Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
While battling a cluster headache episode, I decided the logical distraction was trying Misery Mode in The Long Dark. Armed with pancakes, tea, a hammer, and a teddy bear, I somehow survived 47 days. No hacksaw, no bow, no plan - just chaotic decisions and a deeply committed pancake strategy.
I decided to make Welsh cakes during a cluster headache episode with no wooden spoon, minimal cookware, and a frog supervising the operation. This involved a mission to Lidl, a run-in with trauma, questionable amounts of Red Bull, and the very real possibility of producing frozen, burnt pancakes again.
I almost didn’t write this post because I feel like I’m always the person with another problem. But cluster headaches are part of my life for months every year. Hiding them never helped me. Even during relic malfunctions and pain, life still happens - sausage rolls, book towns, and Minecraft houses full of chickens.
When builders replaced my windows, they also stole my stars. Between the Adele-singing workmen, sealant fumes, and scaffolding, I lost my favourite place to breathe and think. I’d love to say it’s a metaphor for clarity - but really, it just stinks. At least Minecraft windows still open.
Cluster headaches steal everything — sleep, appetite cues, even silence. Every attack feels like the worst one yet, a knife through my ear into my eye. Survival takes all my energy, while recovery waits in the background. Sometimes posting the raw reality is the only self-care left.
Cluster headaches aren’t migraines — they’re worse. This post isn’t medical advice; it’s my lived experience inside one of the most painful, misunderstood conditions out there. Written mid-episode, with humour, rage, and the occasional ridiculous t-shirt, this is what it means to be diagnosed with Cluster Headaches.
Absurd Universe 