Archive for category Eating Disorders

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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My name is Alexishere and I am a Wrapping Paper Addict

wow.

I am imagining my poor neglected blog hudled in a corner – looking up at me with BPD style ‘HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME?!’ eyes. I am accused. I am guilty.

I went mad. That does not usually stop me wiritng but it did this time. I think I feel uninteresting. My life drips along. Things happen. I knit. I sit. I stare. I smoke. That is it. But…post-going-mad-and-ending-up-stroking-owls-in-a-psych-hopsital (there really were real life owls) I realised I missed my silly little blog, so I have come back, tail between my legs and rattling with good intentions to Post Every Day. (It won’t happen, but they say it is the thought that counts, right? Does that gets out clause of life work in this situation too?)

This little one was my favorite. There was also a classic ‘Harry Potter Owl’ (obvs a better, more understandable nickname than the actual name-of-breed which I seem to have forgotten) and a massive Eagle Owl. So that was fun..not that I would put myself in hospital just to poke an owl, but it was an added bonus. I also got to make stuff from clay (a very wobbly 5-years-olds-can-do-better filter tip pot).

Where was I going with this?

Ah. yes. I have ultimately decided it is okay to Blog even if I do feel as If my life lacks achievment, worth, and anything remotely interesting…mostly because I feel all that is a Naughty Lie told my Depression Head and causes me to isolate myself more until things get to the pre-hospital stage where I am incapable of talking/moving/thinking because everything just feels so fucking worthless.

Not my hands. Although I am wearing very similar nail varnish.

I am still doing all the crafty things. Phone cases still being my specialism. I still think it is one of the best ‘recovery tools’ I have stumbled across, it keeps my hands busy (important as I am a terrible skin picker, and when anxious I get crazy hand tics that only serve to make me look more crazy which = people staring which = more axiety. An evil spiral. So I have been known to knit while walking..really.) I have also disocvered card making, which I enjoy because it swallows up whole chunks of day in one big crafty lump..but I do not yet feel my efforts are worhty of blog photos. but, when I can afford it (emblellishments are an expensive little habbit) I endevour to become amazing so I can show off my skills to Blog Land. Yeah! Bet you are so damn excited now too. *rolls eyes*

Anyway, I recently made my friend a phone case..I learnt how to knit with alternating colours, and bought a big mutli packet of buttons..the two sort of got lumped together in my glee of having new things to play with. This is the result:

this is my most recent one, for a friend. I know the buttons are sort of wonky. I was having a minor (major) panic attack and button-sewing as distraction. Am hoping she will think it looks ‘quirky and handmade’ rather than ‘shit’. If you know me IRL..or sort of IRL..like..Good Place Friends (you know how you are) feel free to give me and order for colours/style/dimensions and I will happily knit you a case and send it your way. As the people who I keep ringing to buy houses from keep reminding me, it is not like I have a job!

Yes. I am house shopping. Although, I am still a bit disillusioned to find it is so much more stressful than nipping to Tesco’s for doughnuts. It IS a Good Exciting Positive Thing..but it also makes e want to tear my hair out. I have lived in many places…I think i have moved about 7 times since fleeing my parents abode at 17, but they were all tempoary places to sleep at, not really Houses To Live In so it did not matter that they were mouldy shitholes. Now it does and i feel far too grown up for my liking.

We are also looking to buy our own furniture. Buy it! Which also feels Old And Wise as i have always, always managed to find furnished housing that the past. The idea of a blank slate appeals though, partly because I can choose the ugly furniture rather than having it forced on me, and because the metaphor is a nice one. I feel like I am nesting. Me, the Boy and the cat we are going to re-home (even if boy is not yet aware of this.) So, furniture is expensive, everyone knows that..but this is the first time I have even internet-window-shopped for things like shelves. I found an amazing second hand recycled furniture place, that sells perfectly good ‘preloved’ stuff very cheaply. Am literally itching to go there. Asdie from craft shops I can’t really think of a more appealing day trip. (and I do realize that says far more about me than it should!)

On the notes of ‘objects that tell you too much about my personality’ I also seem to have developed an object-crush on wrapping paper.

Seriously. As well as constantly Googling Houses, Stuff to put in house, Stuff to put in house that I will never ever afford, ever and doughnuts I am also addicted to posh fancy wrapping paper. I love it. Possibly more than the thrill of wondering what is inside. I need to send a gift soon & I begun the supposedly simple task of shopping for some gift wrap (online of course, the internet is the social phobics bestest friend) and, I can’t do it. I can’t buy any because I simply want ALL of it. I tried to choose some last night (aka 4 am this morning >.<) and my ‘basket’ came to a total of £20. *jaw drop* I am very worried a similar thing will occur when I actually arrive at shop for house things. Every room will be burting with chairs. There will be nothing by chairs and sofa’s.

Easter. That happened too. I dislike the huuuuge amount of Eating-Diosrder panic that ensues when chocolate is around..but, I did get to wear my bunny ears (which I will happily admit, I have worn in public more than once, and to sevral seminars during my undergrad degree).

Despite apperances I am not actually posing in that photo! I was watching the dog and had no idea that Boy has stolen my camera!

I have run out of words. Which is probably a good thing. But i will be back, hopefully a lot sooner than the last time.

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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.

WANT

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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See my shopping..you know you want to!

I did thing of a post topic. I really did, honest. I was thinking about it in the shower, mentally adding illustrations too. (As always my ‘mind-drawings’ are much better than my actual drawings..and I was witty and articulate in a way I never actually achieve).

Do you ever wish you knew what other people where buying at the Supermarket? I know I do. I am nosey by nature..although I prefer to put it in kinder terms and say I am simly inquisitive but really, I like looking in other peoples shopping baskets..

Today, The Boyfriend and I took a trip to the co-op. It was in our tiny local town where most people are really vegetable and enviorment happy, which makes me happy as the shop is quiet – when I am richer and less fussy I will buy locally sourced veggies – but currently, my anxiety is happy no-one comes in the co-op

but, because of this lack of humans I was left wanting to look in baskets..so I thought i’d share mine on here. Nearly the same..

This is what I spent too much money on today:

That is Muppet themed kitchen roll if you cannot see it. We did not actually need kitchen rolls. We have four in the cupboard, but – as I said to The Boyfriend – it has Muppets on it!!

No, I know..not very exciting – but even someone as wonderful as The Boyfriend can suffer from dry skin. The wind here is very cold and he walks a lot, both to work and with BigDog. His knuckles were cracking and his hands bleeding until I finally noticed and covered him in my girly flower-scented hand cream. He agreed it helped but refused to smell like roses. So I bought him this instead and made a massive point of telling him they use it on babies bums..

Cereal pretty much makes up The Boyfriends diet. This is him ‘branching out’. I think he may fall off his branch if he is not careful.

I really do not have the high ground, though, as I live of strawberry Maoam. Omnmonmonomnom…

I am addicted to Soya in coffee and tea from my Vegan days. (my vegan days were a sham really, it was my eating disorder distorting my diet even further) but I do limit myself to one mug a day in the morning because it is so expensive and something I do not really need (whereas I totally need Muppet kitchen roll and Maoam..-rolls eyes-)

Onmonmonmon….for some reason there are ont any small images of whisky..Possibly because they want people to crave it just by drinking in the colour.

A good mixer and the drink both The Boyfriend and I drink when really we should be turning to water..

and finally..

One single carrot.

Possibly to kid ourselves that we are healthly.

Maybe because it made our basket look intresting.

Possibly because we needed one so The Boyfriend could cook dinner this evening.

Wow. I bet you are glad you clicked on this Blog & wasted time looking at my shopping…maybe i’ll make a habbit of this. It may help my Bulimia..knowing my shopping is subject to blogging may stop the crazy-fuelling chocolate shops.

I am very proud there is not a single peice of chocolate in this shopping basket. (Although a mini-milkyway star has melted inside my hoddie pocket,which makes for a nasty hand surprise)

I have obviously not surpassed this stage.

I always think it is odd using pictures of children and kids in Blogging because it is someones kid..they may have taken that photo for thier blog, or something..or it could be a child-model and okay to use..but anyway, it is a bit strange..I still do it if they have chocolate faces or are dressed as animals though…

Oh, animal picture of today – the Sad Pug who was picked on for his badly knitted jumper…

He wishes he had this one…the one on the left:

Thanks for reading..another pointless update to come tomorrow!

 

 

 

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Yes, I hear voices (an essay of confused thoughts)

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

Keats – Ode On A Grecian Urn


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Lovely Friends – Attempt Two

I deleted this because I wanted to first ask my lovely friend if it was okay to post. It feels like a dramatic step over into the overly personal..bits of my life that I tape iup, box up and only look at in safety. But, Nicoles comment (see first attempt) made me re-think. Honesty is important.

I set up this Blog because I wanted to draw stupid shit, make people smile and because I wanted to show that sufferers of significant mental health issues belonged and we not circus freaks. 

 

Lovely Friends

Everyone has Lovely Friends but I have been thinking recently a lot about mine. Aside from my sister I have a small but sturdy handful of utterly amazing friends.

Considering my return to the world in the form of an MA has caused a dramatic spike in memories of my Undergrad degree, as well as a lot of good, old fashioned nail biting contemplation.

Contemplation used to lead to a locked bathroom door and shameful, sad acts of violence towards myself. These days it leads to a overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I am more than enamored at this change in mindset and wanted to write a post a one of the reasons, or people, behind it.

My Old University

 

Emma T

I met Emma on my first day of University and I think I did a pretty epic job of freaking her the fuck out and considering hightailing the fuck out of our slightly odd smelling student housing.

I have not always had the stellar social skills I now own as a full time recluse and expert nutjob. Considering my return to the world in the form of an MA has caused a dramatic spike in memories of my Undergrad degree. I spoke too much and was anxious when I shouldn’t be. I was scared of the non-existant bearded men at my windows. I was reculse then in your face. I was strange. I was sad.

It was not easy, the degree was not easy. There were books, word counts, exams and portfolios. But I think the things around my degree were harder. There was the battle of my eating disorder, self harm, scary medical shit and psychosis.

Emma, the Boyfriend/make that fiancé and other-amazing-friend-who-shall-not-yet be named pulled me through the worst of everything, and the best.

Emma was there to dress up in stupid costumes for parties with, to drink tea with, to dance (badly, on my part) with. She was there to hand me whatever current cocktails or psych meds I was on. She was once the not-so-proud owner of my razor blades when I decided I was ‘quitting for real, this time’, she was there when I needed ambulances, when there was police, she sat up to stupid ‘o’clock in the morning in the waiting room of A&E god knows how many times.

Em drew me rabbits (and naked ladies) and together we decorated rooms for parties. She fed me Jamie Oliver food, and muffins I can never re-create (not for the want of nagging Boyfriend anyway!)

Em helped me cover up my illicit Bunny Rabbit purchase (RIP Geoffrey) and she pretended not to smoke outside with me and Boyfriend.

And somewhere in between picking me off the floor, finding herself, making her own friends, drinking tea, loving Jamie Oliver and pulling me up from some of the worst times in my life, ever, she managed to get a BA in Fine Art…

She drew, and drew, and painted and painted and threw ink and knitted and knitted and knitted and drew and knitted and spray painted and crocheted and painted and inked and sew and sew and sew and embroidered and knitted and knitted and drew…and she did fantastically.

I love and hate the space between my Undergrad and now. I hate it because it means Uni was just memories. I hate it because I miss it, I miss my friends. I miss mornings balancing tea on a kitchen table piled so high with books, art projects, half empty wine glasses and dead plants we never threw away – and being unable to balance the tea because the night before we had spent all night chatting or watching yet another film…or opening yet another bottle of wine, or playing more cards or colouring in kids books and covering the wall.

I love that space because I have watched my friends grow. I Em, as I always guessed she would, is amazing and doing the art thing while also doing a billion and one things I can’t keep up with. I love it because yet another series of Casualty has passed and Charlie Fairhead is still going strong. I love it because if time had not passed I would not be engaged to the most amazing BoyMan.

I am excited/terrified/hopeful about my MA and I am looking forward to new words, new skills and new friends – but no-one has friends like the ones I already have – and no-one has an arty, lovely, funny, sarcastic, strange Emma T like mine.

I write this mostly because I want the world/blog-o-sphere to know about my experiences. Mad people have friends. Mad people go to Uni. But also living with all this stuff, it is not easy on other people either. I do not think many people would take me on as a friend if they knew where it had taken Emma, Boyfriend and co. To be truthful I am positive that there have been times Emma and co have doubted their own decisions to remain in my life.

I do not do spoonfuls of sentiment often without the aid of Vodka.
I just wanted to air what was on my mind –and how I know how lucky I am to have someone who was willing to learn how to push a wheelchair for me!!  (in Wales –upward slopes abound)

This is my Emma T, with her fabulous and fantastic art (which she sells, like a clever bunny)

http://emmatann.wordpress.com/

and a sample of her art that she showed in an exhibition

Emma Tann

 

 

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