On Day 4 of recovery, I gained 3kg and lost the ability to pretend I’m not grieving. Weight, for me, is a unit of time. I didn’t just gain kilos - I got dragged further from my best friend, who isn’t in this future. And today, I finally felt it.
Day One – A Day in the Life of My Real Recovery
Recovery didn’t start with a grand moment. It started with panic, meltdowns, grocery aisles, excitement and a macchiato. Day One wasn’t perfect — but it was mine. I fought for my life in small rebellions: biscuits, salad bowls, olives, and coffee. It was messy, brave, terrifying — and beautifully, finally, real.
Collapsing the Wave Function – Choosing Recovery For Real This Time
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.
Peanut Butter Toast and the Superposition of Recovery
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.
Cluster Headaches: A Lived Experience of Pain, Bears, and Coffee-Based Coping
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.
The Day I Finally Felt Her Again – Grief Glimmers of WeeGee
I didn’t expect to feel her again. But there she was — in a glimmer on the pavement, in two ducks blocking the path, in my chest where grief lives. For the first time in years, I felt her presence instead of her absence. Like maybe… we’re still walking together.
Recovery With the Nostalgia of Tea and Biscuits at My Nan’s House.
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.
What I Gave This Easter – For My Son, For My Bear Son, and Maybe Even Myself
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
Good Friday – The Battle, Biscoff the Bear Becomes a Trans Ally, and the Bit of Joy I Clawed Out Anyway
Good Friday: cluster headache edition. I fought through pain, ED brain, and Supreme Court crap to buy necklaces and dress a bear in protest gear. Was it all good? No. Did I make it fun anyway? Somehow. Biscoff the Bear is now a political figure. I am simply unraveling.
From Cortisol Mornings to Cotton Cord Evenings – Biscoff Is No Longer Naked!
Today was meant to be restful, but my brain woke me up yelling “BOOTS!” like it was a threat. I got my meds, made my bear a bowtie, and ignored all signs of needing to lie down. A cortisol-fuelled quest, featuring pigeons, macramé, and one very overdressed bear.
Absurd Universe 