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.
Tag: depression
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.
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.
The Arrival of Biscoff… The Jellycat Bear
Biscoff the Bear has arrived, and frankly, he’s the best decision I’ve ever made mid-breakdown. He’s soft. He’s chonky. He’s emotionally supportive and doesn’t judge my reactive Biscoff binges. He even has his own jar. 10/10 life coach. Would cuddle again.
Sitting with the Sisyphean Boulder of My Extreme Emotions
Restriction doesn’t just mute pain—it steals joy too. I lose my presence, my art, my immersion in games and love. Clippy’s hand offers silence from grief, but it silences everything else as well. Recovery means feeling again—and sometimes, feeling is the boulder I can’t get out from under.
I Meltdown Like Cheese On Beans But Ate Them Anyway – An ED Recovery Post
Recovery isn’t linear. Sometimes you cry over beans while getting emotionally slapped like Chris Rock at the Oscars—by grief, rage, and trauma. This is a story about relapse, cheese, corrupted Clippy, and why I’m still doing recovery anyway. I didn't feel like I won. But I ate the beans.
Picking Up A Pencil Again After 3 Years.
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.
Recovery Update – The Hokey Cokey and The Return of the Chicken Shawarma
Recovery isn’t just about eating the food—it’s about the mental war behind it. This week, I challenged Clippy and pushed past fear foods, even if I cried after. It’s messy and exhausting, but I’m doing it slowly, in a way that works for my body. That still counts.
Absurd Universe 