Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
A raincoat shouldn’t unravel me, but it did. Change — even good change — destabilises me. Clothes, food, identity: all shifting at once. I dropped anchors in Cyberpunk and macramé, but none held. Only a latte in my hand, flimsy against the storm, reminded me I’m still afloat.
Recovery has been chaos — crying, swelling, and thigh muscles outgrowing knee sleeves. But between the spirals, I found soft moments: plush pigeons, macramé bows, iced coffee with my son. Small, silly joys that felt like little lights in the dark. Somehow, they’ve been enough to keep me going.
My son is one month on T. He’s becoming more himself every day, despite a world that tried to make that impossible. We’ve done this alone — through misgendering, medical neglect, and transphobia — but he’s still thriving. Not because of support, but in spite of its absence. He’s extraordinary.
We planned a soft day, but the universe sent us to minor injuries instead. My son’s foot was crunchy (yes, really), and this post captures everything from NHS chaos to waiting room characters, a Crunchie bar craving, and the strange way a detour turned into a whole story.
Bartholomew Bear Junior arrived during a rough week, and brought more comfort than I expected. A tiny bear with big softness, sent when I needed it most. I’m so grateful to Jellycat for the kindness - and to Biscoff, who’s learning how to be a big brother, crumbs and all.
He doesn’t fix my pain, and I don’t ask him to - but his love still reaches me, even in the darkest spaces. My son has been the Sun in my universe lately, shining warmth and light on days that felt impossible. I keep orbiting because his light still finds me.
During one of the hardest weeks of my life, my son handed me a purple Liberty bag with a Jellycat bear inside. This is the story of Enfys — a rainbow in bear form — and how she reminded me I’m loved, even when I can’t feel it.
I’m trying to recover from my anorexia relapse. For this week’s challenge, I’m increasing my intake with tea and biscuits—using the only safe food memories I have from childhood to help me. Alongside the nostalgia and my favourite custard creams, Biscoff the bear is here with his usual fluffy emotional support.
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.
I put on my Cyberpunk 2077 hoodie, the one that once made me feel powerful—like I was V, ready to take on the world. But now, it drowns me. The fabric hangs loose where I used to fill it. I might be wearing it, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
Absurd Universe 