Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
This isn't a choice, it's a vow. I'm not doing this because it's easy or aesthetic - I'm doing it because I refuse to stay lost. Anorexia recovery is hell. It always was. But I'm done putting my toe in the water. I'm swearing to fight for myself. No illusions. Lets jump in head first.
ED Recovery is a superposition - I’m in and out of it at the same time. Sometimes I’m brave, sometimes the chaos goblin makes me eat half a block of cheese and I feel shame. Sometimes I want to crawl back into the paperclip arms of Clippy. Tonight though? I made peanut butter toast without spiralling.
I’m trying to recover from my anorexia relapse. For this week’s challenge, I’m increasing my intake with tea and biscuits—using the only safe food memories I have from childhood to help me. Alongside the nostalgia and my favourite custard creams, Biscoff the bear is here with his usual fluffy emotional support.
After everything I carried through Good Friday, I wanted to share something softer—what I gave to my son, to Biscoff the Bear, and (reluctantly) to myself. These gifts aren’t just things. They’re care. They’re love. They’re survival in a crinkly Percy Pig bag and a bear mug with tea in it
Restriction doesn’t just mute pain—it steals joy too. I lose my presence, my art, my immersion in games and love. Clippy’s hand offers silence from grief, but it silences everything else as well. Recovery means feeling again—and sometimes, feeling is the boulder I can’t get out from under.
Recovery isn’t linear. Sometimes you cry over beans while getting emotionally slapped like Chris Rock at the Oscars—by grief, rage, and trauma. This is a story about relapse, cheese, corrupted Clippy, and why I’m still doing recovery anyway. I didn't feel like I won. But I ate the beans.
Friday was a hard day (well, it became two). I’m in early recovery from an anorexia relapse. There were CHAOS GREMLIN Biscoff binges and zero sleep—but also moments of clarity, love, bears, bath bombs, and reminders of why I’m still trying.
Recovery isn’t just about eating the food—it’s about the mental war behind it. This week, I challenged Clippy and pushed past fear foods, even if I cried after. It’s messy and exhausting, but I’m doing it slowly, in a way that works for my body. That still counts.
I reached my goal weight, and I lost everything. My joy, my passions, the parts of me that made life feel real. I thought it would make things better. It didn’t. Nothing is better here. Clippy lied — and I miss the version of me I was before I listened.
Yesterday I spiralled, I felt the pressure of the ED black hole, So I spent a moment with a bear, And a mug of matcha hugged my soul.
Absurd Universe 