Content Warning: This post discusses eating disorders, disordered eating behaviours, and brief mentions of weight. Please take care while reading, and skip this post if these topics may be triggering for you.

This week has been an absolute SHITSHOW and as I’m writing this it’s only Wednesday. I genuinely don’t know how much more I can take. Monday pushed me to my limit. Tuesday piled on insult to injury. And Wednesday? It salted the wounds for good measure.

This post is just about Monday, though. One day. One absolute MOUNTAIN of a day that forced me to confront truths I’d been avoiding.

Since the grief anniversary, I’ve been struggling even more with my eating disorder. The downswing has been brutal. Corrupted Clippy — my relentless and annoying ED pop-up — has been working overtime. Quietly. Subtly. Taking control in ways I didn’t even notice. At least, not until I was standing in Greggs.

The Sacred Altar of Pastries

Monday was all about supporting my son. He had a stressful doctor’s appointment, and I was there to fight with him. On the way home, we stopped at Asda, then Greggs. I thought it would cheer us up to treat us both to comforting sausage rolls after a day of navigating the NHS minefield. I am so proud of my son, and how better to show my pride than to shower him in golden pastries from Greggs.

Greggs has always been a place of comfort for us, even during my ED relapse. It’s been the one joy I’ve fought to hold on to despite Corrupted Clippy’s relentless opinions. Walking up to the altar of pastries, ordering sausage rolls (thrice!), and sharing them with my son brings me joy — joy I’ve stubbornly defended, even as other foods have ended up on Clippy’s “ABSOLUTELY NOT” list.

But on Monday, something shifted.

When I walked into Greggs, I wasn’t my usual overly excited self. I was afraid instead. Greggs, my safe, and comforting haven, was suddenly “too much,” according to Corrupted Clippy. I felt fear at the thought of eating a sausage roll, and I couldn’t understand why. I hid it from my son because Monday was about him, not me.

I smiled at my son, ordered the sausage rolls, and ate them with him at home, pretending I was fine, supporting him through his feelings from the appointment. But inside, I was really shaken and afraid. Greggs, my constant, my safe food, was no longer safe.

Later that evening, after my son had gone to bed, I sat there unpacking my true feelings of the day and was flooded with grief.

The Clothes That Didn’t Fit

Monday morning started with a realisation: my clothes had become so loose they were uncomfortable. They weren’t just too big — they were no longer functioning as clothes should: to keep you warm, comfortable, and well, covered.

I’ve resisted buying smaller clothes during this relapse. I’ve been clinging to my recovery clothes — the ones that fit me at my set point — as a way to fight back against Corrupted Clippy. Buying smaller clothes felt like giving in, like rewarding Clippy for its control. It absolutely does NOT deserve any reward.

It also felt like setting myself up for another fight in my recovery. I remember how hard it was, 12 years ago, to let go of the clothes I outgrew in recovery. I grieved for those clothes, that weren’t just too small but sentimental, and I don’t want to grieve again. Corrupted Clippy fully aware of my history, will gain strength from using this memory against me whenever I so much as think about getting better.

But on Monday, I had no choice. My clothes had become so unwearable that I was forced to buy new ones. So, while we were at Asda, I picked out random black trousers a fair few sizes down. I didn’t feel accomplished. I didn’t feel anything. I just put them in the trolley and moved on, keeping my focus on my son.

Clippy Installs Johnny Silverhand Malware

The loose clothes should have been a GIANT clue, but I ignored it. I told myself it didn’t matter. I’d just buy smaller clothes and move on. Greggs, however, forced me to confront what I’d been avoiding.

It wasn’t just that Corrupted Clippy had taken more control than I’d realised — it was that I hadn’t even noticed. My fear in Greggs made realise I’ve been surviving by focusing on everyone and everything else – my son, the NHS battle with blood tests, trying and failing to get help, the overwhelming feelings I tried to run from on the grief anniversary — and that focus has made me blind to how much I’ve been spiralling.

I haven’t been obsessively counting or tracking anything. But like malware running silently in the background, Clippy has. It’s been keeping tabs, doing the maths, and making judgements without me even being fully aware. I’ve engaged in ED behaviours — skipping meals, shrinking portions — but I’ve been watching it happen, not actively doing it. I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat while Clippy runs the scripts.

It feels like when Johnny Silverhand takes over V’s body in the mission, “Chippin’ In” in Cyberpunk 2077. The game still gives you choices, but they don’t matter. Johnny just does what he wants regardless, and all you can do is watch. It’s V’s body, V’s brain, but Johnny is driving.

Corrupted Clippy doesn’t need me to consciously do anything either. It quietly calculates, judges, and decides what’s “too much.” That’s how I walked into Greggs without realising, until the dread hit me, that Clippy had decided Greggs was now on the, “ABSOLUTELY NOT” list.

Walking into Greggs as Clippy’s Version of Johnny Silverhand

Greggs had always been my pastry safe haven. I didn’t have to question it; it wasn’t “good” or “bad” food — it was the legendary safe food of Greggs. But on Monday, standing in front of the pastry counter, that changed. I was fully Clippys version of Johnny Silverhand. (Funnily enough I was even wearing a Samurai jacket to embody strength for my sons doctors appointment.)

At the counter, Clippy whispered, “This is too much, make excuses and leave, don’t buy anything”, and if it weren’t for my son, I probably would have left, and wouldn’t have even noticed that I had. It was the little joy that appeared on my sons face after everything he’d been through that day, that made me realise I wasn’t myself anymore.

Is it even me when I look in the reflection of the bakery counter or is it Corrupted Clippy’s Johnny Malware staring back? I know I am a mother who gets really excited about sharing Greggs with her son, so where am I?

After my son went to bed, I cried into Pesto, my emotional support Percy Penguin. Tears dropped onto his fluffy fur as I grieved for the little comforts Clippy is stealing from me. A sausage roll. A shared moment with my son. A pastry safe haven that’s no longer safe.

The realisations hit me like Johnny Silverhand hit Arasaka Tower in 2023. Complete destruction and devastation. And now my world is different for having realised that I’m different.

Life Update – Everything Got Worse

I went to bed that night, still hugging Pesto, not knowing what to do next. It feels like I don’t have any fight left in me, which is exactly why I wore the Samurai jacket to fight for my son at the doctors. I had to get strength from somewhere. Anywhere. Now even Greggs is a battle.

Despite it all, I fell asleep — thanks to Quetiapine, no doubt — hoping Tuesday would be better. Only, it wasn’t. Wednesday wasn’t, either. TWO more GIANT stressors, one after the other.

I’m still stuck with the battles and realisations of Monday. How can I fight the separate battles of Tuesday and Wednesday when I’m already losing the fight to keep the joy of a sausage roll?

I leave you with the perfect song to end this post.
“I kept everything inside
And even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory
Of a time when I tried so hard“