When the darkness first came into my life I felt alone, afraid, hopeless. I cannot tell you when it arrived in all its pathetic glory. It was just there. It felt alien, a demon from the depths of hell. My strength, my veracity, my creativity, my beauty, my humour, my empathy, my life decayed to a wasteful existence. I looked in the mirror where I reflected the object of derision and hate.
The Black Dog fucked with my mind. Created a war with myself.
I was still dealing with the repercussions from the years of infertility. My friend took her life, relationships were fragile, work was a repetitive machine and the world around me felt broken and worthless. I was exhausted, angry, and struggling to find joy where all the beauty and wonder had left.
I was an empty body coping with the mundane, battling the mind fuckery, waiting for the medication to kick in and praying for the “this too will pass” day to arrive.
Hope seemed redundant.
But I persevered. Somewhere within me was love - my family, my husband, my son were my weapon. I pledged that I would not succumb to the internal inferno of doom.
I prayed for life.
One day during a counselling session as we talked about imagination; I remembered my grandmother’s lace doilies. The intricate nature of each stitch, how I loved to trace the patterns with my fingers. I wondered what she was thinking, feeling when she created them. I had always wanted to learn crochet. That day I walked into the craft shop, bought my first hook and yarn and learned the skill through YouTube videos.
My first Amigurumi toy I made with acrylic yarn. My Black Dog Wears Crochet.
Free pattern by LittleOwlsHut
What does crochet mean to you?
Do you have your own dark passenger? (and does it wear a pretty dress?)
For information regarding mood disorders: Black Dog Institute
To talk to someone: Lifeline (Aus only)