Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Apparently I really love stories about love - as long as they’re set in space, have incredible music, and occasionally break my heart. These are the films and series I’ve watched more than five times, the ones that stay with me long enough that I’ve even drawn some of their most unforgettable scenes.
Recovery isn’t a straight line — it’s whiplash. Some days I can eat without thinking, others every bite feels like a fight. I delay meals, restrict without meaning to, and feel crushed by my body’s weight. It’s like crash-landing from space, suddenly aware of gravity pressing on everything.
Recovery didn’t bring joy rushing back. It brought pain. Grief. The feelings I ran from. But I keep going- eating, walking, packing a Jellycat - because I want to be here when joy returns. Not the muted kind, but real joy. The kind that stays. The kind that wraps me in fluffiness.
If you tolerate this, then your children will be next. Your mother does not love you, and she will not love your child either. This is the advice that would have changed so much for us had I heard it when I was a teenager.
Absurd Universe 