Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
Cluster headaches aren’t migraines — they’re worse. This post isn’t medical advice; it’s my lived experience inside one of the most painful, misunderstood conditions out there. Written mid-episode, with humour, rage, and the occasional ridiculous t-shirt, this is what it means to be diagnosed with Cluster Headaches.
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.
After everything I carried through Good Friday, I wanted to share something softer—what I gave to my son, to Biscoff the Bear, and (reluctantly) to myself. These gifts aren’t just things. They’re care. They’re love. They’re survival in a crinkly Percy Pig bag and a bear mug with tea in it
Today was meant to be restful, but my brain woke me up yelling “BOOTS!” like it was a threat. I got my meds, made my bear a bowtie, and ignored all signs of needing to lie down. A cortisol-fuelled quest, featuring pigeons, macramé, and one very overdressed bear.
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.
Friday was a hard day (well, it became two). I’m in early recovery from an anorexia relapse. There were CHAOS GREMLIN Biscoff binges and zero sleep—but also moments of clarity, love, bears, bath bombs, and reminders of why I’m still trying.
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 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.
I reached my goal weight, and I lost everything. My joy, my passions, the parts of me that made life feel real. I thought it would make things better. It didn’t. Nothing is better here. Clippy lied — and I miss the version of me I was before I listened.
Took 25,000 IU of vitamin D and my body said “no thanks” by collapsing, rash included. Spent Mother’s Day shrimped on the sofa, ragey and weak. Still ate food. Still cried. Still blogging. Recovery arc: glitchy. Perfectionism can piss off—I’ve got knees that fold and a blog backlog now.
Absurd Universe 