This post is heavy. I’m not doing well right now with my depression and my eating disorder relapse (contains photos of me existing), and I need to be honest about it. If you’re not in the right place to read that, please take care of yourself first — I get it. But this is the only space where I feel like I can be fully real about what’s going on. No matter how dark things get, please know I will always be here for my son. Also, I’m trying something new, I usually spend a long time editing my posts, but this one, I’m writing it as if I’m writing to my best friend.

The horrendous week all started when I got cut off from grief therapy. My ED is apparently the “bigger issue.” But after nearly a year on the waiting list, it feels like I finally got the help I needed, only to have it yanked away just as I was starting to unpack things. Grief therapy was impossible at times, due to my bipolar depressive episode and eating disorder, some of the homework I needed to do wasn’t physically or emotionally possible. So I do understand the therapists point of view, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. It also came following finding out my psychiatrist is leaving too.

Goodbye Grief Therapy, Hello Depressive Episode

I have lost weight since starting grief therapy, I have lost A LOT of weight since I originally asked for grief therapy last year. I’m in an entirely different place due to waiting on the waiting list for nearly a year. As I stated in the Cyberpunk hoodie post, I am not even the same person that originally asked for grief therapy.

Lately, I’ve been feeling, I wish grief was all there was on my mind so I could give my best friend the attention she deserves, but grief isn’t alone. There’s just SO MUCH that I’m dealing with, I can’t even focus on the sadness and loneliness I feel from missing her. It comes with a mountain of other issues that are more pressing and URGENT. Whenever I try to focus on grief, my brain tells me how I’m not safe to feel that, because I need to be able to function to conquer other mountains.

Conquering mountains feels impossible though, I am really not well. It’s a struggle to get out of bed everyday, but I do anyway, and wonder how I even managed it. I have been working so hard on distracting myself, but any time I stop because I am exhausted both physically and mentally it feels like I lose my mind – I get emotional flashbacks, severe anxiety spirals and meltdowns.

My brain keeps spiralling into how life is pointless, what is the point of making any effort at all? I want to leave it all, hibernate, isolate, just leave me alone.

The things that used to make me happy don’t even touch me anymore. I keep trying — forcing myself to do the things I loved, hoping something will click — but it just drains me more. And then I grieve that, too. I miss feeling anything. And that grief is the cruelest kind, because it comes just from trying. It’s unfair.

So I’m here, stuck between not wanting to give up and my brain screaming at me to. Just surviving each day, because I don’t know what else to do. There’s literally no point in reaching out to the NHS, I’ll just get ignored again. I bet you’re thinking I should try anyway, but what if I can’t take being ignored and abandoned again? Because that’s where I am.

Clippy Seizes the Opportunity To Control Me.

Corrupted Clippy – my eating disordered thoughts – has taken total advantage of my horrendous week. I started the week challenging food fears and eating cheesy hot cross buns, and then, well, fell off a cliff with my eating. I’m not even hungry, in fact, my stomach has been in agony due to the constant meltdowns giving me severe acid reflux. It hurts to drink water.

I have been eating and drinking still, but everything is difficult, it’s a battle to eat a bare minimum and there has been a decline in my intake. I am tempted to skip what I even consider a bare minimum, and go as long as possible without eating.

I’m just spiralling and I now feel powerless to stop it. I feel like I’m watching myself, a passenger in my own body. I don’t have any energy to fight back, my brain screams at me to give up and I don’t have it in me to fight Clippy too. I am just surviving day to day. I wake up everyday with the hope that today I feel better, but I don’t. It’s another day of survival.

A Day in the Black Hole

Today I got up, and there was a smile. My son bought me a Jellycat cow to cheer me up, and he has one too. I called mine Moofasa, after our Minecraft cows. Once, back when I was still me, I played Minecraft with my son, and travelled miles to find him a mooshroom cow. I finally found one, thousands of blocks away and travelled land and sea to bring him home, through thunderstorms, and night time horrors of exploding creepers.

After two whole Minecraft day cycles, just as I was on the last stretch home, my son found a mooshroom… really close to base. Due to everything I had been through with my cow, I had bonded with him, and named him Moofasa. My son called his Moofrey, and we laughed about how I went miles just to find him a cow when there was one really close to our base.

The Jellycat cows my son bought, are a representation of us playing Minecraft together. I smiled thinking about it, and of course because of the kindness of my son buying me a Jellycat cow. But it faded, and I cried, for not being able to hold on to that feeling. This cow, became another reminder of who I used to be. I love Moofasa still, I’m hugging him right now, I just wish I was still that person.

I tried self care afterward for feeling so broken, I had a bath, and did my hair all nice so I could film a little video of me unboxing the cow. It’s just so unfair that it doesn’t fix anything. That no amount of effort, no amount of trying, no amount of candles, baths, or fake-it-til-you-make-it can snap me out of this. I WISH that is how it worked, so I could be present with those lovely memories and feelings of playing Minecraft with my son.

I wish the Instagram version of depression was how it really was, but unfortunately, that is aesthetically packaged stigma and you don’t get over it in one day just because you had a bath. I know this, but, seeing it EVERYDAY and having it in my inbox, makes me feel so alone and broken for not being able to snap out of it.

So I came here and started typing, because I need one place where I can just exist as I am. Writing here on my blog, is the one thing I can do that still helps me.

At least I still have the love for my son, the reason I keep doing the things I’m doing even though they feel futile and pointless. The other lights in the dark are fading, but I keep reaching anyway — hoping one day, I’ll find the dimmer switch. Until then, you can find me hugging my adorable new cow.

“Mirror in the bathroom recompense
For all my crimes of self defense
Cures you whisper make no sense
Drift gently into mental illness”