Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Eating disorders don’t check the calendar. They don’t pause, even for love. If love alone could cure eating disorders, having my son would have cured me. But this isn’t a choice. I want to celebrate his birthday fully, but instead, I’m bargaining with a mental illness that refuses to take a day off.
It took two days to get an emergency dentist appointment, which gave Corrupted Clippy—my eating disordered thoughts—full reign. I could barely eat, and Clippy was LOVING it. Even after the dentist, it whispered, “What a shame you can’t eat. Guilt-free restriction!” I shook my head. Shut up, Clippy.
Ambivalence is a superposition—wanting and not wanting recovery at the same time. This is what living with an eating disorder looks like: battling decisions that shouldn’t be battles, facing Greggs like it’s a boss fight, and walking away from cheese like it’s a trap. Clippy wants control. But so do I.
Absurd Universe 