Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Today’s mission: obtain cheesy hot cross buns, lose yet another psychiatrist, and try not to lose my mind in the process. Clippy is feral, the NHS is playing musical chairs, and my son and I are both running on fumes. At least Beean Beeale had fun. Priorities: coffee, pickles, and survival.
I woke up in a panic, handled NHS frustrations better than usual, found comfort in Starbucks and plushies, and ended the day very on-brand with an existential crisis over my medication increase. Don’t know why I’m hoping—so fucking naive. Falling for the promise of the emptiness machine.
I woke up with one simple goal: put the washing away. Instead, I found myself crying in a pile of clothes while my brain played the “Greatest Hits of My Failures.” Laundry Mountain loomed large, my ribs hurt, and the chaos felt endless. Why is something so small, so hard?
Self care is supposed to help you feel better, but when you’re battling depression, it can feel like a chore with little payoff. I created Pinterest-worthy spaces and tried everything, but the crash still came. At least now I know: it’s better to cry in a cosy haven.
When my psychiatrist appointment was cancelled during a mental health crisis, I felt adrift. Instead of spiraling, I escaped to Cardiff—a place that usually feels like home. This is about frustration, yes, but also continuing to keep on keeping on when the system fails to show up.
Navigating life near a depression black hole, I find hope in small moments: pigeons at my window, a Blueberry fan club, and physics books that ground me. Even when it feels impossible, these moments remind me who I am — a person who celebrates love, connection, and the light within
Depression is a black hole, pulling everything in while forcefully ejecting emotions you thought you’d buried. It corrupts time, leaving the good unreachable and the bad amplified. But even here, in the void, I know the bird of hope is alive. I can’t hear it yet, but it’s still singing.
I often get asked how I can take my plushies outside, beyond my castle walls, so openly as a 40-year-old. Given my chronic anxiety and self-consciousness, it’s a very valid question! I thought I’d share how I came to carry them so openly in public, why I do it, and maybe it will help you, …
Continue reading Brave – How I Take My Jellycat Plushies Out In Public
Absurd Universe 