Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
This week had its struggles, but there were little lights in the dark—small moments that kept me going. I made a macrame bow and bag for St David’s Day, filmed adorable TikToks with my bears, and challenged a cheesy hot cross bun. Oh, and I may have become a feral gherkin goblin.
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.
Today’s mission: obtain cheesy hot cross buns, lose yet another psychiatrist, and try not to lose my mind in the process. Clippy is feral, the NHS is playing musical chairs, and my son and I are both running on fumes. At least Beean Beeale had fun. Priorities: coffee, pickles, and survival.
Depression feels like a black hole pulling me in, but sometimes, it’s the smallest things that keep me from crossing the event horizon—a Jellycat bee gifted by my son, the soft glow of a wax melt burner, or a plushie left in my bed to remind me I’m not alone.
Grief therapy has made me realise how much I’ve hidden parts of myself out of fear. This week, I’m challenging that. I’m sharing my truth, sitting with my emotions, and letting people misunderstand me if they choose to. It’s time to stop being ashamed of my rock—one stone at a time.
I can’t believe you’re 20. Two whole decades of you in my life, shaping me just as much as I’ve raised you. Watching you grow into your most authentic self has been the greatest privilege. No matter where life takes you, you’ll always have me, quantum entangled, forever
I woke up in a panic, handled NHS frustrations better than usual, found comfort in Starbucks and plushies, and ended the day very on-brand with an existential crisis over my medication increase. Don’t know why I’m hoping—so fucking naive. Falling for the promise of the emptiness machine.
Imagine sitting in the metaphorical waiting room for therapy, convinced your name will never be called. Then suddenly, it is — and an hour later, you’ve had massive realisations about grief, silence, and finding yourself again. My first grief therapy session was unexpectedly eventful, and it’s just the beginning.
Escaping to Seren felt like the only thing to do while waiting to see if my crumbling tooth situation could get any worse. The Roost was warm, the coffee pixelated but still comforting. I was alone—until my son arrived, bringing life to my island, and a much-needed distraction.
I never expected this. Jellycat reached out and sent me a surprise package—and not just a little keyring, but a full Jellycat haul! As someone who’s never been ‘picked’ for things, this meant more than just plushies. Here’s what they sent me—and why it mattered so much.
Absurd Universe 