dragons.. you can have capes, i choose not to.

play with lots of animals but not in a creepy way (yes Charly, there are Horses and ponies for you, I checked 🙂 )

the punk one not as much choice, but it has to be done

make your own angry bunny with a rucksack this site is like a cute girl overload though, so be ready to cope with that.

I have taken my bed-meds and so typing is beocimng hard…hello sleeping pill joy ❤

Enjoy, show me your creations, interact with me…

please prove to me I am not the only 23 year old putting animated animals in clothes at 1:16 am on a Friday night. I know some people have real lives, but some of you must be like me!



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