Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
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.
This week was hard — full of cluster headaches, grief, and emotional crashes. But in the middle of all that were tiny moments that helped me stay: coffee with my son, a moonstone necklace, a bear in a towel, and a bath that looked like the universe. Little lights in the dark.
Grief therapy is over, but my depression isn’t. I try to hold onto the things that used to bring me joy, but they slip through my fingers. I keep surviving, but it doesn’t feel like living. The lights are dimming, but I’m still reaching—hoping to find the switch one day.
Absurd Universe 