I drew another reason to recover from my anorexia relapse. I want to recover from my relapse, To be more present with you — Like when we had slushies at Krispy Kreme. That memory alone Is worth fighting on through.
Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
I drew another reason to recover from my anorexia relapse. I want to recover from my relapse, To be more present with you — Like when we had slushies at Krispy Kreme. That memory alone Is worth fighting on through.
I want to recover from anorexia, So the cake is no longer a lie. So I can eat it — And not just draw it While pretending everything's fine.
Three years ago, I gave up drawing because of pain that felt like a heart attack. Now, in the middle of a relapse—and a storm—I picked up a pencil again. This post is about art, disability, grief, and the terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to let go again.
I started macramé thinking, “I could probably do that.” Fast forward to today, and my flat, my bears, and every plushie in sight are covered in knotted creations. What began as a way to save money became an unexpected act of love — crafting, knot by knot, for those I care about most.
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.