Wednesday, 24 September 2014

Three knitting books I really want

I've not been finding a lot to write about at the moment. Sorry, not my fault.

Anyway, I'm always on the look out for knitting things and wool and everything!
I do need to write about it a lot more, but I don't find the time or motivation.

So I've narrowed this down to three books, and why I want them.

Fair Isle Style: 20 Fresh Designs for a Classic Technique
Fair Isle Style by Mary Jane Mucklestone.

So I love the cover design! It's so pretty. And on the back cover there is a hat and scarf design that I love.

Personally I think the cover design would be great to use up some odd yarn with some new.

I think the price is really cheap!

Fair Isle was another break through I had when I was pregnant and ever since I've loved it. It makes knitting so much more interesting, challenging.

And it makes self striping yarn ever more interesting when paired with a block colour. I just love it.

I'm always looking for new knitting patterns and Fair Isle patters.

Happy Feet (Cathy Carron Collection)

I'm a sock addict, no doubts about it.

I love differnt styles, Fair Isle (again..) and a bit of everything. Currently I'm doing something based on this pattern from Knitty, a two needle sock.

Anyway, the pinao socks were the first to catch my attention, then the toeless really looked cool, but I don't know what I'd use them for. And the zigzag stripe thing?! YES!

I love interesting patterns and always seem to have a pair of socks on the go. I've only knitted three pairs so far, but I'm always looking to do more.

It seems a little expensive, but could well be worth it.

Scottish Knits: Colorwork and Cables with a Twist
I'm a proud Scot. Can't help it, when you're from a country that good you can't help being proud.

And I do love Fair Isle.

Hats, gloves, cardigans, jumpers.

There isn't a description on Amazon, but that hat, and the juper on the left? I do love it. And the cardigan on the right is pretty nice too... There isn't much information on this book but based from the cover picutres I'm intrested.

Wednesday, 20 August 2014


Yeah, this again.

Don't worry, I'm fine! And even better, my Loony Roomie is leaving soon.

I had a really awesome Sunday, talking to new people, and something interesting came up.

I was talking to a woman, Natalie, who was around the same age as me, also from the UK, and we were just talking about growing up. How the teenage years were utter shite. And then I came out with this line, that kind of shocked me because I'd never thought of it like this before.

I used to hide my depression behind my Emo-ness. Being Emo meant I was allowed to mope around with no questions. I could cut myself and it was normal, if I took a paracetamol overdose it was to fit in.

That sounds crazy, but that's what I did.

Pon and Zi were the typical Emo cartoons floating around in my day, and when you see some of the themes the obligatory suicide attempts come though.

The obsession with love as well.

And rawr. 

Saturday, 26 July 2014


Nothing has change and I do nothing to change things.

I don't feel as bad as I did before, where I had no desire to do anything, but I'm still not feeling great. They're still saying I'm not depressed. Thank fuck. I don't think I can do the pills again, too many mood swings.

I want to get working, to start earning money rather than sitting around with nothing and relying on my magic credit card that will never be paid back. Sorry bank. The thing is the staff here want me working somewhere sheltered due to the Aspergus Syndrome. The thing people debate if I've got it or not. It's annoying because now I have to wait even longer. Even longer before I can get a job, to get paid, to save money for my deposit on a flat, so I can leave here and get my son back.

I feel less lonely, I go out to this church once a week and there's people there who speak to me and they seem nice. Last week they bought me a thing of metro tickets. So that's good, really kind actually because I've got fuck all money and it keeps me going for about three weeks. I also got bought a worship CD. Again kinda cool even though I'm probably low down on the list of good Christians. I know it's not a competition but whatever. I don't care, I'm not a good person. I'm a narcissist, apparently. I've stopped giving a shit, people either like me or not, I'm not going to run around trying to please everyone because I know it's impossible.

I've also noticed something else weird, all my life I've had a huge birthmark on my leg, ever since I was little people commented on it, alienated me because of it, hit me for it. This year? Fuck all. I've finally grown out of the torment and it only took 21 years. I'm just happy to finally pass as normal.

Otherwise, life is as stagnated as always.

And green tea? Yeah, not that great... I thought it would help me with my diet, I've fattened up a bit, but nope. Just blech.
Although it's drinkable I'll stick to red fruits, cheers.

And running? Still awesome, I'm managing about 600m without stopping now.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

No real updates

I'm not dead, I've just not got internet, or much to write about.

Alexandros is fine, the visits go great, they always talk about raising the amount of time but never do. He's talking more. The last time I saw him I took him a Play-Doh gift set, and he kept trying to say Play-Doh, but it was more like "hay-doh" still not bad. I mean, he did stop talking completely at one point. He's started giving kisses too, real ones, not just touching his lips on my cheek but with the mwah noise too! He's really confidant with walking and running too.

I'm fine, I binge eat too much and I've started getting fat, but it's the annoying hard fat that's difficult to lose and as much as I try I can't do the anorexia by will. I still don't understand how I ended up anorexic then can't do it when I feel I've gained too much weight. Whatever. So I've taken up jogging. I'm fed up with the asthma problems as well, so I'm thinking if I force my lungs to work out they'll get better. First day I did two runs because this girl in my room wanted to and didn't want to go alone. It's been three days and I'm still in pain. Second day I took a break, and yesterday I went quickly, but it was so sore. Today I can't because I'm washing my chav suit and it's not dry yet.
I keep getting insulted by someone I live with that I washed it deliberately to get out of running and that I'm lazy.

I've started going to church again too, it's called Hillsong, apparently it's international. I like it, the people are nice.

Otherwise, nothing new. Oooooh, I did knit a shawl.... Seen below worn as a scarf.

Saturday, 31 May 2014

How am I coping?

It comes to mind sometimes, how am I actually coping?

Well, I think I'm out of the worst of the depression now, and I'm off the medications which I'm hugely proud of.

I never did find out exactly what I was taking, it was two antidepressants, and an anti-stress medication, two pink pills, a blue and two pink capsules.

I know that at the time I started taking them I was swinging between actively suicidal and too lazy to kill myself, and I accept that I probably got to the point where I needed them. However I question how much they helped me.

Sometimes during the treatment I'd be okay, happy, smiling and joking around. Other times I'd be inexplicably sad, once there was a time where I was half thinking of disappearing or dying but I couldn't be bothered to get out of bed. Not really useful and they get in the way of having a normal life.

Then when I ran out I couldn't get more. Long story short, no money. Secretly I'm very thankful because now I'm off those pills I'm more stable even if I'm not happy. I was tired, I had full on withdrawal, all the side effects. Tiredness, food cravings for only salt, disorientation, gaps in memory. It was horrible but only lasted a week. I slept through days two to six.

When I came out of the daze I didn't notice until my room mate had pointed it out to me, but I was more stable, less tearful. I wasn't exactly happy, but I was remarkably less tired and I had a new awareness of my surroundings.

I'm not saying coming off my medication was the best thing to do, or even if it was a good idea, but it has given me some kind of kick start into getting my life going again.

The thing is I'd never have got permission from a doctor to stop my treatment, when I went to the first appointment to moniter the treatment and I said I'd stopped I got so much panic. I even got called irresponsible. I didn't actually want to stop the pills, I'd got to the point where I thought I needed them. After being asked all the questions about how I was feeling they said I was okay without but I needed weekly appointments to check.

So I just kind of drifted on. And that's all I've really been doing. Not progressing or anything interesting, drifting.

If I had to describe how I'm feeling I'd say I'm better, but I'm not exactly happy. Something is still missing. I guess it's Alexandros, but even when I had him it felt like something was still missing. If I can survive a packet and a half of paracetamol I can make it through this though. I guess the empty feeling of something missing will go whenever I find what it is, I just have to keep looking.

I still have milk too, which is weird. It came gushing out in the shower this morning, I've not breastfed since the 12th of Febuary.

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Some photos

I'm just going to write a quick little summary of what I've been up to recently while I've got a wifi hot spot.
My new obsession is to knit socks, however life is too short to knit matching pairs. Well actually I've made half of my pair, and then started my mum's pair, which are the left one. I've written about this more on my other blog.
 Alexandros likes to speak on the phone now, but still is barely talking. He also likes to tidy up by giving everything to me. He's also running around and attacking and doing everything he used to.
 And I went on holiday to the UK recently. Otherwise, nothing much to say.

Tuesday, 20 May 2014

I guess I should try and say this

I still don't really understand what went wrong. I was okay when I first had Alexandors. Well, I guess I was okay, there were times when I wanted to give up and felt like a failure, but they passed and I think that's just the normal parental feelings of am I breaking my baby? not the feelings of depression or anything drastic like that.

When I got pregnant my life was a mess, to say I was happy; content and wanting a baby is an exaggeration. I was more excited that I'd have something to do, I'd lost all motivation since losing my son, being unable to find a job and just having a shitty time all round. The foetus growing inside me started to give me a push to get out of bed in the morning, to make things for it.

I guess I still did stupid things though, I got weirdly attached to the bundle of limbs growing inside me. I don't think that's something people generally do but I did it both times. I started obsessing about when I'd meet it as a baby, not just a thing taking up my womb space. Whatever, I'm weird and get overly attached to things. I don't care, it just made it even easier to bond with my baby when he was born.

But things didn't go as planned, I had a hospital birth, then he wasn't allowed home with me, we had to go do a parenting assessment and then move into supported housing because by that point I'd run out of money for my apartment.

During this time things just changed, when he was in neonatal I spent all day with him, I'd wake up about 6 or 7am and get dressed then go see him. Usually I was engorged so I just wanted to feed him or pump milk. Then I'd stay all day, holding him, sitting by his cot, up until 1am. I didn't feel right when I was away from him, I felt alone and empty.

I had a really hard time breastfeeding, in France they supplement from birth claiming the new mother has no milk. It took around two months before I could get him onto just the breast. Then all of that was followed by him not gaining normal amounts of weight by their standards. He was managing 50 to 100g a week.

So at three and a half months we moved into this foyer thing, I don't know the english equivalent, I doubt there is one. I had a room to live in with my son, with 20 other young mothers and staff who were meant to advise and help us.

I don't know exactly when or how it started, it always seems to have been there since he was a few days old, lingering for when I was tired, but it started getting worse.

I started getting angry with myself for being such a useless mother, for failing my son in every single way even though I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong.I had this constant fear that I was hurting him, that I was a terrible mother. Eventually I retreated into myself, fearing that anyone who learned of my emotions would think I was unworthy of motherhood. I knew if the staff in the foyer knew what I was thinking they'd take my son and even though I wasn't a good mother I didn't want to lose him.

And then I ran out of money, I didn't have much to begin with, but now I had nothing to buy bus tickets, chocolate, anything. So it got to the point where I could no longer go out.

Then at around five or six months he started doing more, he'd sleep less and would refuse to nap until the evening then he'd not sleep as much at night. So I was sleeping less because the only time I had to myself was when he was sleeping, and I know it's selfish of me but I needed that time to talk to my family on Facebook or something.

Not much longer than that, in the summer, the insomnia kicked in. So I was struggling to do everything with him. Then I'd go through phases where all I could do was sleep, meaning I was encouraging Alexandros to stay in bed either sleeping or awake next to me.
This was closely followed by my anorexia that thing where I wouldn't be hungry for days at a time, then when I finally got hungry I could barely eat.

I remember the first time I stopped eating after five days they took me to the hospital, but before that they tried force feeding me. One of them even punched me because she was so angry, all they'd do was yell.

It was at this point people started asking questions. I was getting yelled at for attention seeking and then that would make me feel worse.

I only went out once a week to see my psychologist, well I say once a week, sometimes it was once every two weeks. Because I had no friends to see and no other reason to go out. I stayed locked in my room the whole time, tying to play with Alexandros, talking to him and trying to keep him happy. He was still spending most of his time on my breast anyway, so I didn't have a lot to do. Just lay down with him next to me.

At one point the foyer lost Internet access. I got so lonely. I didn't even have my family to talk to, just my son and the people who worked in the centre. I was always too scared to talk to the other residents. I don't even know why.

They tried to move him off of breast milk and onto formula because he wasn't growing enough, only 50g a week and that made me feel worse. Thankfully he refused bottles because I don't know what I'd have done if he'd rejected me.

It was around July after a threat that if my son didn't start eating solid food properly I'd lose him I realised I didn't want to live without him. So I ended up saying I had headaches a lot, and I'd start stashing the french version of paracetamol. And whatever else I was prescribed. Just in case.

I got dragged off to see a doctor somewhere but I had no idea why or what was going on. It was really weird, the staff for the foyer took Alexandros and this woman started asking loads of questions then gave up and asked the staff.

By the time my son got to a year old I was a pretty big mess. I remember when my shoes broke and I didn't have money for new ones. I told the staff I couldn't go see my psychologist because my shoes were almost broken and I didn't have another pair. In the end they took me shopping for another pair and it was horrible being out, they wanted me to choose and I didn't even know what I wanted. I had the same thing for a snowsuit that they bought for Alexandros. First they bought a girl one, then they dragged me into two other shops and I couldn't find anything I liked. The whole shopping experience had become unbearable.

I was sent off to see a doctor for my insomnia because I didn't sleep for two days and I was a wreck. They gave me Stillnox, I think that was the name anyway. I don't remember much from that week, but I remember that was when I realised it would be best for everyone if I died. I can barely remember my son's birthday. That hurts.

Suddenly everything was accompanied by overwhelming guilt. Guilt that I was a failure, that I couldn't raise my son, that everyone kept shouting at me for every mistake I made. I hated leaving my room for meal times, being around good, happy, mothers.

I guessed my feelings were normal though so I continued to battle onwards, hoping I'd get better, hoping that as my exhausting one year old grew I'd get better at this and get less criticism or maybe some support.

And then there was that meeting where they said things weren't okay and I couldn't do this anymore, that because of Alexandros mimicking me when I couldn't eat and him losing weight and never crying he had to go into a new family. So I gave him to someone else and walked off, I had them grab me and drag me back into the room.

I was dragged back to the centre, and within a few hours I'd swallowed all the pills I'd been hiding.

I don't even know why I felt like this, it came pretty much out of nowhere. Someone said it was depression, someone said it was post-natal depression.

All I really want is my son back.